City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  “Who is running?” The shout ricocheted down the alley toward him. Li Du turned again to the gate, and now saw two guards there, looming out of the mist.

  “Come forward and announce your identities,” came the voice again.

  There was silence. Li Du turned. His pursuer was gone.

  * * *

  He assured the guards that there was no trouble. He was a scholar, he explained, in a great hurry to return home and set an idea to paper. Could a sedan chair be summoned to convey him to his destination? The soldiers, used to shabby scholars with an air of privilege, assumed he must be an influential man to make the eccentric request with such confidence. A sedan chair was procured. Li Du climbed inside and pulled the curtains closed over the latticed windows.

  The journey back to Water Moon Temple seemed to stretch on for hours, but it was not yet twilight when the sedan chair was lowered to the ground. Li Du paid the bearers with shaking hands, and hurried into the courtyard. Before he could reach his room, he was stopped by the head cleric, who called to him from the kitchen door.

  “Ah, Li Du. You have missed your friend, I’m afraid.”

  Li Du tried to clear his head. He glanced in the direction of Hamza’s room. “My friend?”

  “Oh, no, not your friend from outside the city,” explained the head cleric. “No, this was someone else. He was sorry not to see you. He asked if he could leave a note for you in your room. Of course I said he could. You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” said Li Du. “Thank you.” He turned away before he could be asked another question. When he opened the door of his room, he saw no note. He looked on the desk and on the chair. Then he lowered himself to his knees and scanned the floor, in case the letter had fallen. There was nothing there. He stood up. Slowly, his eyes moved over his meager furnishings until they fell on the single cabinet against the wall. It was an old item, with scrapes through its lacquer like cracks in ice. He pulled it open. Everything seemed to be as he had left it.

  Then his gaze shifted to the cabinet’s small inner compartment. It was the only door in his room that could be locked, and the wood around the fragile lock was splintered. Li Du allowed it to swing open. The single object he had kept inside it was gone. He stood looking at the empty space. A strange calm settled over him as he thought back to words that had been uttered, and expressions that had flitted across a face, only to disappear before he understood them. The calm lasted only a few moments before a new thought occurred to him. He looked outside. In less than an hour, it would be dark, which meant he had less than an hour to reach the White Banner District.

  * * *

  He hired a mule at the nearby stables and rode with as much speed as was possible to achieve without attracting the attention of soldiers. He kept to streets that were just populated enough that he could travel under the cover of crowds, but not so busy as to slow his passage.

  Upon reaching the White Banner District, he slowed the mule to a walk as he tried to remember the name and address that had been written on Hamza’s invitation. He received a curious glance from a refined-looking gentleman passing by on a refined-looking horse, and asked him where he could find the home of Baldan. The man gave him directions and continued on, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

  The district was quiet. Music drifted up and over the walls, and a shimmer of lantern light was beginning to be perceptible against the dimming sky. But when Li Du reached the place to which the rider had directed him, he found the door was closed tight. No light or sound emanated from within. The manor was obviously luxurious and well maintained, but it had the sleeping air of an empty garden. Li Du dismounted and knocked on the door, only half expecting an answer. There was silence.

  He walked until he came to the nearest alley gate, an intricate latticework door that was still open. Two soldiers sat on stools to one side of it. One was polishing his sword, the other staring ahead with a bored expression. “I’m looking for the home of Baldan,” Li Du said. “There is supposed to be a party there tonight.”

  The two soldiers exchanged glances. “You’re the second person to ask about a party at Baldan’s,” said the one polishing his sword. “Is this some kind of prank?”

  Li Du shook his head. “I don’t understand. I saw the invitation to the party myself.”

  “Baldan’s mansion is there,” said the soldier, pointing over Li Du’s shoulder, indicating clearly the door on which Li Du had knocked. “But there’s no party there tonight. Baldan has been on a hunting trip for weeks, and his household is at their villa west of the city.”

  With an effort, Li Du kept his tone light, almost curious. “How strange,” he said. “I must have mistook the date. At least I was not alone. You said someone else was here? I wonder if he was someone I knew.”

  “I doubt it,” said the soldier. “He looked foreign to me. Tall, with a short beard like this—” The soldier drew his fingers in a point from his chin. “—and he wore strange clothes.”

  “Where did he go, when he discovered the event was not tonight?”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed in gathering suspicion. “The man was wandering the streets at twilight in a neighborhood that isn’t his, trying to enter a house that is locked. We had him taken into custody. He’s at the Gendarmerie prison by now. And if you don’t want to end up there tonight, I suggest you find a place where you are welcome. The gates are closing soon.”

  Chapter 44

  It was too late to return to Water Moon Temple. The South Church, situated in the opposite corner of the Inner City from his present location, was also too far. Li Du could think of only one place to go. The district of the Yellow Banner was a short distance away, separated from him by, he guessed, no more than two gates. If he hurried, he could cross the boundary into Tulishen’s neighborhood before they closed. At the mansion, he would have a chance to rest and think until dawn. Then he could go to the Gendarmerie headquarters and attempt to negotiate Hamza’s release.

  The servant who answered his knock invited him inside with the same efficient courtesy that had been instilled in each member of Tulishen’s household staff. The mule was led to the stables. Li Du was escorted to a comfortable room, already lit by candles by the time he arrived, and presented with a cup of wine and assorted refreshments. Informed that the family had retired, he assured the servants that there was no need to rouse them. He had attended a party, he explained, and missed his opportunity to return home before dark. He would not intrude long on their hospitality, as urgent business required him to depart at dawn.

  A guest room was soon prepared. As soon as he was alone, Li Du sank gratefully onto the bed. Lying on his back, he stared up into the cavernous wooden canopy, listening to the flutter of wings from the birdcages hanging on branches in the garden outside his window. He thought of Hamza, hoping that, tonight, the storyteller was safer in his cell than he would be outside of it. He tried not to think about Hong’s death, which had served as a grim reminder that prisons were not safe places.

  Time passed. Though his thoughts became less coherent in the drifting darkness, sleep eluded him. After a while, he sat up. For a moment he remained seated on the edge of the bed, trying to furnish the room from memory. He had stayed in it several times before, during family celebrations. There had been books on the shelf, volumes of poetry neatly grouped by author. If he couldn’t think, and couldn’t sleep, he could at least read. He rose and felt along the surfaces of the desk and table in search of a candle or a lantern. To his surprise, there were none.

  Now fully awake, he found the prospect of returning to bed to endure long hours of anxious speculation in the dark unacceptable. Quietly, he opened the door and went outside. The air was cool, and there was just enough moonlight to fill the garden with blurred shadows. His room was not far from Tulishen’s library. With soft steps, he followed the path that led to the adjacent courtyard. Removed from the family’s residential halls, the library was solemn and quiet, its ornate columns and intricate l
atticework softened by night. He went inside. Carefully, he made his way to a desk he knew to be in a corner alcove, where he found a candle in a bronze holder, and a box of sulfur matches. He lit one. With a hiss, it ignited, sending a flood of warm light over his hands, the surface of the desk, and the laden bookshelves closest to it.

  As he lit the candle, he felt more than heard the door of the library open again. It was almost silent on its oiled hinges, but a whisper of cool air touched his cheek, and made the flame dance. He turned around. “Lady Chen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would be here.”

  “But I hoped you would come to the library,” she said as she crossed the space to join him. “Knowing you like to read at night, I neglected to put a candle in your room.”

  “How did you know I like to read at night?”

  “Because when you stay here on holidays, the candles in your room are burned down each morning. I am not so brazen as to knock on your door when the household is sleeping, but there are many ways to justify our mutual presence here, should we be interrupted. Now, I cannot be kept in ignorance. What happened to bring you to our door so late?”

  Li Du hesitated. She waited, watching him with an expression of calm concern. “To explain what happened tonight,” he said finally, “it will be necessary to tell you why I came back to Beijing, and what I have been doing since I returned.”

  “I thought it might be,” she said. She picked up the candle and led him to a small study, where she set it down on a low table between two chairs. They sat, facing each other. In the warm, unsteady light, Lady Chen’s simple robe of pale gray silk would have made her appear carved from marble, were it not for her keen eyes and flushed cheeks, enlivened by anticipation.

  “You know I was exiled for my close friendship with a traitor,” Li Du began.

  “I do,” she replied. “Your mentor was accused of leading eight Ming loyalists in a plot to assassinate the Emperor.”

  “He was. Now I will tell you what you do not know.” Li Du drew in a deep breath, and began. He revealed to Lady Chen the devastation he had felt upon learning that Shu had confessed, and the guilt that had followed him through the lonely mountains of his exile. He told her of the spy on the snowy pass beyond Gyalthang, who had whispered to him of Shu’s innocence. He explained to her his decision to seek employment in the North Borough Office, and recounted his prolonged efforts to study the records of the assassination plot, and the case against Shu. Finally, he told her of Hamza’s journey with the book, of their meeting with Feng Liang, and of the events that had transpired in the hours leading up to his arrival at the mansion.

  She listened, rapt, interrupting only to ask for clarification. “But why are you so sure it was Feng Liang who arranged this attempt on your life?” she said, as soon as he had concluded the account. “Have you not considered the possibility that the attack was connected to your investigation of the murders at the Black Tile Factory?”

  Li Du studied the surface of the table between them. “That’s what I assumed when I received the note this afternoon. It was only after I returned to Water Moon Temple that I knew it was Feng.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because there was something missing from my room, a single item. A man had been sent to procure it during the very same hour I was supposed to die. The item is a Song edition of The Commentary on the Book of Rites.”

  Lady Chen’s eyes widened. “But that would be a very valuable book indeed.”

  “Yes, and there are only two people who knew I had it in my possession: Hamza and Feng Liang.”

  “Then—Feng Liang sent the man to steal it?”

  Li Du nodded. “However many lies he must have told me, he did not lie about his passion for books. His collection is his obsession.”

  “But you don’t think he tried to kill you just to get the book.”

  “No. I think it is more likely that when he made his arrangements, he realized the book could be his. He only needed to make sure he obtained it after I was gone, and before it was pulled from his reach.”

  “Did he also arrange for Hamza to be lured away so that you would be alone?”

  “I am almost certain he did. Lady Chen, I assume you have not told anyone of Hamza’s profession?”

  She thought. “No,” she said. “It was obvious that his decision to visit our city was not merely the whim of a traveler. I could see neither of you wanted to draw undue attention to his presence.”

  Recalling the alluring red letter with its gilded border, Li Du berated himself for not having guessed its real purpose. “I was surprised when Hamza received an invitation to perform,” he explained. “I should have known. Hamza told Feng he was a storyteller. As far as I know, he told no one else.”

  Lady Chen’s expression was grave. “Feng must have begun planning this within hours of your conversation with him.”

  Li Du nodded. “What I cannot understand is why.”

  “But it seems obvious to me,” said Lady Chen, with a slight arch to her dark brows. “Feng Liang lied when you confronted him. He was one of the conspirators. He must be the one you have been looking for all along, the one whose place Shu took. He wants you dead so that you cannot expose him.”

  Li Du rubbed his forehead. “It’s difficult to explain, but even if that is true, I cannot help but feel that Feng is protecting a different secret. When Hamza and I entered Feng’s library, he seemed afraid of what I was going to ask him. But when I told him I wanted to know about the Ming conspiracy, and Shu, he seemed almost relieved. It was as if he had expected me to ask him about something else.”

  Lady Chen looked doubtful. “What else could rouse him to such an act of violence?”

  “When I gave you the list of students,” said Li Du, trying to gather his thoughts, “I didn’t explain everything to you.” Quickly, he told her how Bai Chengde had drawn his erroneous conclusions about Li Du after learning that Li Du had visited Feng’s residence. “But Bai Chengde seems firmly convinced that Feng Liang is behind this examination fraud.”

  “Even if he was, you weren’t investigating examination fraud,” said Lady Chen. “Why would he risk attempting your life when you were obviously in complete ignorance?”

  Li Du didn’t know. “Perhaps he is so afraid of being discovered that he perceived within my question—” He stopped. “No, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “I have been thinking about that list,” said Lady Chen.

  “Of course,” Li Du replied. “You must have spoken to Li Yujin by now.”

  “I have. As I suspected, he insists he knows nothing about it.”

  “It makes sense that he would deny it,” said Li Du.

  “Even so,” said Lady Chen, “I maintain that he is telling the truth.”

  Knowing better than to challenge her when she spoke with certainty, Li Du chose not to comment. He waited for her to continue. “If he didn’t put his name on that list,” she said, “then someone else arranged for him to pass the examinations without his knowledge.”

  “Could Tulishen himself have done it?”

  Lady Chen rejected the idea at once. “Your cousin may be ambitious, but he would never put his child in such danger.” A small purse was tied to the sash of her robe with a length of braided red silk. She drew from it the crumpled paper Li Du had given her on his last visit, and set it on the table between them. “I’ve been looking at the names in search of something they have in common. These are all families who enjoy the envy of others. Successful families, secure in their wealth and status.”

  She pointed to the first name. “This man’s father, like your cousin, was given a Banner title. The family lives in the district of the Bordered Yellow Banner. They have a son already in the Hanlin Academy, and have instructed several princes in calligraphy and mathematics.” Tracing her fingertip to the next name, she continued. “This is another family of high status, Manchu. His father fought in the Dzungar campaigns in the thirty-sixth reign year, returned with honors, and now occu
pies a high position in the Ministry of Military Affairs.”

  Li Du recognized the third name. “I used to know this candidate’s father,” he said. “Before he was promoted.”

  “To the president of the Ministry of Revenue,” said Lady Chen. “One of his daughters was chosen to be an imperial consort. The family boasts endlessly of the fine gifts she sends them.” Lady Chen passed a hand vaguely over the remainder of the names. “One made wealthy through a monopoly of the salt trade, one just returned from campaigns in Longfan—”

  “Longfan?” Li Du repeated the word. A connection, thin and fragile, like a film of ice on water before the sun touches it, was forming in his mind.

  Lady Chen was still thinking out loud. “If these men pass the examinations, their families gain more wealth, more honor, more influence, but if they are caught cheating, they are disgraced. Whoever paid the bribe on their behalf can elevate them or ruin them. In short, control them.” She stopped, noticing Li Du’s distraction. “Something has occurred to you.”

  Li Du spoke slowly. “This family,” he said, pointing to the list. “You mentioned they have a daughter in the imperial household. Do you know whose consort she is?”

  “Of course. She is the consort of Prince Yinzao.”

  “The same prince,” said Li Du, “who returned only today from Longfan, where he has spent most of the last—” He paused. “The last nine years.” He looked at the list again. “You said this family tutored princes. Do you know which princes?”

  “I know one of them was Prince Yinzao,” murmured Lady Chen. She lifted worried eyes to Li Du’s face, her composure shaken. “You must realize these are very dangerous speculations.”

  Li Du tapped the list once more. “This one,” he said, “whose father served in the campaign against the Dzungars. That was Prince Yinzao’s first campaign.”