City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  “But you forget that our own family is also on the list,” said Lady Chen. “We have no connection with—” Realizing her error, she went silent. “The temple,” she whispered, after a moment. “Prince Yinzao is a patron of your cousin’s temple.”

  Li Du nodded. “Of the seven names on this list, we know five have a personal connection to Prince Yinzao. I think it very likely that the other two do, also.” He stared unseeingly at the paper as his thoughts tumbled over each other, falling into patterns only to break apart. “I must think,” he said finally.

  Lady Chen stood up. “And rest,” she said firmly. “And I must return to my chamber. If there is trouble coming to this house, there is no room for errors or misunderstandings.” She picked up the list and handed it to Li Du. “This should not remain here.”

  He took it, and thanked her. He wanted to tell her that there was no danger, but he could see by the set of her expression that she understood the situation too well to expect or want false reassurances. They both knew that, in matters of palace intrigue, there was no certain outcome, and innocence was no guarantee of safety.

  At the door of the library, Lady Chen blew out the candle. They stood in the dark, entwined in pale smoke. “Will what you know help you to free Hamza?” she asked.

  “I hope so, but before I try to liberate our friend, there is another errand I must perform.”

  “What is that?”

  “As soon as the gates open, I need to visit a bookstore.”

  Chapter 45

  The examination yard opened at dawn. Shopkeepers with sleepy eyes waved signs in front of their stalls in a final effort to sell brushes and blankets. Friends and relatives pressed small gifts of food into the hands of candidates, adding to the odor of perspiration and incense a sweet note of pears. From a platform outside the entrance, an examination official shouted instructions, issuing dire warnings about carelessness with candles, and reminding everyone of the year a thousand candidates perished in smoke and flame within those very walls. The candidates listened as their baskets and bodies were subjected to rough inspections by clerks searching for hidden copies of the classics.

  Within the yard, candidates shuffled along the narrow alleys that divided the rows of wooden cells, searching for their assigned places, trying not to trip over jugs of water spaced at regular intervals along the ground. Once inside their cells, they arranged their meager belongings as best they could on the two moveable planks provided for use as a desk, a seat, and a bed. Nervous stomachs put the latrines to immediate use, and those unfortunates in the cells closest to them prepared to endure the stench that would only intensify over the next three days.

  Once the thousands were searched and seated, the examiners would arrive with their clerks and cooks, and proceed either to the comfortable offices built for them, or the high, covered platform that allowed them a view of every candidate. The open cells exposed the test-takers not only to the watchful scrutiny of the examiners and guards, but also to the sky. If it rained, six thousand oilcloth sheets would be seized and thrown over pages before the words written on them could blur. If the weather remained clear, the night would turn the yard into a reflection of the starry sky, as thousands of students determined not to stop working lit their single candles.

  While the candidates were filing into the examination yard, Li Du was making his way back to the Outer City, eerily empty after weeks of being overcrowded. Newly washed blankets hung from sagging clotheslines in the courtyards of inns, whose proprietors at last had time to clean. Passing one of these inns, Li Du heard the slap of running footsteps. A moment later, he was almost knocked over by a man who came hurtling through the open door into the alley. His feet were bare, his robes hung open, and his hair was unbraided. He skidded to a halt, looked wildly to the left and right, then fixed red-rimmed eyes on Li Du. “When do the exams begin?” His breath reeked of alcohol.

  Before Li Du could answer, an older man in servant’s attire rushed out, took the young man’s arm, and begged him to be calm. The young man stared, then nodded obediently. “I have to find my ink stone,” he said vaguely. “Do you have my brushes?” As the servant coaxed his charge back into the courtyard, Li Du caught a glimpse of his agonized expression. The young man freed himself and began tracing words in the air in front of him with his finger.

  “It’s too late,” the old servant said to Li Du. “I shouldn’t have let him near the common room last night. He’s not used to wine. He’ll never forgive me when he comes to his senses.”

  Li Du looked at him sympathetically. “Give your master a strong cup of bitter tea and get him to the examination yard. I can assure you of two things. He is not the only candidate taking the tests after a night of overindulgence, and some of history’s best essays have been written by inebriated scholars.” Hope kindled in the servant’s eyes. After delivering a torrent of grateful words in a thick provincial accent, he spun around and threw himself into action. As Li Du walked down the alley, he could hear the old man issuing instructions with the confidence of a general entering battle.

  He arrived at Wu’s bookstore to find it empty of customers. Wu was at his desk. He looked up, recognized Li Du, and raised the paper he was holding, fluttering it beckoningly. “At last,” he said. “The candidates are locked up, and the old men of the capital can read for a while in peace. I have the newest edition for you. Without giving away too much, I can promise you will be entertained. To give you just a taste, the Zhens have been accused of misallocating funds for flood relief, a merchant has been convicted of manslaughter for beating an innkeeper who, he says, served him spoiled wine, and the rumors that a Seventh Dalai Lama has been identified continue to gain strength. And that is only the first page.”

  Li Du accepted the gazette that was handed to him, but didn’t look at it. “I have come to ask a favor.”

  Wu, who had taken another copy from the pile on his desk and resumed his perusal, looked up at Li Du from beneath his cloud-like eyebrows. “One of these days, you must start buying books, and not simply looking at them. Can I tempt you with a facsimile of a Song edition of The Records of the Grand Historian?”

  “I am in search of a text,” said Li Du. “But it is not one you keep on your shelves.”

  He saw an infinitesimal narrowing of Wu’s eyes. “How intriguing. If you are looking for a rare title, I can make inquiries.”

  “I would like to examine the documents associated with a death that occurred under suspicious circumstances.”

  “You mean a case record?” Wu sounded mystified. “Of course you won’t find such a record on my shelves. You’ll have to go to the Ministry of Punishments and submit a request to search their archives. Surely that is common knowledge among secretaries?”

  “It is, and I would go to the Ministry of Punishments if I wanted to see the official, final version of the record. But I am interested in an earlier draft. I’d like to see the case as it was originally presented to the Emperor, and I’d like to see the notes the Emperor made in the margins as he reviewed it.”

  The gazette scraped softly across the desk as Wu slowly pushed it aside. “The words the Emperor writes are an extension of the Emperor himself,” he said. “They are neither sold in bookstores, nor stuffed in disorganized ministry record halls. They are kept within the walls of the palace. Of all people, you must know where.” The bookseller was looking at Li Du very keenly now.

  “I do,” Li Du said. “They were kept in the imperial library, where I occasionally had the honor to see them myself. But as I have no access to the palace, and no knowledge of where to find them now that the library is not what it once was, I need your help.”

  Wu smiled, not unsympathetically, and tapped the side of his temple gently with the tip of his finger. “I have seen this before,” he said. “The day of the examinations can set a former candidate’s nerves on edge, even after many years. You look as if you didn’t sleep well last night. May I guess your dreams? You dreamed you finished your essays
, only to look at the pages and realize they were blank. You dreamed you could not pack your basket to take into the examination yard, because the objects you placed inside it kept flying out again. You dreamed you arrived too late, and the gates of the yard were closed. This is no cause for concern, but I advise you to get some rest. Once your mind is clear, you will wonder why you came to me so early in the morning, asking questions to which I cannot possibly know the answers. And I will reassure you that, among us old eccentrics, such wanderings of the mind are easily forgiven.”

  For a moment while Wu was speaking, Li Du almost believed he was right. “I am tired,” he said, when Wu had finished. “But it is essential for me to examine that record.”

  “Essential or not, it’s not possible.”

  Li Du pulled his shoulders back and regarded Wu with a level gaze. “I believe that, as the Emperor’s spy in Liulichang, you have the power to make it possible.”

  “Spy?” Wu stared. “What strange fancy has overtaken you? I am no such thing.”

  Li Du’s affect remained unchanged. “I turn to you because I have no other choice. If you assist me, I can offer you information vital to the Emperor.”

  Wu’s countenance was undergoing a subtle alteration. He looked the same, but younger, somehow, and straighter. There was a steely glint in his eye that suggested the discipline not of a bookseller, but of a soldier. “As a citizen of the capital,” he said, “I strongly urge you to report whatever you know to the authorities at once.”

  “I am offering to report it, now, to you.”

  Wu glanced toward the door. “Please,” Li Du said quickly. “Don’t summon your soldiers. You have asked me many questions since my return to the capital, more questions than most booksellers ask their patrons, and of a different tenor. Do you think I am a criminal?”

  “I do not,” said Wu.

  “Or a liar?”

  “I think you have secrets.”

  “I would not do you the discourtesy of denying it, but I am not here to trick you. The information I am offering is worth the favor I ask.”

  Wu stood up, walked silently to the door of the shop, and closed it. “You don’t have much time,” he said. “I know that you were dismissed from the North Borough Office, and I know that you are not supposed to be in the city. The chief inspector and the magistrate are looking for you. What is it you have to tell me?”

  “It concerns Prince Yinzao.”

  Li Du would have thought it impossible for Wu’s attention to sharpen any further. Now it became like the point of a knife. “What about the prince?”

  “Will you give me access to the records I need?” When Wu hesitated, Li Du continued. “They are not secret. If I were still a librarian, I would have been able to see them at any time.”

  Wu gave a stiff nod. “I will do what I can.”

  Li Du accepted this, knowing he had to. Then he drew in a breath. He had been given the whole night to think, and he had not wasted it. “Prince Yinzao,” he began, “in collusion with a man called Feng, has been selecting certain candidates, and ensuring that they pass the examinations.”

  Wu’s face was tense with concentration. “Why?”

  “In order to place in positions of power individuals who will support him in the battle of succession.”

  “It is unlikely that a few high-ranking officials could influence the Emperor’s choice of heir.”

  “Not a few, no. But I am not talking about this year’s examinations alone. I believe Prince Yinzao has been elevating his supporters within the government for years, while gaining power over them by making them unwittingly complicit in examination misconduct. Ever since he was sent away, he has been preparing for his return.”

  “I trust,” said Wu, “that you have not spoken of this to anyone else?”

  “I have not.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “Nothing at present.”

  Wu took a deep breath and sighed, which made him look more like the bookseller to whom Li Du was accustomed. He removed his hat and jacket from behind the desk. “Then I know the task that lies before me,” he said. “And you seem to know the one that lies before you.” Wu opened a drawer in his desk. Withdrew a sheet of thick, formal paper. “You cannot go directly to the palace,” he said as he prepared ink. “Arrangements must be made.” He glanced up, taking in Li Du’s plain, wilted robes. “And you need to dress more formally.”

  “I still have the robes I used to wear,” said Li Du.

  Wu composed a brief message, sealed it, and handed it to Li Du. “At the hour of the goat,” he said, “present this at the palace gate, and you will be taken where you need to go.”

  Li Du thanked him and turned to leave. As he pulled open the door, he heard Wu’s voice again. “Tread softly, if you are walking toward the past,” he said. “I offer you this advice as a friend.”

  Chapter 46

  In the courtyard of Water Moon Temple, Li Du was intercepted by the head cleric, whose hurried passage past the incense cauldron spread tangled swirls through the cloud of smoke.

  “You have returned,” he said. “We have been worried, not for the first time in recent days, that you might have come to harm during the night. And are we to understand that you intend to leave our humble community?”

  Li Du had continued walking, so that they now stood just outside his room. “Who told you I intend to leave?”

  “A clerk from your office came here earlier this morning to ask whether you had departed the capital. I was surprised. I told him you didn’t return to your room last night, but that you had not, to my knowledge, departed permanently. Can you explain?”

  Li Du placed a hand on his door and pushed it open. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not now.”

  The head cleric stepped forward, prepared to follow Li Du into his room. “But are we to begin searching for a new tenant? What about your friend? When can we expect answers, if not now?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Li Du. “I intend to resolve the situation by tomorrow.” After murmuring an apology, he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He went directly to a corner of the room, where he knelt in front of a heavy trunk difficult to distinguish from the dark wood of the walls and floor. There were travel supplies resting on its lid—blankets, satchels, pots, and a worn guidebook. He set them on the floor. Then he opened the trunk, releasing a faint fragrance of cedar and an incense of sandalwood that, in years past, had been popular at court. The smell of it surprised him, not only because it transported him to mornings in his study filled with books, when his court robes were presented to him, brushed and scented, but because he had forgotten that he had ever used it.

  Gently, he withdrew the books that rested in a layer at the top of the trunk. Beneath them, carefully folded, were two robes. The first was of blue silk, a rich, deep blue that slid through his fingers like a piece cut from the night sky. The second was an undercoat with a wide, embroidered hem depicting two dragons stretching their claws toward a pearl suspended between them. Beneath the robes were a pair of black silk boots with white soles, and a hat of black and red, topped with a small golden sphere. He dressed quickly. After nine years, the robes hung a little looser on him than they had before, but the effect was not pronounced.

  He left the temple through the side gate nearest to his room in order to avoid further questions from the clerics. During the short, uncomfortable journey by sedan chair to the headquarters of the Gendarmerie, he silently tested the strategies he had considered to effect Hamza’s liberation. Names rattled in his mind with each jounce and dip of the sedan chair—connections he might use, and identities he might assume. He studied a mental map of the courtyards and offices within the complex, and reviewed what he understood of the Gendarmerie’s unique administrative procedures.

  Upon arriving, he set his face into what he hoped was its most authoritative expression and stepped down onto the cobbles, only to look up and discover that his preparations had been unnecessary. Hamza wa
s sauntering toward him from within the Gendarmerie’s outer courtyard. He was flanked by two soldiers, who, upon reaching the entrance, exchanged words with him and, Li Du thought, friendly gestures. As he watched, Hamza bowed, then strode into the sunlight.

  He recognized Li Du and hurried forward, beaming, to greet him. Looking only slightly wilted from the night’s adventures, he took in Li Du’s appearance with a look of bemused appreciation. “Yesterday you were a humble clerk with ink stains on your sleeves,” he said. “Today I find you transformed. How did you come by this finery?” He studied with interest the embroidered badge affixed to Li Du’s chest. “What frothing sea is this, with red and golden waves? And what bird? And why is he flying toward a sun?”

  “It is only a symbol of rank,” said Li Du self-consciously. He directed them down an alley toward a nearby market that promised enough noise to muffle their conversation. “What happened to you last night?”

  Hamza exhaled through his nose in an affronted huff. “I found the street that was indicated on the invitation, but by some mocking magic of your city’s shifting walls, the mansion had disappeared from it. I was determined not to deprive the guests, wherever they were, of the entertainment promised them, so I continued my search until I was accosted by two soldiers, who took it into their minds that I might be some variety of miscreant. As if a thief would dress in pale silk at night. I could have persuaded them not to take me into custody, but it occurred to me that, if I was not to enjoy the luxuries of Baldan’s mansion, I was in need of a place to stay until morning.”

  “But how did you convince them to release you so amicably?”

  Hamza bought a pear from a fruit seller and bit into it appreciatively. “Last night, when they asked me who I was, and why I had come to the capital, I told them the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “I told them that I am a storyteller, that I journeyed from the western deserts, beyond the empire’s borders, and that my only intention is to entertain the good people of this city before I continue on my way. Then, as if to apologize for its temporary desertion, good fortune returned to me in the gloomy offices of the prison. The wardens asked me to prove my claim by entertaining them with a tale.”