City of Ink

by Elsa Hart

  The Emperor’s expression tightened. “Your concern is not surprising, given that a member of your own family is among them.” Then a tired breath, almost a sigh, escaped his lips. “There will be no punishment where it is not deserved,” he said. “I have no wish to inspire disloyalty where there was none before. Continue your account.”

  Li Du’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief. His words came more easily. “Once I knew that the prince is scheming with Feng now, the possibility occurred to me that the two had also conspired in the past. From there, the pieces began to fall into place. You sent the prince away nine years ago, not long after the attempted assassination. I allowed myself to imagine that it was he who had orchestrated the attack, and the picture became clearer.”

  Li Du had been looking at the Emperor. Now his gaze shifted to another corner of the library. Rows of tall shelves separated them from the table around which the conspirators had gathered. An image rose unbidden before him of them seated there now, shades consigned to repeat their doomed preparations until they faded from memory. He turned back to the Emperor. “Shu was in the library when the prince met with his conspirators for the final time. Shu saw the meeting, but he didn’t understand the significance of what he had seen until he learned that the men who had gathered there were all dead.”

  “All but one,” murmured the Emperor.

  The pain in the other man’s expression caused Li Du to hesitate, but the Emperor made a small gesture, commanding him to continue. “Shu knew you would want to conceal your son’s betrayal from your subjects. He offered to help you do it. Not only did Shu’s arrest end the search for the rumored ninth conspirator, but his confession confirmed the story of the Ming conspiracy that was put in place to shield the prince.”

  For the first time in their conversation, Li Du’s voice trembled. It did not escape the Emperor’s notice. “This revelation upset you,” he said.

  Li Du steadied his breath. “I couldn’t understand Shu’s actions.”

  The Emperor’s brows lifted slightly in challenge. “Why not? A loyal subject is willing to die for his Emperor.”

  “Yes,” said Li Du. “And Shu was loyal. He would have given his life for you, but he would not have given it to protect the reputation of a son who had betrayed you. I knew there was something I had not yet uncovered.”

  “Which led you to this.” The Emperor looked down at the report.

  “I had seen the official report of the accidental death of Mei’s husband,” said Li Du. “It was included in the files associated with Shu, but it bore no trace of the changes you had made to it. I never considered its possible significance.” He paused. “If Mei had been convicted of murdering her husband, you were the only person in the empire who could have saved her. Shu—”

  The Emperor raised a hand, commanding silence. “The rest of the account is mine to tell. Shu came to me, as you said. He told me what he had seen in the library. Then he told me of his daughter, whom he loved. He had arranged a marriage for her, only to discover that he had given her to a monster, a man as cruel as he was brutal. In defense of her own life, she raised her hand against him, and by that action, caused his death. The magistrate had ordered her execution. His report would come before me within the month. Shu begged me to save her. In exchange, he offered me his help, and his life. This secret, that was mine alone to keep, is now yours, also.”

  For the entirety of their exchange, Li Du had heard only their voices, and the silence in the library. Now, small sounds returned. He heard, faintly, a breeze rustle the dry stalks of lotuses in a nearby pond, a bird’s trill, a distant bell.

  The Emperor was thinking. A hint of a smile hovered around his lips. “What, now, is to be done with you?” he asked. “Among your other offenses, you have conducted a covert investigation intended to undermine a determination of the throne. Yet, in doing so, you have alerted me, for a second time, to danger. As I believe your unique talents would be put to better use elsewhere, you will not remain at the North Borough Office. But I perceive uncertainty in your expression. Surely you do not intend to refuse the command of your Emperor?”

  “I will be honored to perform whatever service you ask of me,” said Li Du. “It is only that, before I depart the North Borough Office, there is a certain matter I feel an obligation to resolve. I wondered if I might, most humbly, ask for your help.”

  Chapter 48

  Three days later, the streets were once again populated with candidates. Allowed only a single day to recover before they reentered the yard for a second round of testing, they paced the inn courtyards, hollow-eyed and distracted. Some tried to rest, others to study. Once again, the purses of fortune-tellers were filled with coins, and temple caretakers rejoiced at the generous donations.

  Chief Inspector Sun was in a relaxed mood. A good night’s rest and a succession of positive developments had lifted his features. He had just returned from the offices of the magistrate, and was in his office, sharing a pot of tea with Li Du. “Kirsa has confessed to arranging Hong’s death,” he said. “It happened just the way you explained it to me. He feared the murder investigation would lead us to him, and hoped a quick confession from Hong would divert attention from Pan’s schemes. When the confession did not come quickly enough, Kirsa had Hong killed, and the death was made to look like a suicide. I’m surprised he thought it was worth such a risk.”

  Li Du’s expression was thoughtful. “The short exchange I had with him left me with the impression that he is not a patient man. I imagine he preferred to take control of the situation, rather than wait and watch. That also explains his insistence that I be sent away. I think he understood Magistrate Yin’s disposition, and trusted him not to look too closely into the circumstances.”

  “If you ask me,” said Sun darkly, “Magistrate Yin would not emerge unscathed from a corruption investigation.” His expression cleared. “Fortunately, the question of whether Magistrate Yin was corrupt or merely incompetent is no longer of concern to my office. By all accounts, his replacement, Magistrate Po, is as fair and competent an administrator as I could hope to serve.” He paused and looked at Li Du with a slight twinkle in his eye. “Though he will have to be exceptionally impressive if he is to compensate for the departure of a most valued assistant.”

  After delivering this compliment, Sun’s expression became more serious. “We know that Kirsa is responsible for the death of Hong, and we know that Zou Anlin is responsible for the death of Pan. But I begin to think we will never know who entered the factory that night with a sharp blade, and murderous intent. It must have been someone connected to one of Pan’s schemes, but how to begin, when he was involved in so many?”

  Li Du set down his cup. Over the previous three days, numerous small plots, orchestrated by Pan, had been brought to light. Li Du had made several adjustments to the accounts he had given. Erchen’s secret remained safe. Li Du himself had met briefly with the young candidate that morning, who, despite looking wan and exhausted, was tentatively optimistic about his essays. And, even though Aveneau’s incriminating letter was still missing, Li Du had done his best to shield the Jesuits, including managing to misplace the chess piece containing the seal of the Censor’s Office. The other forged seals, which Pan had used to facilitate his nocturnal wanderings, had been incorporated into evidence.

  As for Li Du himself, despite having reassumed his secretarial robes, a change in his bearing must have been apparent. Since his return to the North Borough Office with an imperial letter canceling his assignment to Tongzhou, the clerks had begun to address him with increased deference. When he had informed Chief Inspector Sun of his intention to pursue other career opportunities, Sun had reacted with the affectionate pride of an older brother.

  Now the chief inspector was looking curiously at his soon-to-be-former secretary. “I notice you are not trying as hard as you did in the past to hide your intelligence,” he said. “Clearly, you have an idea. What is it?”

  “I was thinking of Madam Ho
ng,” said Li Du.

  “That unfortunate, beautiful woman,” said Sun. “I do not expect we will ever know what purpose brought her to her fate that night.”

  Li Du refilled their cups, then leaned back in his chair. “Her purpose was blackmail. Madam Hong was the blackmailer.”

  Sun’s eyebrows shot up. “But how do you know?”

  “Because of a glimpse of red silk.”

  “Red silk?”

  “On the afternoon of Hong’s party, Pan, Kirsa, and Ji conducted what they thought was a secret conversation. They were, in fact, overheard.”

  “Yes,” Sun said, a little impatiently. “By the scholar Bai.” He motioned for Li Du to continue.

  “When I confronted Ji with the subject of that conversation, he remembered that, at the time, he thought he’d seen someone. Red silk among the green leaves were his words. Ji is not a man to mistake color. It is his obsession.”

  “But what does this signify?”

  Li Du thought back to his conversation that morning with the scholar Bai, who had been relieved to learn that his efforts had been appreciated, and that the matter was to be resolved quietly, so that the examinations would not be tainted by scandal. “Bai prefers the subtle shades of scholar’s robes,” he said, returning his attention to Sun. “I have since confirmed that Bai was not wearing red silk that day. According to her servants, Madam Hong was.”

  “But it was a gentlemen’s party!”

  “It was her home,” said Li Du. “Whether Madam Hong intended to eavesdrop or not, what she heard gave her an idea. Her art collections had driven the household into debt, and she was badly in need of money. She recognized Pan, and knew that he came often to her husband’s factory. It was Madam Hong who sent him the blackmail note, Madam Hong who quoted The Bitter Plum to communicate to him what she had overheard. The moon shines on my beloved in the old pavilion, green with moss.”

  Sun nodded slowly. “If that is true, it explains why she was there that night, and it explains the silver. Pan was going to pay her.”

  “It also explains the motive for her murder,” said Li Du.

  “I don’t understand. If she was blackmailing Pan, then he had a motive to kill her. But who else did?”

  “Let us return to the blackmail note,” said Li Du. “Madam Hong composed a message that, to anyone who had not read the novel, would appear to be merely a message of illicit love, and one not easily traced to her. She knew Pan had read the novel, and recently, because it had been selected for discussion at her husband’s gathering. She didn’t want to risk signing her name, so she relied on the content of the message to communicate to Pan that its sender had been at the party, and had overheard his conversation. Up to a point, her plan was successful. Pan received the letter—either in the evening after the party or early the next morning—understood its meaning, and came to the factory with the silver. I imagine he was even intrigued.”

  Li Du paused. “At the beginning of this case, when we stood in the dim room at the factory, you were certain of what you saw. You believed it was a crime of rage, a crime committed by a man who found his wife in the arms of her lover and exacted bloody revenge. I was the one who led us another way. As soon as I recognized the hidden meaning in the note, I dismissed the motive that had seemed so apparent to you. In doing so, I failed to consider that, despite the intent, the note could still be read as a love letter, and the scene still misinterpreted as infidelity.”

  Sun stopped him. “Are you saying that, all this time, it was Hong?”

  “No,” said Li Du. “But there was someone else who might have shared his motive.”

  “You cannot mean?” Sun stared at Li Du. “But that’s impossible. You cannot be referring to Lady Ai? But she is a woman. And a woman wouldn’t—” He paused, temporarily overwhelmed by his own incredulity. “A woman, especially a woman of such delicacy, would never have the strength to overcome two people.”

  “I believe that many women would,” replied Li Du. “But recall that in this case, she would not have had to overcome two people. Pan was already dead.”

  “But she was in her home when the night watch began. I confirmed it myself. Even if she could have left the house unnoticed during the night, she couldn’t have reached the factory without being stopped at walls and alley gates.”

  “No,” said Li Du. “Not unless she knew how to avoid being stopped. Pan had a system of moving through the city at night, the system he referred to as tunnels. In the same way a map can be shared, the way through his tunnels could be taught.”

  Slowly, Sun rose to his feet and reached for his hat. “I hope you intend to come with me,” he said.

  * * *

  When they arrived at Pan’s home, they found both the inner and outer courtyards filled with people. Servants packed open crates, and hired laborers lashed the closed ones together in preparation for travel. A maid informed them of what had happened. A letter from the family had at last arrived. They requested Lady Ai to bring Pan’s body home for burial. The Beijing residence had already been sold. Sun asked where they could find her mistress. The maid said she was in the former master’s study.

  Lady Ai was sitting at the desk, staring at its surface, now empty of papers or books. Her small hands rested on the lacquered wood. Her face was paler than it had been, her features sleepless and sunken. Her expression, upon recognizing Sun and Li Du, was unmistakable. She had been expecting them.

  “Lady Ai,” said Sun. “I have come—”

  “Yes,” she interrupted, in a tone more listless than impatient. “I know why you are here.”

  “Then you understand I must ask you to come with me now.”

  She didn’t move. “May we stay a little longer? You must have questions. I would rather answer them here.”

  “It is not an unreasonable request,” said Li Du.

  Sun, looking slightly lost, did not protest. Lady Ai stood up, an action that seemed to require all her strength. Almost as if she had forgotten they were there, she went to one of the walls and began to touch the objects on the shelf, brushing her fingers gently over each one. “He brought me to the capital with him because he could not bear to leave me behind.” Her voice was soft, but held an unexpected warmth that belied the brittle detachment of her bearing. “I knew everything about him. Everything. I knew that his mind insisted on finding every little path around what was required, around the rules. I knew he didn’t care about what belonged to other people. I knew he thought he was superior to everyone else, superior even to the gods. I was the only one who knew, and I was the only one he loved. The only one.” Her fingers reached a slim vase glazed the deep green of forest moss. “We were not a man and a woman. Ours was the love of moons and stars. We existed in the heavens together. These little cities and walls meant nothing to us.”

  Li Du spoke quietly. “But he didn’t tell you everything. You found the letter when you mended his coat, didn’t you? He had left it in his pocket.”

  Her hand dropped abruptly to her side, but she didn’t turn around to face them. Words poured from her, conjuring dark heavens, unconfined and mad. “When I saw the letter, I could not bear it. I felt that something inside me had woken up, a black snake that coiled and spat and filled my veins with burning poison. He had never loved another. He could not love another.”

  Sun, looking as if he was caught in a storm, swallowed and spoke with an effort. “You used the paths he had taught you—the tunnels—to go to the Black Tile Factory.”

  The narrow shoulders relaxed, and Lady Ai resumed her inspection of the shelves. She reached her hand up again, and traced the maze pattern on a square porcelain box. “The tunnels, yes,” she said. “They were our secret. We could make walls move. We could make the whole city open up for us. I took the knife from our kitchen. I knew the way to the factory, his special way, the way through the dark. I stood concealed, just across from the entrance. I almost didn’t go inside. It was so quiet. I thought I must have been wrong. He couldn’t be there
. He was home, waiting for me. Then I saw her. She crept down the street in the shadows, and went inside. I waited. I thought my heart would burn me. Then I followed. I crossed the courtyard and slipped into the room after her. At first I couldn’t see him. Then I realized he was on the bed, waiting for her. And she was bending over him, in gold like a beautiful bird, about to wake him with a kiss. I had the knife in my hand. It was so dark. All I could see was that great golden bird, that treacherous goddess. And I—I killed him. He didn’t even wake up. He never woke.”

  Lady Ai turned around, her hand at her throat. Her breath came in short gasps, as if she was suffocating. “The woman was screaming, but I didn’t hear her. I wanted her dead. And then she was. She was quiet. They were both quiet, and so was I. And it was so dark.” She stopped abruptly. Her hand dropped to her side again.

  Sun opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He glanced imploringly at Li Du. “You left the factory,” said Li Du calmly. “And you saw Hong, didn’t you?”

  Lady Ai stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “I wanted to die for what I had done. I wanted to be with him again. So I went toward the soldiers at the end of the alley. I believe I planned to show them my hands, covered in blood. But then, as I drew nearer, I heard—I heard singing and laughing. And I saw him, Hong, stumble out into the alley. He came toward me. He was singing, and swaying from side to side, and laughing. He didn’t see me. I wanted to scream at him. Do you know where your wife was tonight? And as soon as I thought those words, I realized that, if he had known, he would have done as I had. He would have taken up a knife and plunged it into his wife and her lover.”

  “And the law would have protected him,” said Li Du. “Though it would not protect you.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “And I thought to myself, why should I be executed before a crowd, when he would not? Why should I die? He would have done it, had he known. Why not suggest that he had?”