Jade Dragon Mountain (26 page)

“If I may, magistrate,” said Jia Huan, “it is true that Cheng's rank is higher. But Ju-hai has an old connection to the Feng family—they are still on terms of great intimacy. And the eldest Feng son has just been made, by imperial appointment, the Chief Master of the Government College.”

Tulishen was silent for a moment. He rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his fingers to his eyes, then blinked several times as if to clear his vision.“If I did not have so much on my mind I would have remembered.” He turned to Li Du. “You see how important navigating the web of connections is?” He returned his attention to Jia Huan. “I would not want to snub a friend of the Chief Master of my son's school. Already there are too many wolves and too little meat in that place. Obviously Ju-hai must not be offended. I will keep the meeting with him, and put off Cheng. Make the proper arrangements.”

“I will offer your sincere apologies to Cheng. Perhaps we may find one extra seat on your viewing platform for him?”

The deep wrinkles along Tulishen's brow smoothed a little. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that will keep him happy. After all—Cheng is also an important ally.”

Jia Huan straightened and adjusted the documents under his arm. “Then I will see to it directly,” he said.

He waited for the expected dismissal, but Tulishen, with another look at Li Du, said, “Stay until we have heard what report my cousin has to make. You may be required for some task that has proven beyond his capacity to accomplish.”

Tulishen and Jia Huan both looked at Li Du expectantly, and he prepared to speak. But Tulishen interrupted him before he could begin. “I can see that you have no answer for me. I did not think that you would. I told you from the beginning that you were fishing for the moon with this stubborn notion—this determination to find an assassin whom I am sure will never be found. You wish now that you had let it alone, do you?”

“No. I—”

“Well, it is too late. You have thrown off all the balance, and now you have the Emperor's attention. Jia Huan—show him.”

With a glimmer of apology directed at Li Du, too subtle to be perceived by Tulishen, Jia Huan drew out one of the scrolls and handed it to Tulishen, who unrolled it. Li Du moved closer to see. Even after many years he recognized its dimensions—one
chi
high and two
chi
broad. It was the stationery reserved for correspondence with the Emperor. Written on it was a letter in neat black ink, but the margins around it were filled with comments in red like flame sparks bursting on the page. Li Du silently skimmed the letter and the margin notes.

“That is the Emperor's own hand,” said Tulishen, darkly. “It is the letter we wrote”—he gestured at Jia Huan—“and it has been returned to us with the Emperor's reactions.” Tulishen skimmed through the red, pointing.

“He is interested in the case … eager for its resolution … he hopes to be diverted by the solution … he suggests another foreigner was responsible … foreigners prone to competition and quarreling amongst themselves … but here—see here.” Tulishen's finger shook slightly as he indicated the powerful crimson slashes of the final comment at the end of the letter.

“
Above all
,” it said, “
there must not be too many incidents. An excess of incidents in the border provinces places too great a strain upon the empire
.”

Tulishen looked accusingly at Li Du. “As you can see,” he said, “I wrote that your investigation is going well. So tell me—have you learned anything from your questions? Your forays to the dead man's grave? The clerk's offices?”

“No.”

Tulishen stopped pacing. He looked hard at Li Du through narrowed, swollen eyelids. “No?” He was incredulous. “That is all the answer I am to expect? Just—no?”

Li Du was deferential, but his voice did not waver. “You appointed me this task because you would not take it upon yourself. You told me that you could not possibly give it your attention. So I will not burden you now with the tangled threads and ill-cut pieces that occupy my thoughts. I have heard many things, but I have not fitted them into their proper places. I do not know what is relevant, and what is not. Surely you do not wish me to waste our time by listing all of it to you?”

“This—this impudence,” said Tulishen, “from you.”

Li Du said nothing.

“So,” continued Tulishen, “you have information but you refuse to share it with me. Are you somehow unaware of the gravity of the situation?”

“I am aware, Cousin. And I have a question that I wish to ask you.”

“What question?”

“Do you hope to fill the position in Beijing recently vacated by Magistrate Liu?”

Tulishen exhaled sharply. “That is my concern. It is not auspicious to discuss such matters, and it is no business of yours.”

Li Du considered. Tulishen was incensed. His skin was sallow, and his fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his long sleeves. He looked, Li Du thought with just a flicker of sympathy, exhausted and genuinely overwhelmed. “I have a reason for asking,” he said. “Do you have enemies here?”

“Enemies?” Tulishen was startled. “N-no,” he stuttered, “but—but of course there is competition for a position as high as the one I hold. I have rivals. Everyone has their ambitions. But what are you implying?” He peered at Li Du, suspicious, uncertain.

Wearing an expression of humble concern, Li Du said, “Have you considered that the murderer could have wanted to sabotage your promotion by destroying the festival?”

Tulishen stared; then awareness dawned. “I had never thought of that. Do you believe that I am in danger?”

Gently, Li Du shook his head. “It is an idea only,” he said.

But the shift of attention to himself as a victim had comforted Tulishen and improved his mood. He said, with a suggestion of warmth, “Your concern for my safety is touching, Cousin.”

“I apologize for prying into your personal affairs. You and the Lady Chen must be very proud that this opportunity has arisen.”

“Of course Lady Chen is pleased,” said Tulishen, a little too quickly. “Lady Chen is very loyal to this family, and has my best interests always in the forefront of her mind. Ask Jia Huan—she has been invaluable in the preparations for the festival. Tell him.”

Jia Huan's praise was effusive. “The Lady Chen has spent the last months devoted to the study of fashions of the capital. She has read all of the manuals. She questioned travelers. She practiced every delicacy with the cooks in the kitchen to ensure that the Emperor's favorite dishes are made to his satisfaction. She has trained the servants to be ready for all of the customs that are unfamiliar to them. They have memorized the correct tunes to play when the Emperor drinks tea, and those to play when he drinks wine.”

“And,” Li Du asked, casually, “will she enjoy Beijing?”

Tulishen blustered slightly. “Lady Chen in the capital? I am not sure that such a relocation is appropriate for one of her background. She is of a good local family, but among more polished ladies she does not appear to good advantage.”

“She is a beautiful woman, and as you say, very devoted to the family.”

“Yes, she is beautiful. But you know the peasant blood must assert itself eventually in a woman. Village beauty is a wildflower that blooms only briefly. My younger wives will retain their delicacy for many years—they have stayed in Beijing these past several years in part to preserve it. Lady Chen begins to show her age, and she has given me no sons. I do not wish to be embarrassed by her among the families of rank.”

When Li Du said nothing, Tulishen added, with a hint of defensiveness, “I am not denying that she has been a success here. She has made all of the preparations for the Emperor's comfort at the mansion, and we would be ready to receive him were it not for this—this matter.” He gesticulated and looked at Li Du as if Li Du himself was the source of the problem.

Li Du said, “The mansion is impeccable. But what is your opinion of Sir Gray and the Company tribute? Do you expect that Gray's audience will please the Emperor or aggravate him?”

“I am impressed with the man,” said Tulishen, “though I had not expected to be. I thought that the treasure would be a meager pile of foreign trinkets, and that the entire spectacle would be an embarrassment, an offense to the beauty of the mansion and the festival field. But this Company, whatever it is, does possess real wealth. I think that the gifts cannot but please the Emperor. The muskets in particular are of a new design that I must admit is better than any we have tried to produce. And the Persian perfume glows from glass bottles that resemble hollowed gemstones. There is white coral from the depths of the sea—”

“And the tellurion,” added Li Du.

“Yes—that too is very fine. And an intelligent gift, more intelligent than I anticipated from foreigners. It will augment the festival, not detract from it. And the Emperor will like it.”

“Because of its connection to astronomy? To the eclipse?”

Tulishen grunted affirmation. “And the chimes.”

“What chimes?”

Li Du read greed in his cousin eyes, and envy. Tulishen went on. “The miniature city built at its base is not just a statue. It has certain mechanisms inside it, similar to those foreign clocks with figures that dance when the hour is struck. The ship moves up and down on the waves, the trees blossom with pink jewel flowers, the bells swing in the tiny towers. Only the striking of the hour is, in this unique device, the eclipse. When it begins, so will the display, all for the Emperor's personal enjoyment. Picture it—the festival field dark, filled with lanterns like the stars in the heavenly path, and the Emperor high above the crowds holding the world in his hands…” Tulishen's gaze was far away, imagining it.

Li Du thought about it also. The tellurion had been a marvel even as he had seen it, glittering, in the cavernous, dim room, its movement imperceptible to the human eye. To see it perform during the eerie moments of darkness as the sun became a black disk, a door into nothing, sucking light from the world—such a sight would enchant even an emperor. It was, Li Du admitted, a gift that would not be surpassed anytime soon within the realm of material objects.

And, Li Du acknowledged, Tulishen was correct. The tellurion was a clever gift, meant to entice, to intrigue. The Emperor was a man of notorious curiosity. The Company had sent its lone messenger, Nicholas Gray, like bait dipped into a pond at the end of a fishing line. The Kangxi would want to meet the clockmakers, the jewelers, the sculptors and astronomers who had crafted the tellurion. He would want to demand explanations from them, to commission new work. But in order to have what he wanted, he would be forced to invite them to his empire. It was a strategy that the Jesuits had employed to great effect in the early years of their arrival, but Li Du wondered whether the Kangxi, despite his reputed fascination with new technology, would be so easily manipulated. He shuddered slightly. The thought of the mechanical click of time within that jeweled skeleton oppressed him. It was as if time itself had been trapped inside, a creature of boundless knowledge forced into a cage too small for it.

“Brother Pieter,” Li Du said, “took a special interest in the piece, and I had the impression that he wrote notes in a book—a journal, perhaps—as he examined it. But I have not seen such a book. Do you know where it might be?”

Tulishen looked inquiringly at Jia Huan, who shook his head with a perplexed air. “No—I have not seen anything of that nature. It would be with his other books.”

“But it is not,” said Li Du. “You and I have examined Pieter's possessions twice now. You are sure that it was not put in a separate place? Or perhaps”—Li Du was struck by the sudden idea—“perhaps it was buried with him?”

Tulishen frowned. “It was not buried with him. Your impression must have been wrong. Who says that he had one?”

“Mu Gao saw him writing in it.”

Tulishen exhaled sharply. “In that case you are wasting our time. Mu Gao's memory is rotten. Whatever he says is of no use to you. You should listen to Jia Huan. He can be relied upon.”

Jia Huan bowed low in gratitude. Tulishen gave a curt nod and said to him, “I want the arrangements made with Cheng within the hour. Do it yourself, in person. Then you can tell me if he takes offense.” He turned to Li Du. “Cousin, I have no more time for this. I must attend to other matters.”

When Tulishen was gone, a faint hint of distress crept across Jia Huan's expression. It was as if the magistrate's departure allowed the young man a moment's respite from the unwavering competence that Tulishen took for granted in his new secretary. Jia Huan's brow creased in concentration, but after a moment he shook his head, frustrated. “I don't know what could have happened to it,” he said. “I am sorry.”

“But it is not your fault,” said Li Du. “I asked the question on the chance that you knew where it was, but I think it likely that the journal was taken on purpose. By now it may have been destroyed.”

“Do you think it contained a clue to the identity of the killer?”

“Perhaps. Or the killer thought it might.”

Jia Huan waited for Li Du to continue. When he did not, the secretary straightened his shoulders and looked over Li Du's shoulder in the direction of the gate. “You have no further need of me now?” he asked.

“You are very patient,” said Li Du. “I know that there is a great deal of pressure being put on you in these final days. No doubt you have borne much of my cousin's anxiety over this investigation.”

Jia Huan inclined his head very slightly, but his tone was crisp. “It is an honor to be in Dayan at this time, for a festival that will be unlike any other I have seen. But the murder—it has unsettled the situation. The magistrate is”—he searched for a word, as if afraid of being disrespectful—“he is stretched too thinly between all of the duties that have been placed upon him.”