The White Mirror (17 page)

“The Chhöshe is sure that no one came into this room?”

“That is what he says. But he admits his attention was on his prayers.”

Hamza turned to look at Li Du. “And why do you sit and study the empty frame?”

“I am trying to remember what it contained.”

“And do you remember?”

Li Du sighed in frustration. “I did not take the time to study it. I retain only an impression of the charcoal sketch.”

Hamza nodded. “And the only colors were blue and green.”

“Yes. The central figure wore chains of pearls and severed heads across his chest. He had tusks like a boar and wore a crown of skulls. His many arms were stretched wide, and beneath his feet were tangled human forms. There were three figures above him, and three below, and so many details I could not possibly recall them.” Li Du raised a hand and rubbed his eyes. “Shells and tongues and eyes and animals with jewels falling from their jaws … and flames. The figure at the center was surrounded by a ring of flames. When I described it to the Chhöshe, he told me it might have been a wrathful incarnation of the bodhisattva Manjusri.”

Hamza had begun to traverse the periphery of the small room, his head lowered as he listened to Li Du. When Li Du finished, he stopped. “Let us go out into the air,” he said. “I do not like these walls.”

As they made their way through the outer room, Hamza stopped just long enough to pick up one of the little golden spheres from the bowl full of them. “Pilgrim beads,” he said, and held it to the light with a look of appreciation. “I have always liked these. They are like the eggs of the hawk who flew to the sun and hunted with the firebirds.” He handed it to Li Du.

“Gold powder,” said Li Du, “that turns to gold paint in water.”

“My description was better,” Hamza said. “But yes—that is what they are.”

“One of these must have been used to paint the mirror's golden frame,” Li Du said. “That is why there was no packet of gold paint. It was not needed.”

Hamza took the bead back and set it in the bowl. “This murderer uses beautiful objects for ugly purposes.”

Outside, they were instantly enveloped by shifting gray clouds. As they began their descent to the manor, Li Du gave Hamza a brief account of his search of Sera's room, of the conversation he had overheard between Pema and Sonam, and of his meeting with the Chhöshe. He concluded with a summary of Paolo Campo's insistence that tulkus were servants of the devil.

Hamza sighed. “When I die, please protect me from the actions of the faithful.”

Li Du, who was used to such statements, was only faintly surprised. He asked Hamza what he meant.

Hamza looked over his shoulder toward the temple that was no longer in sight. “There are places,” he said, “in this land and in others, where the wealthy are preserved in shrouds like the one that now wraps the painter. Instead of being released into the air by fire or offered to the creatures under the earth, they are kept preserved in hidden castles of the dead. Their faces are covered in masks painted to resemble the way they looked in life. But their skin is gold and their eyes do not move.” Hamza frowned. “If you have any influence when the time comes, please do not permit me to be locked away like that.”

Li Du considered Hamza's words. “In my opinion, you cannot be condemned to a fate after death unless it is within your own belief to be condemned to it.”

Hamza stared moodily at a tree. “You do not have to believe in something to be consumed by it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have heard it said that gods are sustained by the belief of the people who worship them. If you think this is true, you might assume that gods are desperate to keep their believers. But that is not always so. I have met gods who are ready for death, but are not granted it. They want to dissolve, but their worshippers will not let them. For these gods, belief is a prison.”

“But we all have the will to survive.”

“Dhamo did not. Or so his murderer wished us to accept.”

Li Du made a little sound acknowledging the truth of this, and Hamza continued. “I would not want to be a saint or a god. I might want to be a white bird, someday, who sings for the forest in trees as big as worlds, or skims the waves over rocks to comfort castaways on islands invisible to ships.”

Li Du was lost for a moment in the current of Hamza's words. With an effort, he pulled himself out of it. “What have you been doing?”

“I had an illuminating conversation with the unhappy heir.”

“Pema?”

“The very same. And I will tell you now what I learned. On the day Dhamo died, Pema says he was taking the goats out to graze. But he had another errand that morning—to bring to Lumo a round of fresh cheese.”

“Did he see something in the forest?”

“It is what he did not see that is of interest to us. He told me that Lumo was there in her house, sound asleep by the hearth. She was there alone.”

Li Du understood. “Which means that Sera-tsering was not at her cottage all morning.”

“That is also what I deduced. According to Pema, he left the cheese by the door, returned to the manor, and took the goats out on this side of the river. He saw no one in the forest.” Hamza paused dramatically. “It seems our next question is for Sera-tsering. I maintain that she does not give the impression of a murderess—at least, not a murderess of monks she does not know. At present, my suspicion is that she changes form between a woman and one of those golden beasts that climbs mountain cliffs on four hoofs, sure-footed where a person would fall.”

 

Chapter 14

Li Du and Hamza entered the manor courtyard and saw Sonam across the snow in one of the open barns. He was standing beside an obsidian yak with snow-white patches on its sides. As they watched, Sonam knelt and pressed his hand to the animal's shoulder, assessing its musculature with practiced skill.

Hamza murmured under his breath, “I will go to look for Sera-tsering at the Khampa fire. You speak to this rogue who is likely deciding which of the manor lord's cows to steal.”

Hamza turned away, leaving Li Du to cross the courtyard alone.

“The Chinese librarian,” Sonam said. “You travel with the Khampa.”

Once again, Li Du was struck by the familiarity of Sonam's voice. “Is it possible that we have met before?”

Sonam scrutinized Li Du's face, then shrugged. “I do not think I know you.”

“Then I must be mistaken,” said Li Du.

“My business sometimes takes me to your Chinese cities,” said Sonam, returning his attention to the animal, who submitted stoically to Sonam's inspection of its mouth.

“Your business?”

Sonam straightened and patted a dark flank. “Some trading, some work for hire.” He looked at Li Du. “So you are going to Lhasa. Have you crossed mountains before?”

“In my own country, yes.”

Sonam's mouth twisted in amusement. A lock of dark hair, weighted by turquoise beads, fell across his face. He raised a hand to smooth the strand back over his shoulder. “The mountains in your country are not mountains. They are hills.”

“I know that the way to Lhasa is difficult.”

“Let me offer you some advice,” said Sonam. “Rub charcoal into a cloth and bind it across your eyes to protect them.” He raised a finger and pointed to his own dark, sparkling eyes. “Up there, the snow reflects a thousand suns.”

Li Du, a little taken aback, thanked him for the suggestion.

“I won't ask you to pay me for it,” replied Sonam, “but if you hire me to be your guide, I'll get you to Lhasa a month ahead of Kalden Dorjee and his caravan. How much silver are you paying them to guide you?”

“I am in no hurry to reach Lhasa,” Li Du said. “And I am happy in my present situation. But I thank you again for the advice.”

Sonam shrugged. “Let me know if you reconsider,” he said. “I know the routes better than anyone.” He paused. “And if you speak again with the dignitary, tell him that I heard he was going to send his correspondence to Lhasa with your caravan. Tell him I could deliver it faster.”

“You could tell it to him yourself.”

“I will, but you noblemen listen more closely to each other than to people like me.”

“You say that your business is in trade and work for hire. I am curious—what business brought you to this remote place?”

Sonam raised his eyes to the closed, painted shutters of the kitchen. “I came to visit my nephew. Pema's father—his birth father—was my brother.”

Li Du absorbed this new information with interest. Sonam was Pema's uncle. This explained his connection to the family, and the welcome he had received at the manor. “Then Pema's father—”

“Taken by illness,” said Sonam. “His mother, too.” He gave a long sigh. “I would have raised my nephew myself, of course, but I was hardly more than a boy. Doso had fought beside my brother when they were young men, and there was an oath of loyalty between them. Doso insisted that he was honor-bound to adopt Pema.”

“I understand,” murmured Li Du.

“I come to visit my nephew as often as I can,” said Sonam. “Adoption is binding as blood, and as the eldest, Pema is heir to this land. But a lord can become forgetful when his beautiful new wife gives him sons. I have a deep affection for Pema, and wish to ensure his happiness.”

“If you are concerned for Pema,” said Li Du, “you might make some effort to assuage his grief.”

“His grief?” Sonam looked mystified.

“Over Dhamo's death,” Li Du replied. “Of anyone at the manor, it was Pema who spent the most time in his company.”

“Ah,” said Sonam, seeming to lose interest. “I knew very little of the painter. He was a recluse.”

Li Du persisted. “You knew nothing else about him?”

He thought he saw a sudden shrewdness enter Sonam's eyes, but he was not sure. Sonam's tone was dismissive. “He's been in that temple a long time,” he said. “I wasn't here when he arrived, but the villagers talked about that day for years.”

“You mean the day he identified the Chhöshe.”

Sonam nodded.

After a moment's thought, Li Du said, “It is a great honor to a house, is it not, when a tulku is found.”

Sonam's lips curved in a smug smile. “An unexpected honor.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Chhöshe was Doso's first son.”

“Yes—I have seen the resemblance between them.”

Sonam's smile widened to a self-satisfied leer. “You do not understand. He was his
first
son. In these lands, first sons are rarely called to a religious life. That is for second sons.”

“And in this case—” Li Du stopped, hoping that Sonam's pride in his superior knowledge would lead him to continue his story.

“In the beginning, the proceedings went as they usually do,” said Sonam. “The delegation came to the manor and said a boy in the house was a tulku.”

Li Du was beginning to understand. “The family expected it to be Pema.”

Sonam nodded. “But in the end, it was not. It was the other son. The wheel turns as it turns.”

“How did the identification happen?”

Sonam gestured vaguely. “I don't remember. It was something to do with a painting.”

“A painting by Dhamo?”

“Yes. Some vision he had. But I told you—I wasn't even here. Why do you want to know about it?”

Li Du looked directly at Sonam. “I am curious about how he died.”

Sonam returned the look. Then he retrieved a long blade from where he had set it in the straw. Its hilt was wrapped in red yarn. “A monk,” he said, “who spent his days with demons painted his flesh and offered himself to death, clutching his beads in one hand and counting prayers all the way into the next realm. That is how Dhamo died. I will give you one more piece of free advice. Let that explanation be enough.”

*   *   *

The courtyard fire, unattended, had burned to white ash in the brazier bowl. One thin core of a log remained, crusted with black and white scales. Li Du watched the wind catch a flake and carry it into the air, where it disintegrated.

In need of warmth and food, Li Du climbed the courtyard staircase to the hallway outside his own room. He was on his way to the kitchen when he heard a voice. It came from the sewing room, where he had previously overheard Sonam and Kamala. The voice he now heard belonged to Sera-tsering. He hesitated at the half-open door, listening.

“Our swords met,” she was saying, “and I perceived that my attacker was not a man, but a woman. I promptly confessed my own deception. Once she realized that I, too, was a woman in disguise, she declared she would not rob me after all, and we shared a companionable meal.”

“But would you not be safer traveling with a caravan?” Li Du recognized Kamala's high, clipped tones. “I met a woman in the Dajianlu market who tried to bargain me down to only twelve bricks of tea for one of our finest bulls. She traveled, but as the wife of the caravan cook, not alone.”

“I have traveled in companies before,” came Sera's reply. “But caravan mules are strung with bells and decorated with feathers. When I am alone I am more vulnerable, but it is easier for me to avoid attention.”

“You must miss your sister,” said Kamala, “to risk so much for these visits. I would never go so far from my own house. When I go the market, I am unhappy from the day I leave until the day I return.”

“Lumo traveled the width of Tibet alone,” said Sera. “It is easier when you have no family to leave behind.”

Li Du heard a faint rattle followed by a loud clack, then Kamala's voice. “If my children were taken from me, I would follow them into death to protect them during their journey through the shadowy realms. I would not let them face the fearful tests alone.”

“Who is there?” Sera's voice startled Li Du.