A Deadly Injustice anzm-2 Read online

  ‘That play we saw made me think.’

  As the light from the lamp got lower, we had moved closer to each other to stay in its beam. Alberoni rubbed his smooth jaw and yawned.

  ‘I didn’t follow all of it, as I couldn’t hear Lin’s explanation. What was it about the play that got you thinking?’

  Gurbesu stared into my eyes with those big brown orbs of hers.

  ‘Was it the wife, Yu-Niang, confessing under torture? Just like this case of ours?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No. I liked that chief clerk, Chang Ting, best. He reminded me of myself.’

  Tadeusz threw his head back and laughed. I wanted to know what he found so funny in what I said.

  ‘I understand some Chinee, you know, and followed a few of the lines. The clerk said he hated those who – how did he put it? – who “fiddled the law.” ’ He put a solemn look on his ruined face. ‘How could he then have been like you?’

  I took it that Tadeusz was teasing me about my fondness for skirting round the borders of legality, and wasn’t seriously taking me to task. In fact, I was glad he seemed to be more relaxed, more like his normal self. He was usually such a quiet and uncritical man, but he had been more than a little edgy during our journey. I put it down to the strains of the long trip.

  ‘I may flirt with what is unlawful, that is true. But no, it wasn’t that I was thinking of. Chang Ting cracked the case of the Mo-Ho-Lo Doll by filling in the missing facts. Facts that had been ignored before. No one checked on the unidentified man who brought Yu-Niang news of her husband’s illness. It was only when she remembered the doll that she could trace the doll-maker and he provided crucial information about the real murderer. Another witness was bribed to say Yu-Niang planned the murder with her lover. But when Chang Ting investigated, it turned out there was no lover. But, most importantly of all, no one had checked the source of the poison that killed Yu-Niang’s husband.’

  There was silence as everyone pondered my great exposition. I looked around expecting admiration, but all I saw were puzzled expressions.

  ‘Damn it, don’t you see? It’s the same with this case. No one has followed up the mystery of the origins of the poison.’ I turned to the little silversmith.

  ‘Tadeusz, I want you to make that your job when we get there. You have some of the Chinee tongue as you have just reminded us, and can talk to the locals. But if you get stuck, you can always talk to Lin.’

  He nodded, and looked down at the floor, embarrassed by everyone’s attention suddenly being on him.

  ‘What about the Mongol overlord – Taitemir?’ This was Gurbesu’s question. ‘He looked a fierce fellow at the theatre, surrounded by all his cronies.’

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  ‘I would rather not get entangled with him, if I can help it.’

  Gurbesu would not leave it, however.

  ‘But if some wrong has been done, he could be at the centre of it. You will have to talk to him along with the Chin prefect.’

  I sighed, knowing that Gurbesu had a point, and that she would not give up, if she felt she was in the right. So I diverted her from her purpose by giving her a task I knew she would relish.

  ‘You are right. Lin and I will have to deal with him, I suppose. And I want you to talk to the girl. Find out the truth from her.’

  I stroked her hair, which, as she leaned into the light, hung like a curtain over her round, olive-skinned face. The others must have noticed my tender gesture towards Gurbesu, because both Tadeusz and Alberoni rose, and wished us goodnight. I recalled that when they had arrived, Alberoni had said he wanted to ask me something.

  ‘What was it you wanted to know, Friar?’

  There was a distant look in his eyes, and he shook his head.

  ‘Oh, it will keep for another day, Niccolò.’

  The two men discreetly left the room. The lamp flickered, went dim, and died. In the darkness, I felt Gurbesu squeeze my arm.

  ‘Are you so very tired, Nick?’

  I grinned, though I didn’t imagine she could see me doing so.

  ‘Not yet, my darling one. But I think I will be soon.’

  SEVEN

  One never needs their humour as much as when they argue with a fool.

  We completed the journey to P’ing-Yang-Fu in six more arduous days of travelling. Gurbesu and I could have got there in five, but the other riders, and Lin in his carriage, held us back. Alberoni complained of a persistent back ache, though I think he meant some spot lower than that. He certainly was a pain in the arse himself. The closer we got to our destination the more whining he got about it. The daily conversation went something like this.

  ‘Will we be there soon?’

  ‘I have told you. It is six/five/four more days yet…’

  Tadeusz was unusually silent, and just sat uncomplaining on his pony as it jogged along. Lin was his serene self, his nighttime encounter with Natural Elegance in T’ai-Yuan-Fu – if such it was – not being mentioned by me. But finally we crested a rise in the fertile meadowlands we had been passing through, and the city came into view. Beyond it rose the grey outline of far distant mountains, but Pianfu, as Lin called it, lay on a flat plain. From where we stood, I could see the grid-like pattern of streets and thoroughfares. The weather was cold but still dry, so a cloud of dust hung over the city. The curve of red-tiled roofs, like waves in a sea of ochre stretched for many li. The Chinee measure of distance was always unclear to me, but I reckoned on three li to make a league or a mile roughly. Let’s just say that as I looked over the plain, I could barely see the other side of Pianfu.

  We descended the hill and rode into the outskirts. Soon we were on a main thoroughfare, which must have been forty paces wide and ran through the heart of the city. Every half mile or so this broad road opened out into a square, around which stood large stone buildings. To my eye they looked like warehouses, and indeed most of the squares we passed through had a market of some sort. One sold game, and I could see stalls plentifully supplied with stags, harts, hares, and rabbits, and all sorts of fowl such as pheasants, francolins, quails and ducks and geese. Another square had all sorts of vegetables and fruits, strange to my eye, though I did recognize pears and peaches, and bags of raisins. The third square had stately buildings on all sides, but was quieter than the others. I thought it unusual, and trotted beside Lin’s carriage to ask why. He gave me a dark look.

  ‘If you come here after dark, you will see more activity.’

  Stupidly, I still didn’t know what the business of the square could have been.

  ‘After dark?’

  ‘These apartments you see are the residences of women of the town. In the evening you will see them parading attired in great magnificence, and attended by many handmaidens. It is said they are highly accomplished in the use of endearments and caresses to suit every sort of person. I am told some foreigners call it the Square of Heaven.’

  I grinned, and cast a look around to see if any of the ‘women of the town’ as Lin euphemistically referred to them had risen from their beds. All windows were shuttered, however. Lin took the opportunity to remind me of our purpose here.

  ‘You, of course, will be too busy to find your way here again.’

  As we passed through the centre of this vast city, curious eyes turned our way just as in T’ai-Yuan-Fu. My beard was quite luxuriant now, and I could not have looked more like the images of the demon Zhong Kui. A few of the people in the garb of labourer or peasant made a sign with their fingers, probably to ward off the evil emanating from my presence. The more prosperous, and so less superstitious, reserved their discreet glances for Lin Chu-Tsai. They could see our little procession heralded the arrival of an important official. Once again he was in his official court robes, and it was obvious he was a man of consequence. As if to further emphasize his importance, Lin clicked his fingers at a passing man. His fine embroidered robe suggested he was a prosperous merchant, but he still hurried over to Lin’s carriage and
bowed low.

  ‘What does your honour wish to know?’

  ‘Tell me where the house of the prefect is located. This little town stinks, and I would prefer not to dally in it too long.’

  I stared with astonishment at Lin. His peremptory tone and denigrating words were quite unlike the man; especially as the city was so startling in all its aspects. But he ignored my querulous look, and fixed the other Chinee with his cool gaze. The man blushed.

  ‘I am sorry our hamlet displeases you, your honour. You are correct though; the place smells of unwashed bodies and old meat. But what can poor people like us do? I am sure the prefect will ensure your stay is as pleasant and as brief as possible.’

  He raised an arm, covered down to the fingertips in a silken sleeve, and pointed in the direction we were already travelling.

  ‘The prefect’s house is on the southern edge of town, close to the river. It is a fine house with a red tiled and prettily gabled roof. You cannot miss it.’

  Lin waved a desultory hand, also hidden in his opulent sleeve, and the humiliated merchant scurried away. Po Ku urged the carriage horse on, and we proceeded along the wide but bustling avenue. I rode my horse close up beside Lin’s carriage again, and glanced his way.

  ‘I have never heard you be so authoritarian, Chu-Tsai. It was quite a revelation.’

  I could see a blush forming on Lin’s neck, and he sighed.

  ‘You have only seen me in either the summer or winter capital until now. There is no need to assert my authority where I am already known. If I was not respected for my very position at the court of Kubilai, I would not be able to do my job. This may be a big city, but it is still in the provinces – the back of beyond as far as such high officials as we are concerned. And if I do not make myself known immediately as someone who will not stand any nonsense, I might as well sneak back north. Or kill myself.’

  He nodded back down the avenue to where the merchant was already in a huddle with several other well-dressed individuals. They were staring in our direction.

  ‘The story is already spreading that someone of importance is in town, and that he is not impressed by the show of wealth that is so evident to the locals. I will be well respected, and many will try to find out about me and my entourage. It should help our enquiries, don’t you think?’

  I laughed at Lin’s ingenuity, and pulled a ferocious face.

  ‘Especially if the rumour includes the fact that Zhong Kui is on their tail.’

  We made our way through the suburbs of Pianfu, and in the final square we passed on the way a large building with a familiar smell to it. I spurred my horse towards a set of large doors that stood partially open. Inside I could see stacks of wooden barrels, and at the back of the shed large copper urns. The smell was unmistakeably that of a winery. I licked my lips, and urged the horse back level with Lin’s carriage.

  ‘Perhaps you can arrange for the winery we just passed to provide some of its produce to the great and important official from Tatu.’

  Lin gave me a hard look.

  ‘You should not risk getting drunk before you have solved this case. We require our wits about us. Besides, you do yourself a disservice to imagine only I can command the respect of the local dignitaries. Me a mere human and all. You are the great and mysterious demon appointed by Kubilai as his Investigator of Crimes. They will hold you in awe and fear. Your paizah will be enough to see you drowned in free wine.’

  He was referring to the small gold tablet that both he and I held as a badge of authority from the Great Khan. I touched the front of my jacket, and felt the tablet nestling inside it. It was about fifteen inches long and five fingers wide, with a hole at the top end. Mine and Lin’s had a lion’s head stamped on it, which made us more important than a commander of the Mongol army, but less so than one of Kubilai’s great barons. Their paizah had a gerfalcon on it. All tablets were printed with an inscription which read as follows – ‘By the strength of the great God, and of the great grace which He hath accorded to our Emperor, may the name of the Khan be blessed; and let all such as will not obey him be slain and be destroyed.’ It was a very useful weapon in an empire ruled by bureaucracy. I turned the head of my horse back towards the winery, and told Lin I would find the prefect’s house on my own.

  When I did find the house, I could see why Li Wen-Tao chose to live where he did. The noise and bustle of the city – the cries of the pedlars and shopkeepers, the curses of the draymen and porters as they barged their way past fortune-tellers, scholars and monks blocking their way, and the warning call of the men bearing ladies in sedan chairs – all was but a distant hum. A stand of trees masked the grand-looking house from the stare of the common crowd, and the river behind it lent an air of tranquillity. I jumped from my horse and handed the reins to a fearful servant, who cowered at the sight of my whiskery face. I gave him a snarl for good measure, and stomped towards the elegant main doors. The prefect had indulged himself by having imperial dragons carved on the doors. He would have been severely punished for such presumption in the capital. Here, out in the sticks, he could get away with it. I slid the doors back and barged in, keeping to my role of demon and personal investigator to the Khan.

  In the main room of the house, a fat, middle-aged man sat like a Buddha at a table in the centre of the room. By his side sat Lin Chu-Tsai, whereas Friar Alberoni and Tadeusz Pyka had to content themselves with sitting at some distance in the furthest corner of the room. Of Gurbesu there was no evidence. The fat man gazed at me, a look of indignation forming on his face. He was pulling his embroidered robe around him, and I could see that each side of the skirt had a bai, or panel, sewn in it to add to the bulk and his importance. He didn’t really need it as he was as broad as a horse’s backside anyway. The robe was blue to signify his rank. I was pleased to let him see that my Mongol jacket was red, as was Lin’s official robe. We outranked him and he knew it. I marched over to the table and slumped to the ground in a deliberately inelegant manner. I saw the flush of contained anger in Li’s face, as I rudely reached for the porcelain jar of rice wine that stood on the table between us. Politeness and etiquette dictated that I should have waited to be offered a drink. But I was past caring about this fat prefect, and I wanted to get him flustered before I interrogated him about Jianxu. Lin, I could see out of the corner of my eyes, had a knowing smile on his face. He patted the ruffled prefect’s arm.

  ‘Forgive the Investigator of Crimes, he is a barbarian. We are trying to train him, but he will use his own…’ He paused tellingly. ‘…brutal ways to find out the truth.’

  The disconcerted prefect’s fat, jowly face fell, and his red flush turned white with fear. He managed to gasp out a few words from his now dry mouth.

  ‘I am sure you will see that everything here is in order. And I will cooperate fully with you.’

  I smiled coldly, knowing I might have his attention now, but that he would soon recover his composure. Then he would try to find ways of wheedling his way back into Lin’s favour. I would need other ways of dealing with him then. For now, I would enjoy his rice wine. I gulped the fiery fluid down, and dreamed of the wine I had commanded to be sent to our quarters. Even though I didn’t yet know where we were to be staying, I could lay a bet that the owner of the winery did. And the whole of the rest of Pianfu too.

  The harassed servant scurried across the courtyard in the old quarter of Yenking. He was nearly bowled over by a group of eight court officials kicking a ball. This solemn pastime was called ‘Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea’, and involved skilful passing and ball control rather than tackling and scoring. It was often impossible for the outsider to understand who was winning therefore. The servant cared only that he was not knocked down or delayed from delivering what he held in his hand. His master – Ko Su-Tsung – was waiting anxiously for the message. As Head of the Censorate, Ko could have chosen to be in the building site that was Kubilai’s new inner sanctum. But he was a fastidious man, and could not bear the thought of his
robes and shoes being muddied. It was enough that he was borne into the Great Khan’s presence every day in a sedan chair that at least spared his clothing. Besides, his spies could come and go in the old city without being observed. Kubilai’s government was made up of three large bureaux – the Secretariat was responsible for all civil matters, the Privy Council for all military matters, but the Censorate was responsible for ritual, and spied on all government officials alike.

  The servant, who had just negotiated the elegantly robed men playing football, lived in fear of his master. It was said Ko Su-Tsung had a file on everyone, no matter how lowly, and that therefore he could twist everyone to his own ends. The humble servant didn’t know if that was the truth, and he didn’t want to find out the hard way. He reached the inner room where Ko habitually spent his days like a spider in the centre of a web, and coughed discreetly to announce his presence. His master’s sharp, impatient voice called him into the room. The servant silently glided in, holding out the paper he had taken from the sweating horseman moments earlier. He briefly raised his eyes to glance at his master. Ko was tall and cadaverous. If he was a spider in his web, he didn’t seem to gain much sustenance from the titbits that regularly came his way. His face was a skull with dry parchment-like skin pulled over it. His eyes were deep-set, and black as coals, though they still somehow burned with the ferocity of that marvellous stone. The servant dropped his gaze from Ko’s piercing stare. He had long ago conceived the thought that his master had long ago actually died, but that Ko was so frightening that no one, not even the Devil himself, had had the nerve to tell him so. He was therefore more than happy to be summarily dismissed from Ko’s presence.

  Ko Su-Tsung opened the message and began to read. It told him that Lin Chu-Tsai and his entourage had left T’ai-Yuan-Fu and were almost at their destination. In his mind he calculated the time taken for the letter to arrive. The Mongol postal system – the Yam – was remarkably efficient with horse-riders changing their mount every twenty-five miles. They were thus able to cover one hundred and twenty-five miles in a day. So Lin would even now be in P’ing-Yang-Fu. He returned to the message contained in the letter. Aside from some dull factual information, it also told him of a possible sexual liaison between Lin and a young male actor. Ko licked his lips at the morsel. The suggestion of forbidden lascivious behaviour on the part of his old adversary would be a strong bargaining tool in the future. It might even serve to bring Lin down. Ko’s spy was doing well. And though Lin and that barbarian assistant of his had not yet become embroiled in the vexing case of the Chin girl, his lines of communication were opened.