Jade Dragon Mountain (9 page)

“
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away
…”

Li Du climbed the four steps up to the porch and went into his own room. He lit a candle. Then he picked up his teapot and the thick cloth folded beside it, and retraced his steps across the courtyard to the brazier. As he passed between the eerie, hulking figures of the sculpted plants, his shoulders tensed. He had the feeling that he was being watched.

When he reached the brazier, he set down his candle and teapot, and used the cloth to lift the hot kettle from its hook. He poured the simmering water into the teapot carefully, and replaced the kettle. By the time he had finished, the courtyard was silent. Brother Martin must have fallen asleep.

He turned around, teapot in one hand, candle in the other, and caught his breath. In front of him, blocking his way, was a figure. He raised his candle in order to illuminate the face, but in his surprise he moved his arm too quickly. The flame went out.

“Who is there?” he asked the darkness.

“I have startled you,” came the voice. “I can give you a flint, but it would be easier simply to use the brazier.”

Li Du recognized the accented speech. He set the wick of the candle against a glowing coal, then turned and raised it again, this time slowly. Its light caught the pendants and rings adorning the velvet robes of Sir Nicholas Gray.

Even in the soft glow of the candle, Gray's face showed the effects of hard travel. The skin was irritated and peeling where the sun and wind had chapped it. The deep-set eyes were further sunken by the bruised shadows around them.

“I thought you knew I was here,” said Gray.

“I did not.” Li Du tried to steady his breath.

Gray looked at the silhouette of Brother Martin across the courtyard. The young man's head now rested on his folded arms. “What has he been doing there?”

“The magistrate asked him to pray for Brother Pieter's soul.”

“He chose an unusual prayer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that he was reading the Canticle of Mary.”

“What is that?”

“I'm not much of a religious man, but that prayer is not usually said in the middle of the night. The young brother must be tired. He is not a seasoned traveler. And the shock—well, we were all shocked.”

Gray remained standing in front of Li Du. The full teapot was heavy, and Li Du struggled to hold it steady. He looked over Gray's shoulder, hoping that Gray would step aside, but Gray made no move to do so.

“An interesting man,” said Gray. “I have not had many dealings with the Jesuits, myself. They have their ways of approaching China, and we have ours.”

“‘We'?”

“The Company. The English East India Company, my employer.”

Li Du searched for a response. “Brother Pieter was impressed by the astronomical piece in your tribute. He said that it was a magnificent gift for the Emperor.”

It was difficult to read the man's face in the strange light of the flame, but it seemed to Li Du that Gray's expression tightened. Li Du recalled Pieter's unrepentant confession that he had gone into the treasure room without permission.

But if Gray was upset, he controlled it quickly. “It is a marvelous invention,” he said. “I have some experience with construction, but that device is far beyond my understanding. It was calibrated by our astronomers and watchmakers in Calcutta. Jesuits, jewelers—the Company consulted every expert. I brought it here undamaged, which was no small feat, through the forests of the headhunters on barely passable trails. The box itself required the skills of fourteen carpenters to make.”

“Why—”

“To protect it from damage. The tellurion is splendid, of course, but there are many pieces in the tribute more wondrous still. Brother Pieter was an astronomer—I assume you knew that already—so I am not surprised that he liked that particular treasure. What matters, though, is that the tribute pleases the Emperor.”

“I understand that your company hopes to enter into a trade agreement with China.”

“Just so. You see, I believe it is the businessmen, not the men of the church, who should be the ambassadors to China from Europe. We are the ones who will bring China into the world. The Jesuits have had their time. They are a passing fancy, like those clocks with which they bought their way into the Emperor's court. But the Chinese can only learn so much from them. This empire is not like the colonies. China is in possession of wealth and knowledge beyond what England can comprehend.”

Li Du heard the rising excitement in Gray's voice. He shuddered inwardly, chilled by Gray's animation in the aftermath of Brother Pieter's death. “I have studied so much about China,” Gray continued, apparently oblivious to Li Du's discomfort, “but this is the first time I have set foot inside its borders. I've been waiting, along with others—merchants, explorers, scientists. We are all waiting, studying your language from the Chinese traders prepared to teach it, ready for the moment the empire finally decides that it is time for us all to share in a new prosperity.”

“These political considerations are outside my understanding,” said Li Du, whose arm was beginning to ache from the weight of the teapot. Still Gray did not move.

“Because you are an exile?” asked Gray, looking intently for Li Du's response. When Li Du made none, Gray shrugged. “I saw you as you waited by the gates of the mansion yesterday. A man of my experience knows not to ignore strangers who watch from the shadows. I asked the magistrate who you were, and now that I know, I have need of your advice. The opinion of an exile is valuable to me.”

“On what matter?”

“Will the Emperor agree to trade with the Company?”

“I cannot be of any use to you. I do not know the answer to your question.”

“But you must know something. You know the political games of your empire. You know what is effective, and I must assume from your exile, if you pardon my straightforward speech, that you know something of endeavors that are doomed to fail.”

Li Du's reply was firm. “It is the Emperor, and the Emperor alone, who will decide whether your ships will be allowed to come to China. His is the only opinion that should concern you.”

Ignoring the finality in Li Du's tone, Gray said, “In my own room there is a small vase, very beautiful. I asked the maid its value, and she said it was nothing of any great worth. And yet its glaze is made from gold suspended in glass, a material of color and quality I have never seen before, one that our alchemists cannot yet duplicate. If you could see what I see, the possibilities…” He let the sentence hang.

“The Jesuits,” said Li Du, “came to China to learn and to teach. The Emperor respects these motives. I would not expect him to share the empire's wealth with Western merchants unless he sees good reason to do it.”

“You are naive if you think the Jesuits do not have their own more subtle agendas. But I do not disagree with you entirely. Desperation is always a weak position. And there are certainly those who are desperate. Before I left Europe I heard that Prince Frederick of Saxony has imprisoned an alchemist in a tower, and vows not to let him out until he has discovered a way to re-create Chinese porcelain.”

“And?”

“My point is that it will be through diplomacy, not stealth and medieval methods, that any person in this world who has some sense may become wealthy. We don't want to possess China. There is wealth enough for China to benefit just as much as we will. Those who can control the wealth will be powerful. The Emperor could become even more powerful than he is now. He must think beyond China. Think of the whole world.” Gray gesticulated eagerly. His open hand caught the light, exposing a dark slash across his palm.

“But you have hurt yourself,” said Li Du, pointing to the wound.

This stopped Gray. The gleam left his eyes, and he dropped the injured hand to his side. “It is nothing,” he said. “I cut it when I was moving the crates into the hall in the library. It is not serious.”

Li Du took advantage of Gray's momentary distraction. “It has been a long evening,” he said. “I will go now.”

To his relief, Gray moved aside, allowing Li Du, finally, to pass him. But he had only taken several steps when instinct compelled him to ask a question. He stopped and, half turning, said, “Where did you go during the story?”

“What?”

“I saw that your place was empty. I thought you might have gone to speak to Pieter. You left around the time he did.”

“Why do you ask that?” Gray snapped. “Why does it matter?”

“I was only curious. I did not mean to offend you.”

As before, Gray controlled his temper quickly. His eyes met Li Du's, and after a moment's deliberation, he smiled. “I had an assignation with one of the young women provided for the occasion. But I have always considered such matters my own private business.”

“Of course,” said Li Du, politely. Gray's smile, almost a leer, chilled him.

Li Du went into his room and closed the wooden doors. They scraped heavily against the frame, and the iron handles clanged. Nicholas Gray's words remained in his mind.
What matters is that the tribute pleases the Emperor
. He meant, of course, that this was what mattered to the Company. Li Du frowned and stretched his tired legs. A man had died that night. If anything mattered, it was nothing to do with jewels or clockwork or the Emperor's opinion of these cold things.

 

5 Days

 

Chapter 6

Li Du awoke from a troubled sleep to the sound of his door closing. There was no one in the room, but the trail of steam rising from the teapot on the desk told him that a servant must have slipped in quietly and filled it while he slept. It was a conventional courtesy, but this morning it made him uneasy. The wisps of steam spread and hung in the air like wraiths.

He sat up, gathered his robe tightly around his shoulders, and shuffled to the desk. The air held the blue cast of early morning, but he could see through his latticed window a slash of golden light across the far side of the courtyard. He shivered, feeling that he occupied, in this dim and silent room, a remnant of the night that would soon be burned away. He prepared and drank his tea, then began, with practiced assurance, to pack his belongings.

When he was ready, he emerged from his room onto the shaded veranda. He could feel the cold marble through the soles of his shoes. The door to Pieter's room was open, the sun now shining directly into it. On the opposite side of the courtyard, still in deep shadow, the door to Nicholas Gray's room was tightly shut. As Li Du crossed out of the shade into the sun, he looked up and was momentarily blinded by the white brilliance that poured over the roof. He turned away from it, and stepped into the room that had, until recently, been occupied by Pieter van Dalen.

There was no one there. The body had been taken away. In the corner there was a small pile of saddlebags, and on the desk a worn stack of books. Li Du picked up the top volume and opened it to its title page, on which dark-inked cherubs held aloft a map of China, its northern boundary defined by the sketched crenellations of the Wall. The area around the capital was a dense fabric of cities and rivers, meticulously labeled. The southwest provinces, in contrast, were a blank expanse. There was no mark for Dayan—only the tentative tracing of the Golden Sand River. A province, Li Du was reminded, still largely uncharted by the empires of the West, or by the Chinese empire that claimed to govern it.

He turned to the next page, where the author, Athanasius Kircher, explained in passionate language the need for Christianity in the pagan empires.
The devil's wrath fills the world with hatred and lies, and is not satiated, even with the destruction of men
 …

A soft step on the veranda announced the arrival of Jia Huan. He looked tired, but spoke crisply. “The magistrate,” he said, “wishes to be prepared for any question put to him by the Emperor. If you can translate the titles of the foreign books, I will make a list. After that, we are to inventory his possessions. The magistrate is grateful for your help in this matter.” As he spoke he walked to the desk, took a seat, and began deftly to prepare paper and ink. “You are ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Li Du said, his eyes still on the open book. “This is the
China Illustrata.
”

“I have not heard of it,” said Jia Huan.

“To my knowledge it has not been translated into Chinese. It was written by a Jesuit who took it upon himself to compile into a single tome the notes and observations of all the Jesuit brothers who had traveled to this empire.”

“Were their observations accurate?” asked Jia Huan.

“Their observations, yes. His interpretations of those observations, perhaps not always so. But I believe he was a man of great intelligence.”

Jia Huan's reserved expression became momentarily skeptical. Li Du raised his eyebrows, curious to know what the other man was thinking. Jia Huan, noticing, said quickly, “I apologize. It is not my place to criticize the foreigners when the Emperor shows them favor.”

Li Du found the glimpse of real feeling in the secretary a welcome relief from strained formality. Hoping to draw more honest conversation from Jia Huan, he said, “You do not believe that the Jesuits merit their reputation as superior scholars?”

“It is not my place,” Jia Huan repeated, “but I believe that our own scholars have the advantage of understanding older, more fundamental philosophies. There is nothing new that can be brought to China. Everything that exists, exists here, and has existed since long before the other kingdoms of the world began.”

It was gracefully delivered, but Li Du recognized the words. This was a rote statement, learned and repeated by all the young scholars in the capital. Li Du sighed. “Well,” he said, returning his attention to the book, “it seems that Brother Pieter wished to improve upon the work of his predecessors. In the same way that our scholar recluses like to correct the errors in old travel journals, so he has endeavored to correct their mistakes.”