The White Mirror (20 page)

“I know,” Li Du said, “that on a high pass when the trail is crumbling and the wind threatens to blow the caravan from the mountain, there must be only one person who makes decisions. You are the leader of this caravan, and I would not challenge your actions without good reason. A man has died. Another man has been thrown almost to his death, and cannot, or will not, say who pushed him. If you think that we are not in danger here, then you are wrong.”

While Li Du spoke, Kalden regarded him in silent assessment. When Li Du finished, Kalden leaned forward and adjusted a log on the fire. It split apart, filling the air with glowing red sparks. Kalden leaned back. “Tell me what you know,” he said.

Li Du began with the cinnabar granules that he had seen beside the body in the snow. He explained how he had found the same granules in an empty bowl in Dhamo's studio. He gave a brief description of his journey to the hot springs—they had already heard the account of Campo's fall from Hamza—and of his discovery of cinnabar there. He told them of the water that changed the color of silver (a statement met with knowing nods from the experienced traders), and of the silver knife that had killed Dhamo. He described, finally, the thangka that had been cut from its frame.

“I ask you now again,” he concluded, “to explain to me how it is that we arrived in this valley to honor a secret assignation in the very hour that a knife was driven into a man's body?”

The muleteers looked at each other, then at Kalden, waiting for him to speak. It was clear from their expressions that they knew what he had to say. They were simply waiting to find out if their leader would choose to trust the scholar and the storyteller.

Kalden looked at the closed door of the cabin, and back at Li Du and Hamza. The fire spat and crackled. The wind whined through the open roof beams. Then he put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his jaw again. “My brother,” he said, “told me that there are two kinds of men in the world. There is the brave man who goes into the mountains and makes a name for himself. And there is the dull man who stays home and quarrels with his mother. To be the brave man, it is necessary to take risks.”

Li Du waited.

“We did come here to meet Sonam,” Kalden continued. “But our business has nothing to do with murder.”

“You may think it does not,” Li Du said.

Hamza raised a finger and nodded wisely. “The man is a fox whose offers are full of tricks.”

Kalden's expression became defensive. “I am not the fool in this,” he said. “The fool is some corrupt official who is easily bought. Before I say anything more, do you swear you will not put my men in the way of harm?”

Hamza patted Li Du on the shoulder and gave Kalden a conspiratorial look. “If our patchwork scholar brings the officials down on your head for a simple case of smuggling, it will be the most remarkable event I have witnessed. And as you know, I have seen oceans catch fire, forests walk, and mice defeat lions in battle. Confess your mischief, old friend.”

Kalden set his empty bowl down on the ground. “I am not a smuggler,” he said. “I met Sonam for the first time in the market at Gyalthang. He impressed me with his knowledge of horses. I have become used to lowlanders who buy our horses in order to pretend they know how to ride them. But he spoke to me of the muleteers of Ponzera.” The others around the fire nodded. Kalden, seeing that Li Du did not understand, added, “Those who know their horses know that the muleteers of Ponzera are unequaled. Their animals are the best.”

Kalden went on. “We spoke. I said we were going to Dajianlu and he told me that the taxes there have become so high that a third of our profit will be taken from us. He advised me on which officials to seek out for better deals. It seemed to be good information.”

“You trusted him?”

Li Du understood that Kalden was a man more used to describing the subtleties of a mountain's personality than a human's, and watched as Kalden shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “He seemed a resourceful man, capable of accomplishing difficult tasks.”

“I never trusted him,” interjected Norbu. “He is the kind of swindler who leads a caravan to a remote place and has his bandit friends lie in wait to rob them.”

“What offer did he make you?”

Kalden answered. “He said there was another way, a hidden pass that avoided the main road and Dajianlu. He described this place, and the family here.”

“But why take a hidden route?” Li Du did not yet understand.

Kalden nodded. “That is what I asked him. He said he could help us protect our profits from the Chinese bureaucrats.”

Hamza sighed. “Nothing is more disappointing in a story than the word ‘taxes.' First because it puts the listeners off their good humor, and second because there is nothing interesting that can come of paying—or not paying—taxes.”

Li Du ignored Hamza and kept his attention on Kalden. “But even I know that inspectors stop caravans at random from one end of the trade route to the other. If you don't pay at Dajianlu, you pay somewhere else.”

“Yes,” said Kalden. “But the evidence of payment is in itemized receipts that bear an official seal. If you show the receipts, you have paid your taxes.”

“Ah,” Li Du said, beginning to understand.

Kalden looked at Li Du. “Sonam told me that he knew an official in Dajianlu who would provide false receipts for our caravan. He told me that he could sell me these papers for half the price of the full taxes.”

“But why here?” Li Du asked. “If the papers were in Dajianlu, why not buy them there?”

“Too risky to do it there,” Kalden said, “with spies and officials in every inn and teahouse. He said he would go to Dajianlu, secure the false receipts, then double back and meet us at this pass. He said he could travel so fast on the familiar paths that he would arrive here at the same time as we.” Kalden shrugged. “So we decided to accept his proposal.”

“And has he sold you the papers?”

“We will do it tomorrow.” Kalden exhaled loudly. “Then the snow will melt and, with a bit of luck, we will get to Lhasa, then travel home with more coins to count than we anticipated. It is a simple agreement—we are not thieves.”

Li Du's brow creased. “Most magistrates would say that avoiding taxes is theft.”

Norbu glared at Li Du. “Kalden has put his trust in you.”

“And I do not intend to break it,” said Li Du.

“You understand now,” said Kalden, “that this matter has nothing to do with the painter.”

“Sonam said nothing of Dhamo when you spoke with him in Gyalthang?”

Kalden took his time to think. “I asked him how he knew of this place. He said that it was good luck for him.” Kalden's expression tightened as a thought occurred to him. “He said that a mad old monk had helped ensure his fortune.”

In the uneasy silence that followed, the specter of the dead man appeared in their shared memory, cold and painted on the bridge, blue skin and rent body waiting for them silently as the snow began to fall. His gray features conveyed a curse, a warning, a threat, an act of cruelty or insanity. Li Du took a deep breath and stood up.

“I told you all,” Norbu said, “that we should have continued on. I'm still not convinced this wasn't a demon's work. If the sun comes up tomorrow, we should follow it out of this valley as soon as we can pack the tea on the mules. After that, the rest of them can murder each other without any distractions—it's not our business.”

Kalden looked at Li Du and Hamza. “We can make room for you here. After what you've told us, I would not want to spend a night in that house, however fine its hearth or pretty its mistress.”

It did feel safer here, in this leaning herder's hut fortified by tea and saddles. Li Du could almost pretend they were as they had been before, travelers whose only task was to move forward on the path. He drew in a breath and stood up.

Hamza gave an approving nod. “We remain at the manor,” he said. “Our patchwork scholar has work to do.”

 

Chapter 16

Hamza did not accompany Li Du to the manor immediately, but stayed behind at Kalden's request to answer questions about what he and Li Du had observed. As Li Du entered the manor courtyard alone, he glimpsed movement in the barn to his right. He turned just in time to see the Chhöshe move deeper into the corner of the barn where the animals crowded near Pema's little room. Li Du followed.

A woven basket with embroidered shoulder straps rested on the floor. It was filled with fresh cheese and butter wrapped loosely in cloth, a brick of tea, and bags dusted with traces of barley flour. The top of a wax-sealed bottle was visible under a stack of flat bread.

The Chhöshe stood near the back of the barn with his back to Li Du. His shaved head was covered in a stiff hat of yellow wool. One hand was raised, the red sleeve draped and fallen around his forearm. His palm rested on the shaggy, expansive neck of a black cow. It looked to Li Du like an old animal. Its gentle eyes were framed by long eyelashes. Loose skin hung down its chest in silky folds. The Chhöshe flattened his fingers against the cow's neck in a tentative, childlike movement.

“Did that animal travel with you?” asked Li Du.

The Chhöshe swung around in surprise, pulling his hand away. He looked embarrassed. “No—she belongs here.”

“She seems a gentle creature.”

“She always was,” said the Chhöshe, absently. He pointed to the white blaze on her forehead. “When I was a child I thought the mark on her forehead was shaped like a fish.”

Li Du looked at the mark and nodded. “I see the resemblance.” He indicated the basket on the floor. “Are you preparing for departure?”

The Chhöshe glanced behind him. “I hope that the snow melts soon, but these are just supplies for the mountain temple.”

“Did Dhamo come down to the manor for supplies also?”

The Chhöshe shifted uncomfortably. “Pema brought him his food.” He looked down at Li Du with a touch of defiance in his strong features. “But I do not want to be served by—” He amended his statement. “I do not like to see others do work that I can do for myself.”

“I understand,” Li Du said. “You must encounter many people eager to demonstrate their devotion.”

“There are many tulkus in the world, and my lineage is humble and little known,” said the Chhöshe. “But I have had some encounters during my travels for which I was not prepared. At Drepung we are all monks and lamas. Our teachers instruct us and tell us what to do. But in these remote places, where harvests are uncertain and travelers are always afraid of avalanches and thieves, people are different. When they know that I am the Chhöshe they fall to the ground and will not stand up. We met a pilgrim on the road who spent so many hours making offerings to me and asking for advice and guidance that it grew dark and he had to share our campfire.”

Li Du raised his own hand to the muzzle of his mule, who had ambled toward him and bent her head in a request for reassurance. “I have been warned to be careful of thieves,” Li Du said. “The leader of my caravan says that one of their favorite tactics is to ask to share a fire, then steal from the caravan during the night.”

The Chhöshe nodded. “I have heard the same warnings, but this man was alone and harmless. I drank wine with him, though I am not allowed to drink it at my school. And as I slept, Rinzen and the pilgrim exchanged news of Lhasa and of travels in the south. He was good company.” The Chhöshe lapsed into thoughtful silence. “I hope he was not caught alone in the snow.”

*   *   *

Andruk, the translator, was at the courtyard fire. His fingers were curled loosely around a stick that was charred at one end. Li Du took a place across from him and leaned forward toward the heat.

Andruk spoke first. “I have been thinking how fortunate it was that you were in the forest when my employer fell,” he said. “How did you happen to be so close?” His Chinese was refined and confident, without studied formality. Li Du guessed that he had spoken it from childhood.

“I was out for a walk,” Li Du said, vaguely, “to clear the troubles from my mind.”

Using the stick, Andruk adjusted one of the logs. “I assume these troubles were inspired by the death of the painter.”

Li Du nodded. “It was a gruesome sight—his body waiting for us there on the bridge.”

Andruk was looking at Li Du as if he was not entirely sure what to make of him. “My employer thinks that Dhamo was possessed by the devil.”

“And you?”

“I do not believe in the Christian devil.”

“Then Paolo Campo has not persuaded you to convert?” Li Du knew the answer according to Campo, but was curious to hear it from Andruk.

“He has tried,” said Andruk, “but his faith does not attract me. He would perhaps have more success if he could learn the local languages himself, as his friend did.”

“What is his companion like?”

“I have not met him. My family are tenants on the land of a monastery outside Zogong. Paolo Campo hired me after he had left his companion in that city.” Andruk directed a dissatisfied look at the fire. “He is a difficult man to guide. He changes his mind. He forgets his own intentions. But perhaps you understand him better. You speak his tongue.” Andruk paused. “You also speak the language of the trade routes. You must be a scholar of high rank.”

Li Du waved a hand modestly. “The muleteers have been patient with me. I can speak their words, but I cannot write them.”

A look of disdain crossed Andruk's face. “No one needs to write in these borderlands—the Khampa are rough people. And it is foolish to carry paper on paths where snow and rain soak everything before the end of a journey.”

Li Du disagreed. He was often astonished by the fortitude of paper. Poems written by traveling scholars who lived and died centuries earlier had been found, crisp scrolls rolled neatly, aged but undamaged, in caves and huts and abandoned temple libraries. “There are ways to protect even the most fragile materials against snow and wind,” he said. “I understand you wished to commission a thangka for your own monastery. It would have traveled on the back of a mule over snowy passes, across rivers, and reached its destination with each shape and line enduring as the painter intended.”