The White Mirror (21 page)

Andruk's slim brows drew together, and he shook his head. “I commissioned no thangka,” he said.

Li Du took a moment to question his memory, but found no fault in it. “Paolo Campo said that you were impressed by the paintings and intended to have one sent as a gift to your own monastery. I understand it was a common practice of pilgrims.”

Andruk looked confused. “I did admire the paintings, but I had no intention of requesting one. My monastery is not wealthy, and I have no silver to purchase fine items for the temples in my own home. Paolo Campo must have misunderstood me. It happens often.”

“I understand,” Li Du said. “I have found that when a person is unsettled in his mind, command over a foreign language can weaken. I know that Paolo Campo has been upset by the death of the monk. His recent fall must have added to his distress.”

Andruk's tone became tinged with exasperation. “I thought that he spoke often of the devil before we came to this place,” he said. “Now he will speak of nothing else. He paces through his room and mutters to himself. It is as if he is afflicted with the same madness that struck the painter.”

“Their hells are not so different,” Li Du said quietly, his eyes drawn to the fire.

Andruk interlaced his long fingers and stretched his hands. “Both places of flame,” he said, “and of mutilation. I have seen the paintings of the Christians. There are as many eviscerations and sharp-toothed monsters in their minds as there are in ours.”

Li Du was struck by the similarity between Andruk's observation and his own only a little while earlier. “Perhaps there are more similarities between the worst fates we can imagine for ourselves than there are between the best,” he said.

“I will be glad when we leave this place,” said Andruk.

“How long have you been here?”

Andruk shrugged. “We arrived some days before you did.”

“I hear that you have seen the village,” said Li Du. “Is it a long way from the manor?”

“Not when the path is clear,” said Andruk. “It is almost at the pass. The way is steep, but it is not far.”

“You visited it two mornings ago,” Li Du said. “With the family?”

“Doso and his wife had errands there, but we were not in company. I was merely curious to see the place.”

“But Paolo Campo did not go with you.”

It seemed to Li Du that Andruk lingered over his thoughts before answering. “No,” he said finally. “Paolo Campo stayed at the manor.”

“Except for when he went to Yeshe's hut.”

Andruk looked up. “Yes—he was just leaving it when I came back from the village. I found him very upset.”

Li Du nodded. “I understand that the children were not receptive to his teachings,” he said.

Andruk raised an eyebrow. “I did not think he would be so overcome by such a small offense,” he said. “When I returned, I found Campo kneeling in the snow near Yeshe's cabin. His eyes were wet with tears and he clutched at his throat as if he could not breathe.”

Li Du was startled. “Did he say what had so distressed him?”

“He was speechless. I had to help him to the manor. I settled him beside the hearth in the kitchen. He must have returned to his room not long after that—he was in his room when I went to inform him that Dhamo was dead.”

“How did he react when you told him?”

“He was anxious to know what had occurred, and began soon after to speak of devilry.” Andruk leaned forward. “The body—it was really painted?”

“Yes. I saw it myself.”

“A white circle, banded in gold, with a handle wrapped in blue?”

“Yes.”

“And no one knows why he painted it.”

Li Du shook his head. “Do you?”

“How would I know? I did not know him. I have never heard of such an act.”

Li Du was aware of a coldness in the way Andruk looked at him. It was not anger, or at least he did not think it was. It felt to him more as if the other man, the stranger on the other side of the fire, was asking him a silent question. Li Du just did not know what it was.

*   *   *

He had not gone far before he heard voices raised in anger. The words spun through the wind around him, unintelligible. At first he could not tell where they were coming from, but then a loud crash turned him around to face Yeshe's hut. As he hurried toward it, Li Du heard another crash, followed by the heavy thump of something hitting the wall inside.

Just as he reached the cabin, the door flew open and Sonam emerged, breathing hard and holding his hand to his face. As Li Du watched, Sonam pulled his fingers away and looked at them. His fingertips were bright with blood. He turned and spat red in the snow.

Li Du's attention was momentarily arrested by the drops of red against the white. “What has happened here?”

Sonam did not answer immediately. He had turned as if to reenter the hut. Then, slowly, he took a step to one side of the door, and gestured inside. “The old cripple attacked me,” he said. “As if some madness took him.”

Li Du stepped onto the threshold. In the dim, smoky cabin, overturned buckets gleamed, and the floor was covered in slick puddles of cheese and milk slowly spreading across the dirt. Yeshe was sitting down where he had fallen, his thin chest heaving, his face furious. Beside him, one of his canes lay cracked.

When he saw Li Du, he swallowed and pointed to Sonam. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Remaining where he was, Sonam looked down at the fallen man and shook his head. He looked bewildered. “What came over you, grandfather?”

With a pained groan, Yeshe pulled himself up onto the bench beside the fire. A single log burned weakly over the hot coals. Ashes were drifting slowly into the puddles of half-strained cheese. He coughed. “There was a misunderstanding,” he croaked. “I thought he had insulted me, but I was mistaken.” Li Du saw his jaw clench. “I ask your pardon,” he said to Sonam.

“And you have it, grandfather,” Sonam replied. “But you should listen carefully to what you are told. For an old farmer, you have a quick temper.”

Sonam turned to Li Du with a grimace. He reached up and touched his hand to the place where his jaw had begun to swell. “Be careful what you say to the man.” Sonam spat again into the snow, and strode away toward the manor.

Li Du surveyed the mess. “Please let me help you.”

Yeshe's eyes narrowed. “Why would you help me when I attacked him?”

Li Du gave a little smile. “If you attacked him, I suspect you had good reason. You are not the first person he has offended here.”

While Yeshe rebuilt the fire, Li Du swept up the milk and cheese as best he could from the dirt floor into a bucket, which he took outside and emptied in the snow. He used snow to wash the bucket, and returned to find the hearth warm again and Yeshe sitting on the bench beside it. He was using a short knife, its handle wrapped in strips of hide, to cut the branches from a stick.

Li Du sat down across the fire from the old man. “What happened?”

“It was nothing. A misunderstanding only.” Yeshe rubbed the knuckles of his right hand. “I have some strength still,” he said. “There was a time when I won every fight.” He looked down at his crooked feet. “Until that one.”

“Lumo said that you were a farmer.”

Yeshe did not look up. “I never owned land. I traveled and worked for pay at the autumn harvest and spring planting. I took the trade routes. Met caravans like yours. Caravans, pilgrims, and thieves.” Li Du saw his hands tremble.

“Are you hurt?”

Yeshe shook his head. “Bad memories,” he said. “Just bad memories.” His shoulders rose and he heaved a sigh. “Let us speak of better ones. What was I saying? I was telling you about traveling the roads back when my feet were strong.” He smiled reminiscently. “I remember a caravan like yours—a caravan from Kham. One of my last memories before I was attacked was a great feast that I shared with such a caravan under the stars.”

Seeing that the memory cheered Yeshe, Li Du asked him to go on. Yeshe licked his dry lips. “That was years ago, on a road west of here—outside Bathang. I came upon them celebrating their good fortune. They had gone to Bathang and learned that the Chinese tax inspector had died unexpectedly that very day. Bad luck for the tax collector, but good luck for the caravan.”

He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, looking at the fire. “You never know what will happen,” he said, and shrugged. “Except Dhamo.”

Li Du turned to Yeshe curiously. “Dhamo?”

Yeshe grunted. “He knew what was going to happen. Took his fate into his own hands, didn't he?”

Li Du was struck by a thought. “Your door opens to the path down to the pasture. Did you see Dhamo go to the bridge that morning?”

Yeshe gave a short nod. “I did. Surprised me. Didn't see him out of his temple often.”

“Was he upset?”

“Upset? How would I know his state of mind? His head was down and he was talking to himself.”

“And no one went after him?”

Yeshe looked up sharply. “After him?”

Li Du allowed himself to appear disoriented and a bit bewildered. “I do not know why I ask the question. It is only that I have been thinking about his death, and of how unfortunate it was that no one happened to go that way. He might have been stopped—taken perhaps to a lama who could ease the suffering in his mind.”

“I wasn't looking out my door the whole time,” said Yeshe, “but I did notice someone else go that way. Ahead of Dhamo, not behind.”

Li Du leaned forward slightly. “Did you see who it was?”

Yeshe shrugged. “Looked like a man. It wasn't a coat I had seen.” He paused, then added, “In the winter when the weather is bad you recognize coats, not faces. But why are you asking these questions?” Yeshe's eyes were narrowed, suspicious.

“It is just my habit,” said Li Du. “This place is unfamiliar and the manner of his death is difficult for me to understand.”

“Yes,” said Yeshe. “Won't argue with you about that. But you can't live in solitude like that old monk did without getting lost.” He tapped a finger to his head. “Lost in your mind.” He looked again at his legs. “The injury is bad enough,” he said. “But it's the family that saved me, not the medicines. A kind family.”

“They are generous to share their home with so many travelers,” Li Du said.

Yeshe nodded. “If I had to make a bargain with a demon, I would do it to protect them from harm.” He paused, then added, “Dhamo was not a safe person. You ask the lady of the house. Kamala knew it. You should not talk about him so much. It keeps him here. And no good will come of that.”

*   *   *

Li Du emerged from the hut and saw Hamza coming toward him from the direction of the caravan's encampment. Li Du tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves and waited, his shoulders tensed against the cold.

A sound drew his attention toward the back of the manor. Someone was standing by the supply of chopped firewood. He squinted, and recognized Sera-tsering. Two at a time, she pulled logs from the stack, clapped them together to rid them of snow, and tossed them into a small pile beside her.

By now, the snow was packed down into paths. Hamza traversed the pasture at a quick pace. “Kalden is uneasy,” he said, when he reached Li Du. “I think he is regretting this adventure more with every hour.”

“But you believe that he has told us everything?”

Hamza nodded. “I do not think he knows more than what he confessed to us. But Kalden does not like situations that he cannot judge. Put the man on a ridge with snow falling, and he will choose the safest action. But put him amid schemers and he will fall into every trap.”

When Li Du did not answer immediately, Hamza gave an exaggerated sigh. “You are thinking with such intensity that I am becoming exhausted. Speak your thoughts out loud. The fresh air will make them less dense.”

Li Du smiled at this. “They exhaust me also.” Briefly, he told Hamza of what Andruk had said, and of the quarrel in Yeshe's hut. “I cannot see clearly the intentions of the people gathered here,” he said. He was about to say more, but stopped.

Hamza looked at him. “There is more,” he said. “You are preoccupied with something else. I see your own memories on your face—you cast your mind into the past. Why?”

“I—”

But Li Du had no time to answer. He saw the arrow pierce the air, but did not recognize it for what it was until he heard the thud of its impact, followed by the hollow clatter of logs falling against one another.

Sera remained still for an instant, staring at the arrow that had struck not an arm's length from where she stood. Then she dropped down to the snow and Li Du saw her squeeze between the woodpile and the exterior of the manor wall.

Li Du glanced beside him. Hamza was scanning the trees on the mountainside above.

Another arrow hit the woodpile, sending a shower of kindling tumbling from the top and dusting Sera with snow.

“There!” Hamza pointed. Li Du followed the direction of his finger. He caught only a glimpse of a dark shape high above on a boulder. As Li Du watched, the figure scrambled down, and was gone.

“Did you see who it was?” Li Du asked Hamza, as they ran toward the woodpile.

“It was too far,” said Hamza.

They reached the woodpile, where they found Sera huddled and out of breath, but unhurt. When they told her that the archer had fled, she stood up slowly and emerged from the protected alcove. Her face was tense, but Li Du observed with surprise that it was not from fear. She was angry.

Hamza immediately started up the stairs.

“Stop.”

At Sera's command, Hamza halted. “But the arrows were loosed from up there,” he said, pointing into the forest toward the mountain temple. “We can catch—”

“No.” Sera brushed the snow from her dress. “Let the snake slither away.” She pulled one of the arrows from the wood into which it had lodged, cracking the thin log apart to release it. It was an elegant shaft, feathered and wickedly pointed.