The White Mirror (30 page)

Paolo Campo was pacing through the mud in the courtyard. He took one of Li Du's hands and pressed it between his own. “Andruk told me what happened. Another man is dead. In a painted cave. It is a doorway to hell and it will swallow us all.”

“It was not a doorway to hell,” Li Du said. “Soon we will know the truth, and then we will be safe.”

“Safe? How can you say that we are safe? We must leave this place. I will not die here and leave Brother Achille to travel alone. It is a terrible thing to be alone and so far from home. He will not know what has happened to me.” Campo looked up at the sun and blinked as tears welled in his eyes. “I do not want to spend another night in this house.”

Li Du looked down at the hands that gripped his own. Campo's fingers were bloodless white, the scar on his ring finger livid purple. “Perhaps we should go sit by the fire,” Li Du said. “Your hands are very cold.”

Paolo Campo nodded meekly. “Yes. Yes, they are very cold.” He followed Li Du to the brazier and sank down onto one of the stools. Li Du sat across from him.

Li Du was aware of the group at the other side of the courtyard. Doso and Pema were saddling a mule to go to the cave, where they would remove the body and convey it to the mountain temple. The Chhöshe stood silently beside Rinzen, who was watching the preparations. Li Du could not see his expression. Now that the snow was melting and the manor's painted exterior walls were more visible, the contrast between Rinzen's yellow silk and his surroundings was less stark than it had been when the snow had made everything white.

Li Du drew a small package from his pocket. He ascertained that the kettle on the brazier was full of boiling water. Then he opened the package, careful not to lose a single leaf.

“I—I do not need tea,” said Campo. “One must deny oneself comforts.”

Li Du picked up a bowl resting beside the brazier and rinsed it with water from the kettle. “This is my own personal supply of tea,” he said. “Are you sure that you do not wish to try it?”

Campo leaned forward and sniffed the leaves. His face brightened. “Brother Achille di Spiritu and I drank tea in Kathmandu that exuded this same sweet fragrance. In that case, I will for an instant indulge.”

Li Du rinsed the dust from the leaves. His slow movements appeared to have a calming effect on Campo. When he handed Campo a bowl of pale green dragonwell tea, Campo took it and clutched it as he had clutched Li Du's hand. For a few moments, his whole body curved around its warmth. Then he looked up.

“I cannot stop thinking about the mirror,” he said in a ragged whisper. “It is like the snow, the endless snow filling the air around us.”

“Do you speak of storms on the mountain?”

Campo nodded. “Of storms, yes.” His gaze became distant. “Did I tell you of the mule?”

Li Du was puzzled. “I do not think so.”

“We lost a mule,” said Campo. “Not long before we came to Zogong. The snow was deep. Our path lay along the side of the mountain, which sloped at an angle so extreme that I had only to reach out with my right hand to touch the mountain above me.” Campo extended his arm. A drop of water from a melting icicle struck his open palm, and he pulled his hand away, tucking his arm against his body. “But below … The wind fell down onto us, dragging our packs and our clothes. Ahead of me through the snow I saw—I saw the mule slip. It began to tumble. There was no power in earth or heaven that could stop its fall. We heard the pots—the pots it carried, clinking and crashing. And then it was gone. The next day we searched but could not find the animal.”

Paolo Campo looked fevered. In spite of the cold there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were like green glass. He blinked, and Li Du saw the memory vanish. Campo's look became urgent. “Who is the murderer among us?”

“I do not yet know,” Li Du said. He waited for Campo to take a sip of tea before he spoke again. “Andruk said that he did not see you this morning. Were you here at the manor?”

Campo straightened. “I? Why do you want to know where I was?”

Li Du's voice was gentle. “I hoped you might have seen something that could help us discover the truth. Did you see anyone go that way?” He pointed in the direction of the ravine.

Campo twisted around. “No—I couldn't have seen anyone. I have been in the temple here at the manor all morning.” He nodded toward it.

Li Du looked across the courtyard at the little building with the incense cauldron in front of it. “Why were you there?”

“It is essential to study the shrines of the infidel,” said Campo. “I seek ways to convert them into houses of God.”

“Was there anyone else there in the temple with you?”

Campo shivered. “The mistress of the house came to pray and to light the flames. She blew them out when she left—to leave them burning risks fire. She did not see me, and I was left alone in the dark.”

Campo's eyes moved down to his own hands, and he twisted his fingers together. “At home,” he said, “I lived in a monastery. During the day the sun was warm and I could smell the sea in the air that whispered gently through the boxwoods.” He looked at Li Du as if there was nothing more important than for Li Du to see what he saw and hear what he heard.

“At night we woke in the dark to pray together, and the sound of our prayers was like the candle flame that lit the dark places. In our reverence we sang together as if we were one soul offering itself to the Lord, and for a moment we joined the angels in their heavenly chorus. There was no loneliness. There was no fear. Our weak bodies that suffered cold and fatigue were gone, and our whole selves were expressed as one.”

Campo sighed. “When I hear the monks of this land sing together, I envy them. They are as we were.” His face hardened. “But the notes they sing are out of tune. And the sound of those terrible horns is like that of a creature rising from the dark flames to destroy the world.” Campo stopped. He seemed utterly depleted.

Li Du spoke softly. “I must ask you once more,” he said, “to tell me what happened to you on the precipice.”

Campo stammered. “I—I have told you everything. There is nothing else to tell.”

Li Du exhaled in frustration. “I cannot help you if you do not confide in me.”

Campo's eyes widened. “You—you wish to help me?”

Li Du nodded. For a moment Campo looked as if he would relent. Moments passed, but he said nothing.

“I will ask you a different question,” said Li Du. “On the day Dhamo died, did you see someone in a black coat tufted at the shoulders?”

The effect of Li Du's words was instant. Campo's pallor became ghastly. He stood up, knocking the stool over behind him. “No,” he said. “I did not see him. Please do not ask me any more questions. I beg you to leave me alone.”

*   *   *

Li Du looked up and saw Rinzen and Andruk crossing the courtyard toward them. Rinzen's brows were drawn close together in his grooved forehead. As Li Du met Rinzen's eyes, he asked a silent question with his own. Rinzen responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and lift of his shoulders, which Li Du interpreted to mean that Rinzen, despite who he was, had no privileged information to offer on the matter of Sonam's death.

Andruk, Li Du saw, carried a knife at his hip that had not been there before. The look he gave Li Du was taut with suspicion. He spoke curtly. “We have been told that you believed Dhamo was murdered, but that you told no one. Why did you give us no warning?”

Li Du met Andruk's gaze without flinching. “Because there was no one I could trust.”

“A fair answer,” said Andruk, taking Li Du by surprise. The nervous affect that Li Du remembered from the night of Dhamo's death had been replaced by alert self-assurance. Andruk twisted his neck to relieve the pressure in his bones. “None of us can trust the others now,” he continued. “But the snow is melting and we are leaving tomorrow. As always, our host was solicitous, but he made his wishes clear. He wants our saddlebags packed and ready by the mules before dinner.”

Rinzen looked over his shoulder. Pema and the Chhöshe were just leaving the manor gate, one on each side of the mule. Li Du glimpsed new white shrouds in the baskets strapped to its saddle. “Doso is not with them,” he said.

“Doso's wife will not allow him to leave the manor,” said Rinzen. “My sympathies are with the woman. We are all confused and afraid—all but the one who is guilty of these crimes. Some of us come from places visited more often by violence. In Lhasa, horrors coexist with splendor. But this place—this valley—is quiet and peaceful. We must hope the family can cleanse the land with offerings, and that by spring this will all be forgotten.”

“Not forgotten,” Andruk said.

Li Du looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“The pilgrims will still come for their paintings, but there will be no painter here to paint them.”

“That is true,” Rinzen agreed. “I will speak to the monasteries in Lhasa. Perhaps a new painter can be sent here to continue the temple's tradition—to replace what is lost.”

Campo was still standing. He looked dazed. “Where will we go now?” he asked Andruk. “Are we a long journey from Zogong?”

Andruk frowned. “Not so far. If you are ready to return, then you need only command me to guide you there.”

“Yes,” said Campo quietly. “I wish to rejoin Brother Achille. I will consult the maps.”

“You should be preparing to go also,” said Rinzen, turning to Li Du. “Your caravan has already begun to pack its mules.”

“The caravan is leaving?”

“They say they will attempt the pass before the sun sets today,” said Andruk.

Li Du stood up quickly. With a final look at the faces around him, he turned and hurried across the courtyard and out into the pasture, his feet splashing through puddles that sent sunlit drops of water sparkling around his boots like jewels.

 

Chapter 24

Li Du arrived at the caravan camp to find that the fire inside the hut had been extinguished, and a new one built outside. There were no pots or pans propped over its embers. Instead, it was piled high with juniper branches, which were sending up clouds of pungent smoke as they burned. The muleteers were rolling blankets and stacking saddlebags on the woodpile and on the roof of the hut, out of the mud, while the grazing mules sought out gaps in the snow.

“We're leaving today,” said Kalden when he saw Li Du.

“But it is already afternoon.”

Kalden's face was grim. “We may not get far before we camp for the night, but we're not staying here.”

“You don't have what you came for.”

Kalden tossed a pebble into the fire with a sharp flick of his wrist. It struck a weakened branch, which burst apart in a flurry of sparks and smoke. “I want nothing more to do with those papers,” he said. “Or this place.” He picked up another pebble and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “I'd rather pay the taxes than carry bad fortune with us out of this valley.”

“I am close to discovering the identity of the murderer,” Li Du said. “If you will delay our departure until the morning, I can reveal the truth.”

There was no change in Kalden's stony expression. “Someone else could die tonight,” he said. “I will not risk the safety of my caravan.”

Li Du squared his shoulders and faced the taller man. “I have traveled with you for some time. I have listened to the stories you and your muleteers tell. You have faced wild animals and whole companies of armed bandits. Surely you can face one more night in this valley.”

Kalden stiffened. “We have no reason to stay. The murders have nothing to do with us.”

With a shake of his head, Li Du persisted. “Sonam came here to meet you.”

Anger tightened Kalden's face. “Do you accuse me of killing him?”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“But his business with you brought him here,” Li Du said. “It led him to his death. You claim that you don't want to carry bad fortune with you out of this valley. I suggest that helping me catch the person who killed Sonam would do more to protect you than burning juniper or making offerings.”

Li Du thought he perceived a glimmer of uncertainty in Kalden's youthful yet weathered features. That, in combination with the sounds of imminent departure—squeaks of leather and wood, shifting horses and jangling bells—inspired in Li Du a calm determination.

“If you will not wait for me,” Li Du said, “then I will remain behind. I will catch up to you if I can.”

Kalden cast an appraising look over Li Du's resolute expression, tattered clothes, and threadbare hat. “These mountains are not like the southern hills that you navigated with your guidebooks,” he said. “Are you really so determined?”

“Yes.”

Kalden let out a long exhale. “My brother would leave you,” he said.

“You are not your brother.”

Norbu approached through the billowing smoke. He carried a wooden saddle. “This needs adjusting,” he said. “Is there time?”

There was a silence. Then Kalden turned to Norbu. “There is time,” he said. “We are staying here tonight.”

Norbu opened his mouth to protest, but Kalden silenced him with a look. “We leave in the morning,” he said.

After only a brief hesitation, Norbu nodded, then began to bark orders at the others.

Kalden returned his attention to Li Du. “One more night,” he said. “You will not delay us longer than that.”

“I won't try to,” Li Du replied.

“You misunderstand,” said Kalden. “It is not up to you or to me. It seems the manor lord's welcome has finally ended—he wants all of us off his land at sunrise.” He shifted his gaze to the manor. “You don't have many hours left to find your answer. I hope you are close to it.”