The White Mirror (31 page)

*   *   *

Li Du watched three figures, indistinct through the smoke, detach themselves from the forest. He recognized Hamza's blue hat, and surmised that the two accompanying him were Sera and Lumo. Hamza raised a hand in greeting. Leaving the other two to continue directly to the manor, Hamza strode across the field and met Li Du not far from the fire.

“Lumo agreed to come,” said Li Du.

Hamza nodded. “She scoffed at Sera's concern for her safety, but admitted she was curious to see the strangers about whom she'd been told. She says she knew Sonam by sight, and didn't like him.”

Li Du gave Hamza an account of his conversations in the courtyard, and of Kalden's capitulation. As he concluded, he began to walk back in the direction of the manor through the golden-green stubs of barley poking out through the snow. He had taken only a few steps when he realized that Hamza was not with him. He turned around.

Hamza was standing still, apparently deep in thought.

“We should return to the manor,” Li Du said. “There is not much time.”

“You would have stayed behind,” said Hamza. “You would have renounced the protection of the caravan and stayed alone in that dark manor to search for a murderer who would likely not hesitate to kill you?”

“Yes,” said Li Du. He started to turn away, but Hamza spoke again.

“My friend,” said Hamza. “I have never asked you why you did not accept the invitation of the Emperor to return to his court.”

Li Du was startled. “It is no longer my home.”

“And yet,” said Hamza, “I know that you think of it. I see memories in your face. You return home in your mind as if you are opening boxes and looking at the treasures inside. Then you close them again. And you walk farther and farther away from them. Why?”

“I have told you why,” Li Du answered. “I wish to travel.”

“Travelers talk about where they came from,” said Hamza. “You do not.”

“I was exiled. I prefer not to talk about it.”

“But you are not an exile anymore.”

Li Du looked away. Beyond the forest, wisps of cloud rested on distant mountain peaks like parchments draped over string in the sunshine outside the library. He could almost hear the pages fluttering in the wind. He drew in a deep breath.

“There was a librarian in Beijing,” he said. “A man of refinement and wisdom. He was my mentor and my closest friend. I was young and full of ideas about what was wrong with the empire. I thought my criticisms were very clever. Shu never chastised me, but he always defended the Emperor. He countered my vanity and my heedless irreverence with eloquence and patience.”

Li Du paused. “Others were executed for voicing opinions far less subversive than my own, but I was arrogant, and I trusted Shu.”

Li Du looked up. Hamza was scrutinizing his face. “And he betrayed you,” said Hamza.

“No. I—I don't know what happened.”

“You don't know?”

Withdrawing one hand from its long sleeve, Li Du rubbed the nape of his neck and addressed his words in the direction of the mountains. “One afternoon, six years ago, the door to the library opened and the Emperor's bannermen were there. I thought they had come to arrest me. I was—I was very afraid. But they were not there for me. They were there for Shu.”

Hamza's eyes widened. “Why?”

“He was accused of conspiring against the Emperor,” Li Du said. “I was convinced that there was a mistake. I knew he was loyal. But then he asked to see me, and he told me that the accusation was true.” Li Du closed his eyes. “I didn't believe him. Irrefutable evidence was offered at his trial. I searched for a piece that was missing, but I found nothing.” Li Du opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at the mountains. “And then he was gone.”

“And you received a sentence of exile.”

Li Du nodded. “Because of my close association with him.”

There was a silence between them. Then Li Du spoke again. “My family renounced me, and my wife remarried years ago. The Emperor's pardon does not change that.”

“And your wandering path brought you here,” said Hamza, “to number among the motley congregation drawn to this valley cradled by stone. This was a place unused to travelers until fate drew all of us here. Only Dhamo's paintings journeyed as we have, across mountains and through forests, to be revered by earnest novices in distant monasteries.”

Li Du did not answer.

Hamza, noticing his abstraction, peered at his face. “Librarian,” he said. “What preoccupies you?”

“Flowers,” answered Li Du.

Hamza's expression turned to concern. “I know that you Chinese scholars have inclinations toward poetry, but I am surprised that now, of all times, you should be inspired to composition.”

Li Du smiled. He put his hand on his hat as a gust of wind threatened to blow it away, and began to walk in the direction of the manor. “I was just remembering something that Pema said.”

“About flowers?”

Li Du nodded. “Yes,” he said. “About wildflowers in the fields.”

*   *   *

Kamala was at the hearth ladling circles of smooth batter onto a griddle that rested on a pile of coals. The soft white edges bubbled and began to turn gold. The younger of the two boys stood beside her—the other children were picking walnut meat from a bucket of cracked shells. Kamala's face was calm.

Hamza and Sera sat at the low table. Lumo sat at the hearth. Her shoulders were draped in a wool blanket. She looked uncomfortable, holding the edges of her blanket with her fingertips and shifting her gaze to and away from Kamala and the children. She glanced up up when Li Du came in.

“I am told that you found Sonam dead in a cave,” she said. “That man was always walking toward a violent fate. My sister married one like him. He took up with bandits and did not meet a good end. Of course, neither did she.”

Li Du saw Lumo's glance move again to the children. She let the blanket fall away from her shoulders. “You keep your kitchen very hot,” she said to Kamala.

“I am sorry, grandmother,” Kamala said. Li Du heard the forced patience in her voice. “Can I help you to the seat on the other side of Mara? The wind comes down through the eaves there and it is cooler.”

Lumo shook her head. “I'll be back in my own place soon enough—where I can keep my own hearth.” Her eyes slid to Mara. “She does not talk anymore?”

Mara was awake, but did not seem to hear Lumo. Kamala rose and went to her. “Can I bring you anything, grandmother?” Mara raised her fingers in a dismissive gesture, but said nothing.

“She speaks sometimes,” said Kamala. “But not often these days.”

“She said something to me,” Li Du said. “I hoped that one among you would help me understand what she meant. She told me that Karma was killed by a painting. She said that there was something wrong with a painting.” He looked to Lumo, who was staring into the fire. “I thought that she might have been speaking of the painting that Dhamo made in Lhasa thirteen years ago—the painting of the Fourth Chhöshe climbing the mountain stairs. You said you came to this valley fourteen years ago. Did you see that painting?”

“Of course I saw it. I climbed the stairs to the temple on the day the boy was recognized. It was a very grand occasion.” Lumo's eyes, bright beneath papery eyelids, observed the memory. “The whole village was there—waiting and praying. We all saw the painting framed in silk and flowers. It was of a little boy carrying a basin of milk up the mountain stairs and offering it at the temple.”

“What happened then?”

“It was just as in the painting. The boy—Tashi his name was then—came up the stairs, the mountains around him, the sun shining on him, and the basin of milk held steady in his strong little hands. He carried it very solemnly to the temple, and knelt, and made the offering. The same as the painting in every detail.”

Lumo paused and became thoughtful. “Something wrong with the painting?” she mused. “Something wrong with the painting? No. I would have said there was something wrong with the family. Karma was very upset. There was a celebration—a great feast. The village spoke of how fortunate the family was. But Karma's face—I haven't forgotten it.”

No one said anything. The only sounds in the room were the sizzle and flap of Kamala frying bread, the snapping of the fire, and the plink of walnut morsels tossed into a bowl.

Lumo sat back and drew the blanket back over her shoulders. “Doso, too. On that night, Doso drank barley wine until he could not walk without swaying like a pine tree in a storm. I was going home with my lantern, and I saw him—the manor lord. He was outside the wall, and he was holding a man by the throat. I heard him weeping and railing. I held up my light and I saw that the man there against the wall was a monk. It was Dhamo. I think if I had not come, Doso would have choked the life from him.”

Li Du did not have a chance to reply before Kamala spoke. “My husband would never harm a religious man.”

Lumo gave a snort. “Anyone can harm anyone else.”

Li Du saw Kamala's hands shake. “Doso took you in when you fell to the ground on the path and would have died.”

“He did,” said Lumo. “But I won't grovel to him because of that. I fell because I was ready to fall. I'd left Kham with no purpose but to walk until I walked right into the next life. Now fourteen years have gone by and I am still alive. I am grateful to Doso, but that is not what I intended.”

Kamala took a wooden plate from the shelf and put the flat cakes, now golden and crusted, one by one in a pile. “Doso is in the shrine making offerings to protect all of us.”

She lifted the lid of the kettle. “There is just enough boiling water left for tea,” she said, and stood up. She picked up two empty buckets. As Li Du had seen them do before, the children stood, huddled so close they looked as if they were attached to her skirts, and followed her out of the kitchen.

*   *   *

Li Du caught up to Kamala as she headed toward the stream behind the manor, the children now trailing after her like ducklings, the little girl carrying the infant. When he offered to carry the buckets, Kamala handed them to him wordlessly.

“I must ask you a question,” he said.

“What question?”

“You have mentioned your visits to the market at Dajianlu. Are you always among the party that travels there from this valley?”

“Yes,” she said. “I go as long as the children are well.”

They had reached the stream. Li Du filled the buckets. “Were you with Pema when he took Dhamo's thangkas to Dajianlu?”

She nodded. “That was his task while I bargained on behalf of the manor.”

“I know that very little escapes you,” said Li Du. “And that you recall details others would forget. Did you hear Pema say where the thangkas were going? Did he tell you their destinations?”

Kamala blinked in surprise. “They were for monasteries.”

“Do you remember their names?”

She appeared to consult her memory. “They were not familiar to me,” she said. “But Pema asked me to help him remember.” After a short silence, Kamala spoke three names. She searched Li Du's face as if she was trying to ascertain the meaning they held for him.

The words swept through Li Du's mind with a rush of color, fragrance, and sound. He saw an old mosaic with a tile missing in the dragon's tail, smelled fresh sweet rice wrapped in leaves for a festival, heard voices chattering in the accent of the north—monks debating scholars to the cheers of students who had escaped class to watch. He knew these places.

To Li Du they were part of the landscape of knowledge ingrained in his memory. He knew the monasteries. They were all within a day's journey of the Forbidden City.

 

Chapter 25

The courtyard was in shadow when Li Du climbed the stairs to Rinzen's apartments and found him pacing slowly in his room. Rinzen ushered him inside and closed the door. “What is the matter? I hope that there has been no further violence.”

“There has not, but I have come to warn you.”

“To warn me of what?” Rinzen's face was grave.

“I believe that you are in danger.”

Rinzen pulled one of his hands out from his sleeve and indicated that Li Du should sit. “Of course I am in danger,” he said. “I have told you already who I am, and what secret I carry.”

“But you did not tell me everything.” Li Du sat at the edge of the painted wooden chair. Rinzen sat opposite him.

“Of course not,” Rinzen said. “We both serve the Emperor, but to share all the secrets I have would be—”

“That is not what I mean.” Li Du drew in a deep breath. “I believe that you are on your way to Litang, as you say. I believe that there is a rumor of a seventh incarnation. And I believe that you went to the hot springs to speak to Dhamo of what he might know.”

“Then on what point do you accuse me of withholding information?” Rinzen's eyes were focused intently on Li Du.

“On the point of why you thought Dhamo might help you. You were not interested in his visions. You were interested in what he might have learned from the spies whose messages to the Kangxi Emperor are encoded in Dhamo's paintings.”

Rinzen did not answer immediately. To Li Du's surprise, he closed his eyes. For several moments, Rinzen's silent cogitation dominated the room. The force of it was so intense that Li Du felt his own thoughts become weak and confused.

Rinzen opened his eyes. He nodded. “It seems I must place more trust in you than I was initially prepared to do. You understand why I did not confide everything to you. Even with your reputation, I would have been foolish to say more than was necessary. But who told you of this?”

“I was not told.”

Rinzen looked at the door. “We must speak quickly and quietly. Explain to me, please, how you came to know, and why you have come here now.”