The White Mirror (37 page)

But you do not mind what you are called,
Li Du thought as he looked at the mountain.
Secret names, names given to you, new names and changed names and names forgotten. To you, these names are like chips of rock that fall away from your slopes unnoticed, and tumble down streams until they are smooth.

Campo stood up. He wiped the rock dust from his coat and pressed his fingers to his eyes to stop his tears. “I did not think to find Him here,” he said. Then, with a little sigh and shake of his shoulders, he turned and started purposefully away down the path.

*   *   *

The mules were packed and Andruk was in the courtyard overseeing the loading of surveying equipment onto Campo's mules. Measuring tapes, folding grids, sextants, and compasses were still scattered across the ground.

Paolo Campo strode to where Doso stood. He summoned Andruk to translate, and cleared this throat. “I have decided,” he said, “that the weight of these objects is too much for the difficult journey ahead. By the time I reach Lhasa, these instruments will be rusted and bent, and of no use to anyone. If you will permit it, I will leave them in your care.”

Doso listened while Andruk finished the translation. He looked surprised, and began immediately to protest. “A host cannot accept such valuable items,” he said.

But Campo was adamant. “God's will is mysterious,” he said. “I am confident that this is correct in His eyes. Allow me to do as my feelings dictate.”

“In that case,” said Doso, in a formal tone that concealed any bewilderment he may have felt, “I will preserve these items carefully for your future use.”

Campo's expression changed. His green eyes seemed almost tranquil. “There is no need,” he said. “I will not come this way again. I am returning home.”

There were steps on the kitchen stairs and two people emerged from the barn, Tashi in his robes and Pema with a bag strapped to his back. Campo was forgotten as Doso turned to look at the two together. None of them spoke. Undiscerned machinations had altered the trajectories of two boys who had grown into men. The silence between the father and his sons was filled with echoes of events that never happened.

Doso's voice was hoarse. “After many years, you two are not so different from the brothers who were always up to some mischief.” He turned to Tashi. “Will you return to Drepung?”

Tashi placed a hand on Pema's shoulder. “We will travel first to a monastery I know that houses painters and their apprentices. If Pema finds his place there, then I will turn my thoughts to my own future. If he does not, we will continue on together until our paths become more clear.”

Doso's deep voice was steady, a father's voice. “We will make offerings for your safety,” he said, to both of them, “and for the fulfillment of your wishes. We will burn juniper and sandalwood. We will offer flour and butter and tea to remove obstructions in your way.” Doso embraced them both. “And when the wildflowers fill the fields,” he said, “and the new calves are born, you will remember the home of your ancestors.”

As the caravan started down the pasture fields, Li Du looked behind him and saw a cluster of figures coming to the manor from the direction of the village. He caught a glimpse of crimson and yellow. The village lama was on his way to counsel the family and preside over the funerals. Winter would come, followed by spring, and thoughts would turn from remembered death to new life.

*   *   *

“I have a question,” said Hamza, squinting into the sunshine. He and Li Du walked together a short distance behind the others. “Why did Rinzen try to kill Paolo Campo?”

Li Du emerged from his own thoughts. “He didn't.”

“In that case,” said Hamza, “who pushed Campo from the precipice?”

Li Du hesitated. “Do you remember what Andruk told me about Campo's behavior on the day Dhamo died?”

Hamza considered. “Campo was upset because Yeshe and the children didn't want to listen to him.”

“Yes,” said Li Du. “But his appearance was not that of a person who is merely embarrassed or annoyed. Andruk said that he was collapsed in the snow, unable to speak. It was not the interaction in Yeshe's cabin that felled him. It was something else—something he saw.”

The furrows across Hamza's brow were partially obscured by his hair, which had grown long enough to emerge in dark curls from under his blue hat. “What did he see?”

Li Du drew in a breath. “Last night I said that three people observed Rinzen between the manor and forest. In fact, there were four. Paolo Campo saw him returning to the manor after having killed Dhamo.”

“But if Campo saw the person in the black coat, why didn't he say anything about it? And why did it upset him?”

“Because he recognized it. He was the only one who did.”

Hamza looked baffled. “He recognized Rinzen?”

“No,” replied Li Du. “He did not. He recognized the coat. It was his own.”

“His own coat?” Hamza came to an abrupt halt. “If you are going to communicate in this opaque manner,” he said, “we must stop walking. I cannot simultaneously think and choose where to put my feet. You are saying that the black coat with the long fur at its shoulders belongs to Paolo Campo?”

“It does now,” Li Du said. “But it did not always. It was the coat of Achille di Spiritu.”

Hamza stared ahead of them on the path to where Campo sat astride a mule. “I do not understand. Why does he carry the coat of his friend?”

Before Li Du could answer, Hamza gave a long sigh. “Achille di Spiritu is dead.”

Li Du did not have to affirm it. “There was a storm on a mountain,” he said. “A storm far worse than the one that delayed us here.”

“He said that his companion was in Zogong,” said Hamza. “Why did he lie?”

“He didn't lie. Achille di Spiritu never reached Zogong, but Paolo Campo would not admit that his friend was gone. He carried the coat, as he carried all of the surveying equipment that was Achille's, but he hid from himself the significance of these items.”

“How did Rinzen come to wear the coat?”

“His room was next to Campo's, and Campo's possessions, you recall, spilled out in a jumble into the hallway. Rinzen found the coat and decided to make use of it. He assumed that only Campo would recognize the garment, and he thought he could avoid Campo's notice for the short time he had it on. Campo
did
observe him, but Rinzen was lucky. Instead of pursuing him with accusations of theft, Campo fell to the ground. Rinzen was able to continue on to the manor, remove the coat in the dark entryway, and proceed across the courtyard as himself. He returned the coat to its place amid the clutter. Campo remained where he was, near Yeshe's hut, where Andruk found him shortly after. Campo thought he had seen a ghost.”

“The hot springs,” said Hamza. “He went to the pools to look for Achille.”

“Yes,” said Li Du. “I thought you would understand.”

“He went there because of the story,” said Hamza. “The one he heard in the village, a story of dead souls waiting in enchanted pools.”

Li Du nodded. “He believed he had seen an apparition. It did not occur to him to remember the coat he carried among his own things. His mind went instead to the story he had been told in the village. When he heard Doso tell me how to find the pools on the following day, he decided to go to them himself.”

“And his struggle—” Hamza did not finish the sentence.

“Two nights ago,” said Li Du, “you suggested that the problem facing us might not fit within the rules to which scholars adhere. Perhaps you were right. Campo's struggle was with himself—beyond that, I cannot explain.”

They began to walk again. Li Du looked ahead at the procession of mules, bright with bells and colored yarn. The animals moved placidly, apparently content to be on a path. Li Du reached up a hand and patted his own mule's shoulder.

“But that is very sad,” said Hamza. “Do you think he will keep searching ponds for ghosts?”

Li Du hesitated, thinking of the white mountain, and of the weight Campo had left behind at the manor. “I do not think so,” he said. “I think that, with help from our caravan, Paolo Campo will travel over the mountains and see his home again.”

 

Chapter 29

Two weeks later, the caravan stopped outside of Markham, a town governed by a local Tibetan lord in command of a small army allied with Lhasa. They had traveled well, past temples carved into mountains, around blue and green lakes, and through valleys surrounded by stone-like fortress walls. It had not snowed again, and the mules were content.

Pema had been in good sprits from the moment the caravan left the valley, but early on Li Du had noticed that Tashi was quiet. He still wore his monk's robes. He accepted his role as temporary caravan lama with poise, and with an earnest desire to offer comfort and counsel to the travelers who were still shaken by what had happened. But his eyes were worried, and at night when Hamza told stories at the fire, he retreated into his own thoughts.

On the evening after their third day of travel, Li Du had observed Tashi in close conversation with Hamza, the two perched together on a high crag like eagles looking out at the mountains. Hamza had walked back down to the camp, leaving Tashi alone, a silhouette in the moonlight.

Li Du had asked Hamza what they had been speaking about. Hamza, after attempting to wave away the question, had shrugged. “I merely told him that it is possible to be chosen by miraculous signs, and to be a bad monk, just as it is possible to be overlooked by the astrologers, and yet to be a good monk. I told him that even though a liar told the boy that he was something he is not, he is not banned from a religious life. He simply has the freedom, now—and the challenge—of deciding for himself.”

After that, Tashi's mood had lightened. He said his prayers and made his offerings, drank wine with the muleteers, joined in their songs, and exchanged memories with Pema of their adventures as children. On the fifth day, Pema and Tashi had parted from the caravan to follow a path southwest toward the monastery of painters.

Now in sight of the Markham walls, the camp was set as usual, the mules unburdened, the tents constructed, and the hearth built. The sky was becoming overcast, and they worked quickly to prepare food before nightfall. When the dark did come, everyone drew close to the fire.

Hamza spoke of how people used to be birds. Sera told a story of the ghost of a slain king who tried to warn his successor of danger by entering his dreams. Hamza criticized her for the cheerless subject matter and told a third story, of a princess who survived a shipwreck and swam to an island, where she outwitted a family of enchanted tigers, released a castle from its curse, and became queen.

When the travelers began to disperse, Li Du remained at the fire. He glanced in the direction of the tent that had been assigned to Rinzen. Every night since they had left the manor, the travelers had taken turns staying awake beside it, with the exception of Paolo Campo, who it was agreed was not equipped for the task.

Tonight, Li Du had no place in the assigned order of keeping watch. Aware of his exhaustion, he was about to retire to his tent when Andruk appeared out of the shadows and joined him beside the fire.

“Tomorrow we will be in Markham,” said Andruk. He tilted his head back a fraction in the direction of Rinzen's tent. “Will he be taken to Lhasa to face the judgment of Lhazang Khan?”

Li Du did not answer immediately. When he did, he spoke in Chinese, in a voice too low for anyone other than Andruk to hear. “You had hoped,” he said, “that we would reach a Chinese magistrate first.”

Without looking at Li Du, Andruk gave a small shrug. “Why should I care what happens to him?”

“Because,” Li Du whispered, “you would see him punished by your Emperor for his betrayal.”

Andruk had been reaching out to adjust a log in the fire. He pulled his hand back. “How long have you known?”

“Since I read the command associated with the white mirror. An agent who sees it must change his clothes and his name and burn the book he carries—the book of symbols and their meanings. Rinzen did not burn his copy of it, but a copy of it was burned. I found a scrap that had fluttered out of the brazier fire. You did as the white mirror instructed.”

“How did you identify me?” asked Andruk.

“Campo told me that you intended to commission a thangka,” said Li Du. “But when I mentioned it to you, you denied it.”

“Ah,” said Andruk. “I had forgotten. Yes—I came to the manor with a message to send. It was not nearly so important as the one I carry now.” His eyes moved again toward Rinzen's tent.

“Paolo Campo had been directionless for some time when he met you,” said Li Du. “It was easy for you to take advantage of his confusion and bring him where you wanted to go.”

Andruk turned disdainful eyes to the tent in which Campo was already asleep. “He is less uncertain now than he was before. He wants to go to Lhasa, and from Lhasa back to the West.”

“Then you will go to Lhasa also?”

“I will go where I am required,” said Andruk, with an unkind smile. “You will understand if I am not open with you. The Emperor may trust you, but I trust no one.” He stood up. “Tomorrow we will see what the lord of Markham will do.” Then he hunched his back and shoulders against the cold, and left the circle of firelight.

When Andruk was gone, Li Du turned back to the fire.
What the lord of Markham will do is his own business,
he thought.
But what will I do?

He searched the fire for wisdom. Cracks through the coals glowed like written words, alternately validating and condemning his thoughts. He could speak to the lord in Markham. He could proclaim himself an advisor to the Kangxi and display the letter of transit that bore the Emperor's seal.