Ian MORSON - A Deadly Injustice

It is easy to dodge a spear that comes in front of you, but hard to keep out of harm’s way from an arrow shot from behind.

I rose early the next morning because I had much to do. I told Lin that I would follow up the matter of the writer of the words in the play we had seen. Lin was still sure they had hinted at knowledge of the real murderer of Old Geng.

‘I keep recalling other lines from the play, but I don’t know whether they were in the original or not.’

I was getting more uncertain about this by the day.

‘Such as?’

‘Well, one character said something like “get your monkshood, and your mountain fennel.” Monkshood is aconite by another name – the poison we are looking for. But I’m damned if I can remember if the original play referred to it or another way of killing. You see, just before that line the same character said, “who could have guessed behind the smile a dagger lay?” Why say that if the victim in the play was poisoned?’

‘I will go and find this P’ing-Yang Nu and settle your doubts for you. And I will do it right away.’

Lin clutched his chest in a way that suggested staying his beating heart.

‘Thank you, my demon. Remember, you are looking for a man with tattooed arms and legs.’

I left him once again seated at his low desk writing notes of all our actions to date. It had always been my intention to go into town this morning, but not to see someone from the players’ troupe. I had arranged to meet the prefect, Li Wen-Tao, at the Temple of the Earth-Goddess. It was time for the first return on my investment. As I approached the temple, I noted with satisfaction two well-muscled young men emerging from the crowd and falling in step with me a few paces back. I had no worries about a physical encounter with the prefect, but who knows? If he chose to bring along a couple of heavies in order to foreclose on our deal, I would still be at a disadvantage. If he hadn’t thought of it, well, my having arranged for two big bodyguards at my back would keep him in line. Hopefully, I was secure.

I could see that a steady stream of people were entering and leaving through the main doorway of the temple. Ducking through the archway myself, I peered into the gloom of the interior. Incense hung in dense sweet-smelling clouds, and I felt queasy from the cloying odour. Many visitors were going to the main altar, but there was also a long line of people at the altar to the god of lost and stolen items. A stoop-shouldered old woman was very busy, and I watched as she dealt with those at the head of the queue. She first listened to a wealthy looking merchant, who whispered in her ear and pressed an offering into her claw-like hand. She hobbled to the twin statues in the shrine and mumbled her prayers. The merchant was astounded to hear a voice come from the altar, no doubt telling him where to find his lost item. He was so impressed that he took another coin out of his sleeve and pressed it into the priestess’s palm. As one happy client left in a hurry to find what was lost, an elderly couple approached the priestess. A similar scenario followed, with the old pair passing money over. The priestess prayed, but there was no voice from the god this time. Returning to her clients, she shook her head. Apparently no response had been forthcoming from the gods, but no doubt she would be advising them to return the next day. Perhaps by then she would have better news – if Li was playing his part. The next supplicant, a woman with a white-painted face, stepped forward. She and the old priestess whispered to each other.

I was aware of a movement behind me, and out of the corner of my eye saw the prefect’s large form looming into sight. He saw who the priestess was talking to, and grinned.

‘She has good news for the courtesan. Her missing bolts of silk have revealed themselves to the gods. She is telling her where they are.’

As he told me this, I could see the courtesan handing over a big bundle of paper money. Then she hurried away. Li licked his lips.

‘There she goes to dig the bolts up from the embankment by the river, where Ho buried them. Let the old woman deal with the others in her queue first, and then I will take our share of the money.’ He grinned broadly. ‘What a service we provide.’

We watched from the shadows as the line of supplicants dwindled. Several of them handed over paper money or gold coins as an offering to the gods. Clearly business was brisk, and I asked Li what he thought of the scheme.

‘Is it going that well already?’

He laughed at my expression of surprise, his vast belly wobbling under his finely embroidered robe.

‘It was a little quiet to begin with. So I decided I couldn’t wait for Ho to rob someone, and then come tell me. I gave him a list of wealthy men and women and their property, and told him to get busy. There seems to be quite a crime wave developing in Pianfu now.’ He grinned, his dark raisins of eyes disappearing in his fat cheeks. ‘But no one is complaining, for they get their goods back, and reward the gods accordingly.’

I told Li that I was full of admiration for his astonishing enterprise.

‘Why did I not think of that?’

He sneered and shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging his superiority over the barbarian. The queue had dispersed so we went over and Li extracted his commission from the priestess. She hissed her disapproval and gave me a piercing look. But in return for the money, Li gave her a paper with some more information on it. No doubt the couple who had been told to come back tomorrow would find the gods had answered their prayers. Li turned to me, for the first time aware of the two well-built young men hovering in the background. He gave me a fearful look, perhaps thinking I was going to take all his profits. I smiled reassuringly.

‘Just a little insurance policy, Master Li. Say hello to Dao and Yun.’

Li grinned nervously and peeled off some notes, pressing them in my hand. I secreted them in my purse, and walked jauntily out of the temple. Looking back I saw that my bodyguards were no longer following. Well, I did not have need of them now. Turning to my right, I started towards the theatre, and my hoped-for meeting with P’ing-Yang Nu.

The theatre seemed very quiet – even the entrance arch was unoccupied. Normally the stentorian-voiced barker sat there urging people to enter when there was a show to promote, and then taking the money. Today he was nowhere in sight. I walked through into the arena, seeking someone who could tell me where P’ing-Yang Nu was to be found. On the stage, which in full daylight looked dowdy and worn, a couple of actors were practising acrobatic moves. One man swung a punch at the other, and he lurched backwards even though the fist had not touched him and performed a somersault. He did it badly, falling on one knee. He clutched his leg, crying out in pain. The first man called out in derision and the other stumbled back to his place. They squared up to practise the move again, ignoring me as I climbed the steps to the platform on which they were working out their routine. Striding over to them, I could smell the stale sweat on their bodies. The blow was flung again, and the recipient performed another somersault. He landed hard on his backside this time, and the other one laughed. The one on the floor looked up at me, acknowledging my presence for the first time. I tried my best to look stern, though I’m sure he could put on a much more convincing scowl than I could. Unless his acting was as bad as his acrobatics, that is.

‘P’ing-Yang Nu?’

The actor cocked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the backcloth. The man I sought was obviously backstage somewhere. I thanked him, and stuck a hand out to help him get up from his embarrassing position on the tiled floor of the stage. He refused it, bounding to his feet as though unhurt. I did notice he walked away with a limp, however. I pulled the edge of the painted cloth aside and stepped into the gloom behind it. The smell of men’s sweat was even stronger here, laced with another familiar but elusive smell. I took a step forward in the dark, and my foot slid on the tiles. They were wet and sticky. The odour in my nostrils identified itself. It was like the smell of an abattoir. Or a battlefield.