Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“So suspicious, Cí! I only mention it seeing as we’re such good friends.” He sneered. “Still, quite a coincidence…”

“And you haven’t found the name of the fugitive?”

“Not yet. It seems this Sheriff Kao kept himself to himself, barely talked about the case.”

Cí felt as if he could breathe again. He considered trying to change the subject, but he knew he needed to appear interested.

“Strange, though. The judiciary doesn’t offer rewards, does it?”

“Quite strange. Maybe the reward was from some rich landowner.”

“Maybe the sheriff was close to solving the case and thought about taking the reward for himself,” suggested Cí. “Maybe that was why he was killed.”

“Could be.” Gray Fox appeared to weigh his words. “For now, I’ve sent a post to the Jianningfu authorities. I expect to have the fugitive’s name in less than two weeks. And then, catching him will be as easy as can be.”

25

During dinner Cí could barely eat even a grain of rice. He was utterly exasperated by the prospect of working with Gray Fox again, but knowing he was on the Kao case was even worse. It would be two weeks until any word would come from Jianningfu that might link Cí to Kao, so he had to find out whatever he could at court. If he managed to solve the case, maybe he’d still stand a chance.

Gray Fox slurped his soup, but when Cí pushed his dish away and got up, Gray Fox was right behind him. They’d been advised that the corpses had been transferred to an examination room, and neither wanted to let them decompose more. Cí hurried ahead, but when he got there, it turned out that none of his materials or instruments had been brought. Bo claimed not to have received the request.

Damn Kan, he thought. Bringing out his pass, and without asking Bo’s permission, he announced that he’d collect his effects personally and was on his way out the door in an instant. Gray Fox stayed behind, but Bo followed after Cí.

At the academy, while Bo and a servant collected Cí’s instruments, Cí rushed around looking for Ming, eventually finding the old man bent over some books in his apartments. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Cí thought he might have been crying. He bowed and begged his old master to talk to him.

“Don’t think I don’t know the emperor’s taken you on. Corpse Reader—the outstanding youth showing up his imbecile master.” He smiled bitterly. “That’s what everyone is saying.”

Ming’s resentment was clear, but Cí still felt he was in the man’s debt. He’d raised Cí up from nothing and never asked for anything in return. Cí didn’t think Ming would believe him if he said he needed his help; he thought it would sound insincere to say he’d asked for him to be brought to the palace—even though both were true. He was trying to find the right words when Bo burst in, urging him to hurry.

Seeing the servant weighed down with Cí’s instruments and books, Ming said, “Oh, I see, that’s why you came. Fine. Go on, get out of here!”

As the old man turned away, Cí thought he saw a tear in his eye.

When Cí returned to the examination room, Gray Fox was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he’d left when a brief examination hadn’t revealed any new information. Cí decided to make the most of Gray Fox’s absence to carry out his own examination. Then he noticed a nervous-looking little man standing quietly by the door. It was the perfumer, Bo said, and his name was Huio.

Cí greeted the man, who was staring at the sentry’s large sword as if he thought he was about to have his head chopped off.

“I already told them, I haven’t done anything! I told the guards when they detained me, but they wouldn’t listen!”

Clearly the perfumer hadn’t been informed why he’d been asked to come. But before Cí could explain, Bo stepped forward and told the man to keep quiet.

“All you need to know is that you have to obey this young man.”

Huio began whimpering and nodding. He got down on the floor and clutched at Cí’s feet, begging not to be killed.

“I’ve got a family, sir…”

Cí helped him gently to his feet. Huio was trembling.

“All I need is your opinion on a perfume. That’s all.”

Huio didn’t seem to believe he could have been detained by Imperial Guards for such a matter, but he began to calm down. That was, until they took him over to the three corpses, which, in their advanced stages of decomposition, immediately caused the man to pass out. Cí managed to bring him around with some smelling salts, and once Huio was calm again, Cí explained his task to him in more detail.

“I believe the perfume each was wearing might have halted the advance of the worms in the flesh.”

Huio approached the corpses again. The stench was really dreadful, and he gagged. Recovering, he asked for three bamboo sticks to be brought; then he rubbed one against the edges of the wounds on each of the three corpses and put the sticks in jars. He rushed out of the room and Cí followed, shutting the door after them.

“I don’t know how you can breathe in there.” Huio gasped. “Awful!”

“How soon can you have answers for me?” asked Cí impatiently.

“Difficult to say. The perfume is obviously mixed up with the smell of the rotting flesh, so I’ll have to separate the scents. Then I’m going to have to compare my findings with thousands of perfumes from around the city. Every perfumer mixes his own scents. Perfumes are all based on similar essences, but everyone proportions them differently. And of course,” said Huio, smiling, “every perfumer’s proportions are his greatest secret.”

“It doesn’t sound hopeful,” said Cí.

“Something has already stood out to me. Something that might make my job easier. The very fact that there are traces of perfume after several days tells me that the fixatives are of the highest quality. That already excludes quite a few. And, though this might not provide a definite answer, I’d also say, judging by the combination of fragrances”—he took the lid off one of the jars and sniffed it—“that we’re not talking about a pure essence here.”

“Which means?”

“We might, just might, be in luck. I’ll get to work. I hope to have an answer within a couple of days.”

The reports from the other examinations of the corpses reminded Cí of one important thing that he’d already noticed himself: The corpse of the older man had a wound beneath his right shoulder blade. It was circular, about the diameter of a coin, and its edges seemed to have been ripped at and torn outward. Cí made a note and continued his investigation.

There were no signs that any of the victims had put up a struggle—either they’d been so completely surprised they didn’t have a chance of defending themselves, or they had been familiar with the killer. It was something to bear in mind. The examination brought only one more detail to light: a strange corrosion between the fingers and on the palms and backs of the older man’s hands. The skin, in spite of the decomposition, was slightly whiter on those parts than anywhere else. There was also a small, reddish tattoo of a flame at the base of the thumb on the right hand. Cí removed the hand using a saw, packed it in ice, and put it in the conservation chamber before going outside for some air.