Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

“Don’t trouble yourself. Kan has never had much of a liking for effeminate men,” he said sarcastically.

Cí cursed the councilor—and himself—for getting Ming into this mess. Then he told Ming about the bind he was in.

“What’s the point in following clues in the investigations if I have no idea about the murderer’s motive?”

“You’ve considered revenge?”

“Kan suggested that, too. But he also seems to think a blind woman could be responsible!” He outlined the situation with the nüshi .

“Could Kan be right?”

“Of course he could. The woman’s rich enough to employ a whole army if she wants. But why? If revenge on the emperor is what she wants, why kill these poor swine?”

“And you haven’t established any other suspects? The deceased didn’t have enemies?”

“The eunuch, no, he just lived for his work. And the bronze maker, I’m making inquiries.”

Ming tried to get up but immediately felt a stabbing pain in his legs and couldn’t move.

“I wish I could help.” He groaned, then, having recovered a little, he took a key from a chain around his neck. “But maybe there’s something you can do for me. There’s a false door in my library, after the last set of shelves. My life secrets are all behind there—books, drawings, poems, things that would have no significance to anyone else but mean everything to me. Please, should anything…happen to me, make sure that no one else gets their hands on those things.”

Cí tried to say something, but Ming silenced him with a wave of the hand.

“Promise me. If I die, bury them alongside me.”

Aloud, Cí agreed. To himself, he added one thing: if his master died, Kan would be next.

Cí went to Kan’s offices. He didn’t wait to be announced but burst in, surprising Kan, who was bent over a pile of documents at his desk. He began putting them hurriedly away, glaring at Cí. But Cí was more threatening still. He didn’t allow the councilor to speak.

“Either you let Ming out of that dungeon right now, or I’m going to tell Blue Iris everything!”

Kan sighed.

“Oh, that. I thought they’d already moved him.”

Cí didn’t believe a word.

“If you don’t have him moved, I’ll tell her. If he doesn’t recover, I’ll tell her, and if he dies—”

“If he dies it will be your fault for not doing your job properly! And if you don’t solve these murders, you’ll both be put to death. Let’s see: your findings so far might have satisfied the emperor, but not me. Boy, your chances are growing slimmer all the time, along with my patience. You’d better forget about that degenerate Ming and focus on your job. That is, if you don’t want to end up like him.”

Kan turned back to his work, but Cí wasn’t going anywhere.

“Deaf or something?” said Kan.

“When you let Ming out.”

Kan took a knife from his belt and was on Cí in a flash; the blade was at his jugular before he knew it. But Cí held firm, knowing that if Kan really wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

“Only when you have Ming moved,” Cí repeated.

He felt Kan’s anger vibrate through the edge of the knife. Eventually, Kan released him.

“Guard!” he shouted, and the sentry appeared straightaway. “See that the prisoner Ming has his wounds attended to, and then have him brought up here. As for you,” he said, bringing his face right up against Cí’s, “you’ve got three days. If you haven’t found out who the killer is by then, a killer will find you.”

Leaving Kan’s offices, Cí found he could breathe again. He had no idea how he’d ever found the gall to challenge the councilor like that. The three days Kan had given him, he realized, corresponded with Gray Fox’s return. Cí dug his fingernails into his palms. The only way to save Ming was to uncover the assassin, even if it meant betraying Feng.

Bo met him in the hallway, and together they stopped by the dungeon to check that Kan’s orders were being followed. They found four servants and a doctor carrying Ming out on a stretcher.

Their next stop was the room where the remains of the bronze maker’s warehouse had been deposited. Whoever had brought the remains had ignored his instructions. Nothing had been labeled, and it had all just been left in a pile. Cí kicked aside a singed beam and cleared some iron pokers out of his way. Bo apologized and began helping Cí organize all the wood and the molds. Reconstructing all the damaged equipment wasn’t going to be easy. There were so many bits and pieces, many of them tiny, that the task seemed nearly impossible. But then Cí found a piece of a mold that struck him as promising.

“Forget the iron. Have you seen this?” He held up a piece of greenish ceramic. “It’s different from all the others.”

Bo considered the piece of ceramic with the same lack of enthusiasm he’d shown for all the other remains.

“Let’s look for more!”

They managed to find eighteen pieces of the green ceramic. Cí gathered them up in a bag and put them to one side. Bo asked why, and something in his voice made Cí cautious, so he said casually that he planned to do the same with all the molds and went back to sorting through the wreckage. Soon it was lunchtime, and when Cí left for the Water Lily Pavilion he took the bag with him.

Back in his room at the pavilion, he took the fragments from the sack and began piecing them together. It wasn’t only their greenish tone that had attracted his attention but the overall uniformity, which suggested they probably hadn’t been used much. He was still assembling the pieces when he felt someone watching him from the door.

“The table’s laid,” said Blue Iris.

Cí cleared his throat and quickly put the pieces away, as though he’d been caught stealing. Glancing up, though, he saw how vacant Blue Iris’s gaze was. It struck him how her figure was like an exquisitely crafted lute. He followed her to the dining room.

As they ate, Feng revealed to Blue Iris the extent of his and Cí’s bond.

“You should have seen him in those days! He was a bundle of nerves as a child, and sharp as anything. His father worked for me, and I took him on as an assistant. I think he might have run from school to my offices; every day, he seemed to be there earlier and earlier waiting to join me on my rounds.” Feng’s face lit up at the memory. “He used to drive me crazy with all his questions! My goodness! A simple ‘Because I say so’ was never enough!”

Cí couldn’t help but smile. Those had been the best days of his life.

“And he turned into a brilliant assistant. The best I’ve ever had.” Before Cí could object, Feng went on. “The case in his village, for example.”

“Oh?” said Blue Iris. “What happened there?”

Again Cí would have liked to stop his old master right there, remembering how things had turned out with Lu, but Feng was on a roll.

“Cí not only discovered a corpse but was absolutely key in solving the case. It seemed like a real dead-end case, but Cí never gave up. He helped me and eventually, together, we managed to break the deadlock.”

Cí could remember clearly the moment when Feng had swished away the flies and they had swarmed around his brother’s sickle, and how that had led to Lu’s confession.

“I’m not surprised Kan decided to employ you, then,” said Blue Iris, “although it seems a little strange he’s got you working on the Jin. Their dietary habits, wasn’t it?”