Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

Bo dragged him along the floor over to a wall, far from where anyone could hear. His face was etched with concern.

“What do you mean, what’s happening? My God! You’re all anyone’s talking about at court. You’re accused of Kan’s murder!”

Cí blinked, trying to take this in. Bo dabbed at the blood on his forehead and gave him a sip of water. Cí gulped it down thirstily.

“They…they were beating me.”

“I can see that! They almost killed you,” he said, examining Cí’s wounds. “Kan’s body was examined this morning by Gray Fox, and in his view, it can’t have been suicide. There was some fortune-teller with him who was willing to testify that you’d also killed some sheriff.” Bo shook his head. “It’s this Gray Fox who’s accused you, but it’s the emperor himself who ordered your arrest.”

“But this is insane! You have to get me out of here. Feng knows—”

“Shh! The guards will hear.”

“Ask Feng,” hissed Cí. “He knows it wasn’t me.”

“You mean you’ve spoken with Judge Feng? What did you tell him?”

“The truth! Someone drugged Kan and hanged him.” Cí buried his head in his hands.

“And that was all? You didn’t say anything about the room with the bronze maker’s studio remains?”

“What about the room? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Did you mention it to him or not?”

“Yes. No! Gods, I can’t remember!”

“Damn it, Cí. If you’re determined to be unhelpful, it will be a struggle to help you. You have to tell me everything .”

“I have already.”

“Stop playing dumb!” Bo threw the water glass to the floor, smashing it, and was silent for a few moments. “Sorry,” he said. “Listen, Cí. You have to be completely honest with me. Are you sure you had nothing to do with Kan’s death?”

“Of course I’m sure! What is it you want me to say?” he shouted. “That I killed him? On my parents’ graves, no, but these animals are going to kill me whether I did it or not.”

“Fine, have it your way,” said Bo, getting to his feet. “Guards!” The door opened immediately, and Bo left the cell.

Cí curled up on the floor. He couldn’t understand why Bo seemed to think he was lying about Kan. He couldn’t think straight. A deep tiredness consumed him, and soon enough he fell asleep.

When he woke, he didn’t know what time of day it was, but he knew his shirt had been stolen. He glanced around, but none of the other prisoners were wearing it. He had no energy to try and look for it, and he crouched in the corner feeling ashamed, as always, at the scars and burns on his torso. After a moment, another prisoner came over and offered him a blanket. Cí accepted, and when he glanced over at the man, he noticed familiar marks on his face. When Cí peered closer, the man recoiled, confused. But Cí saw they were exactly the same kind of scars as those on the corpse of which he’d had the portrait made.

“What are they from?” Cí asked, gesturing to the tiny scars.

“It was New Year’s,” said the man when he realized Cí meant no harm. “I was…stealing from a rich home. Food. I was hungry. I was going through crates in the pantry, when all of a sudden, boom, they went off in my face! Just exploded.”

Cí nodded for the man to continue.

“Fireworks! I was using a candle to see. Somehow I managed to light one. Never expected fireworks in the pantry…They nearly blinded me!”

Cí peered closer, shaking his head. The marks really were exactly the same. He wanted to ask if he’d ever met anyone else who had suffered the same injury, when two guards entered. The man moved quickly away, leaving Cí cowering.

“Up!” they said, but he was so weak they had to help him.

He shuffled behind them down a hallway so dark it felt as if they were at the bottom of a mine shaft. They came to a rusty old door, and when one of the guards stepped forward and knocked, Cí was gripped by a sudden certainty that this was his end. The door’s creaking hinges sounded like a death sentence. He had a brief thought of attacking his captors to try and get away, but he had no energy to do anything of the kind. When they stepped through the door, the light blinded him, and it took a moment before he could see there was a person standing in front of him.

No…Could it be?

“Feng?” He fell forward into his old master’s arms.

After the doctor left, saying Cí was lucky to be alive and instructing him to rest, Feng came and sat down on the bed beside him. It was Feng’s own bed; he had insisted Cí be cared for in his private chamber.

“Those bastards,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I thought I’d gotten up early enough to see the emperor before anyone else could, but that Gray Fox fellow was there even earlier. It seems he came to the same conclusion as you about Kan’s not killing himself, but it’s also clear he’s not very fond of you. He was so vehement in his accusations that they alone were enough to convince the emperor you killed Kan! He also had some flea-ridden fortune-teller with him, and there was some story about a sheriff you’re supposed to have killed?”

“But—but I solved Kan’s case!”

“That was partly what helped me get you free. I assured the emperor that only yesterday you had told me the very same details Gray Fox had brought up—the dresser, the marks on the rope, the confession note—and that we were going to tell him everything this morning. It wasn’t easy to convince him, though. He made me swear on my name, and my honor, and only then did he say I could keep you in my custody. The trial’s tomorrow.”

“The trial? So he didn’t believe you?”

Feng sighed. “Gray Fox has done everything to find motives and condemn you. He found out that the emperor had offered you a place in the administration if you solved the case, and his argument was that killing Kan was the simplest way for you to do just that. And that you’re the only one who benefits from Kan’s death. Then there’s this fortune-teller.”

“That man’s a liar! You know full well—”

“It doesn’t matter what I know. What matters is they currently believe Gray Fox. And I’m finding it hard to think of evidence, hard evidence, to prove your innocence. And apparently there are a number of witnesses who saw the two of you arguing recently—including the emperor.”

Cí grimaced. His head was pounding. Feng left him to rest for a while, and he fell asleep in a whirl of fear. In his dreams, Lu kept appearing.

Waking to voices outside the window, Cí staggered over and braced himself against the ledge. He was so unsteady he thought he should lie down again, but then he saw two figures crouched down in the foliage. They glanced around nervously and spoke in sharp whispers. He couldn’t make out actual words, but the tone was clearly accusatory. Carefully and quietly, he got on his tiptoes to peer through the plants and trees to try and see who was there. He could hardly believe it, but the two figures in the bushes were Bo and Blue Iris.

He went back over to the bed and lay down again, trying to clear his head, trying to figure out some way through the labyrinth he was stuck in. All he knew for certain, for now, was that Feng was the one person he could definitely trust. Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and in stepped Blue Iris.

“How are you feeling?” she asked coldly.

Cí said nothing. Blue Iris stood in the doorway looking impassive, emotionless, as if they hardly knew each other, before walking over to the bedside table and putting down a tray with a pot of tea and a cup. Her hands were trembling.