I knew Lin’s predilection for the fine detail of cases. I thought he got bogged down too often in irrelevant detail and missed the bigger picture. I wanted to tell him so, but suspected that, if I told him to forget it, he would persist even more in his hunt for the worm that was wriggling through his brain. And to be frank, now that he had raised the matter, I recalled there had been something that puzzled me to.
‘We will piece it all together when we interrogate Wenbo. It will come back to you.’
Just then, Po Ku reappeared with the cleaned brush, which he gave to Lin, and we set off for the jail. Tadeusz was left with the task of drafting another report for Ko that would mislead him but still leave him thinking the silversmith was in his pocket.
The message Ko received two days later was read with deep satisfaction. Tadeusz reported that Lin and I had gone out on a limb, pronouncing the girl, known as Jianxu, innocent. This was contrary to the ruling made by the local prefect, Li Wen-Tao, which had been confirmed by Taitemir, the Mongol governor of the district. Ko’s cadaverous face split into what passed for a smile. His plan had worked. When he had seen the petition written by the playwright, Guan Han-Ching, and read the accompanying documents, he could see that the ruling of Li’s court was flawed. So many possibilities had been ignored in the face of the confession wrung out of the girl by the use of the bastinado. Normally, Ko would not have cared. One more innocent girl’s execution would not bring Kubilai’s empire tumbling down. And for him, as the Master of the Censorate, to have a hold over a local official concerning a bad judgement, was invaluable for the future. It was a means of controlling this prefect, Li, should he ever need to. At first he was minded to tear the petition up and consign it to the flames.
But the possibility of destroying Lin Chu-Tsai’s career, along with that of the damned barbarian, had proved too tempting. He had decided to use the petition as a trap to snare them both, knowing they would seek out the truth rather than confirm the original judgement. They couldn’t help themselves as they were too honest for their own good. But if his suspicion that the girl was innocent proved wrong, and his enemies confirmed the judgement after all, Ko had a strategy for that possibility too. Now, it looked as though he would not need it. His enemies had walked straight into the trap he had set according to his tame spy, Tadeusz Pyka. He would destroy Lin and Zuliani, and then that man too, when he no longer had any need of him.
Ko eased out of his hard, upright chair, and called for his servant.
‘I need to make an appointment with the Great Khan.’
Tadeusz’s faked report to Ko Su-Tsung, whilst it did what was required of it, was overtaken by events. Even before it was in his hands – in fact on the very day it was despatched – matters took a strange and unexpected turn. As Tadeusz was writing the message, Lin and I were on our way to obtain Wenbo’s confession. It all now seemed easy, with only the muddy waters of Ko’s possible entrapment to avoid. But I reckoned my corrupting of the prefect would prevent any complaints from the local administration about our overturning his verdict. Li would endorse our conclusions; he would even applaud our uncovering of the truth. A grave miscarriage of justice would be overturned. And Mongol justice – in the safe hands of Lin Chu-Tsai – would be seen to be upheld. Unfortunately, it was not as easy as I had imagined.
The first strange and perturbing thing was a summons from Taitemir, the Mongol governor of the region. It came in the form of a uniformed Mongol on our threshold. He was dressed as a light cavalryman with a quilted blue tunic called a kalat, underneath which he wore grey breeches and thick, laced-up leather boots. A short, but razor-sharp sword was belted at his waist. There was no objecting to his master’s command – the messenger’s stiff and uncompromising presence in the doorway of our house determined that. Lin and I would be seeing Taitemir. The Mongol cavalryman had arrived on horseback, and Lin and I hurried to make two horses ready. Gurbesu watched anxiously on as we left, but did not forget to offer us some advice.
‘Remember. He still may have been one of those guilty of the murder of Old Geng. Ask him about it.’
I knew by ‘him’ she meant Taitemir, and was reminding me that she had said from the beginning that we should question him. It was easy for her to say, though. We might as well have put the Great Khan on the spot for the murder. Besides, hadn’t we solved the case?
The journey took us out of the city towards the river. We knew that Taitemir’s residence was south of Pianfu, somewhere on the banks of the river. What we did not know until we got there was that it was not a house but a Mongol encampment of gers – the black felt tents of his race – set in a compound of grazing horses, marching soldiers, and perpetual clouds of dust.
The largest tent stood right in the centre of the compound, like a big black spider in the heart of its web. Our Mongol envoy rode us right up to the entrance and we all dismounted. Three boys scurried over to take the horses and lead them away, while the envoy indicated we should wait. He went inside the tent to announce us. The tent flap – a brightly decorated carpet – fell closed behind him, and Lin and I stood and waited. And waited. The dust began to get in Lin’s throat, and he coughed into his hand. I was less genteel, so I hawked and spat my phlegm on to the ground. Finally, the envoy emerged from the tent and waved us over. He stood stiffly to attention, holding the tent flap open, as we bent down and stepped into Taitemir’s ger. I was experienced enough by now about Mongol ways not to step on to the threshold board. To do so was a great insult, and could result in a beating. At the very least. I stepped over it, and turned to the left. That side of the tent was the men’s area, whereas the right was reserved for the women. In our early days in the Mongol empire, Friar Alberoni had persisted in demeaning himself in Tartar eyes by going to stand in the women’s side of the tent. I could never teach him the proper protocol.
Several lamps burned inside the tent, and there was no difficulty in seeing the stocky and imposing figure of the governor, Taitemir. Just as we had seen him at the play in T’ai-Yuan-Fu weeks earlier, he was dressed in the long armoured coat of a heavy cavalryman. Short strips of boiled leather were laid in row upon row, covering the coat from the shoulder to the bottom hem at calf height. Leather boots poked out from under this armoured exterior. He stood at a small table surrounded by several bahadurs, that we in the West would call knights. As we approached the group, not knowing what our reception would be like, he turned to stare at us. That piercing gaze was all too familiar from the evening of the play. I wondered if we were to be taken to task for countermanding his ruling concerning Jianxu. Had we fallen into Ko’s trap already, and would we find ourselves despatched back to Khan-balik in disgrace? Or treated even worse?
The moment it took for Taitemir to recognize us, and remember why we had been summoned, seemed an age. By now the knights were staring at us too, as though we were something to be pitied. Then Taitemir strode over, and with a grunt took each of us by the arm and led us outside his tent. Back in the light of day he squinted at the brightness and looked around at the bustle that was his camp. He sighed deeply, and when he spoke it was in quite sad tones.
‘I know the fashion of the court is now to adopt all things Chin. To live in big houses and have servants waiting upon you hand and foot. And I do have a governor’s palace in T’ai-Yuan-Fu. But at heart I am old-fashioned, and I like being here.’ He waved a hand at the encircling tented encampment. ‘Besides, we shall soon be on the move. You see me preparing for war.’
Lin understood what he meant.
‘The siege of Siang-Yang-Fu?’