Thus, only seven years after he had routed the Burmese, and when Yot Fa was nine years old, King Chairacha was forced once again to go to war. I was old enough for military service, but Yot Fa was not to be separated from me and begged his father to leave me at home, a request the king granted.
At the head of a huge army, the king moved aggressively northward, planning to take Chiang Mai. That city, however, was not to fall, and our king, while he had inflicted heavy losses on our enemy, was forced to retreat back to Ayutthaya.
Other problems plagued our kingdom, the worst being a terrible fire that swept through the city. It took many days to extinguish the flames, and in the end, over a hundred thousand buildings were destroyed.
Even then, the news had only grown worse. Setthathirat, king of Lan Na, whose ambitions for power and land could only be at the expense of Ayutthaya, was mustering his forces with hostile intent, and reinforcements from Lan Sang were moving to join him.
King Chairacha, still exhausted, and perhaps demoralized by his inability to take Chiang Mai, although he certainly gave no such indication to Yot Fa, who I am sure would have told me, once again led an army north. At first the news was good. Our army took Lamphun and then advanced again on Chiang Mai.
In the royal palace, life went on much as before. Lady Si Sudachan continued to live her selfish life as a royal favorite, and Yot Fa and I entertained ourselves while we waited for what we were certain would be news of a great victory.
It was then, I am told, a terrible event occurred. When our armies came to Chiang Mai, blood was seen to fall on the doors of all the buildings, even the monasteries, in the city and the villages beyond. It was the most evil of omens, and the king left Chiang Mai immediately to begin the long march back to Ayutthaya.
As unfortunate as this outcome was, when we heard the news that the king and the army were retreating, we thought that the king would simply make another, surely successful, attempt when the weather permitted. This was, the young prince and I decided, a temporary setback. We were wrong.
Now that I had what I suppose one could call a lead in the search for Will Beauchamp, no matter how bizarre, I found my home base of Ayutthaya rather restricting. It meant at least three hours in the car every day traveling between there and Bangkok, and it didn’t allow me any time in the evening to hang out at Will’s apartment building waiting for the elusive Mrs. Praneet “live beside.”
Still, as much as I felt I would rather stay in Bangkok, I couldn’t think of a polite reason for moving, other than the pressure of work, which was, in a way, true. I wasn’t going to find Will Beauchamp lolling about in the lap of luxury in Ayutthaya.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried about excuses. At dinner that evening, Wongvipa took me aside for a moment or two. “I’ve checked into William Beauchamp,” she said, handing me a piece of paper. “The only information in the file is his home address, which I have written down here, and the name of his bank. Perhaps they could help in some way. I’m sorry there isn’t anything more.”
“It’s very good of you to do this,” I said. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I simply asked Yutai to look into it. And now I have some other news. Unfortunately, there is a rather persistent problem with my husband’s business, and we are all going to Chiang Mai tomorrow so that he can deal with it. We would be delighted if you would accompany us. We have a summer home there, and there is room for both you and Jennifer. I have already spoken to Jennifer—I hope you don’t mind—and she said she would like to come. I hope you will, too. My husband will be working, of course, but Chat and I could show you around Chiang Mai.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said. “I will decline your lovely invitation. I have work to do in Bangkok, for the shop, and I think I really must get to it.”
“You can stay here, then,” she said. Once again, I said no. “Then you must allow us to make arrangements for you in Bangkok. You are our guest, and I must insist.”
The next morning, after a quick good-bye to Jennifer, who seemed most unhappy about my decamping and leaving her alone with the family, and during which she exacted a promise that I would call her every day, the Chaiwongs’ chauffeur whisked me and my luggage into Bangkok. I regretted leaving them more than I thought I would, not just because I would miss Jennifer, but because I had come to see there was much to admire in Wongvipa, and I had begun to feel more at home in Ayutthaya.
The family had rather generously booked me into the Regent Hotel—the same one I’d found so simpatico the day before—and at their expense, too. I was not entirely comfortable with this, but given I had made no other arrangements, I checked in. The hotel was the public equivalent of the Chaiwong family home. My room was smaller, of course, but tastefully appointed, with a nice view over a beautiful swimming pool.
I still had the sword with me, something I wasn’t too happy about, even if I didn’t believe for a moment the tale Tatiana had told me. It was difficult to carry, I certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to take it onto any aircraft, and frankly, it gave me the creeps. I was certain, from her description of the party, that Will had told Tatiana about the sword as part of an attempted seduction. He’d been drinking quite a bit, according to Tatiana, and Ferguson had said he liked to party. Having heard she was a would-be film producer, the temptation to tell her about his book must have proved too much, even if he had refused to tell casual friends like David Ferguson. A few more drinks, an embellishment or two on the story, and he probably figured she was his.
Still, the Helen Ford angle was an interesting one, if he really was writing a book about it. I suppose people have been killed to stop publication of books, although legal injunctions against publication are so much more civilized than murder. It was worth an hour or two of my time, I decided. I left a message for David Ferguson about my change of address, and another, a voice mail, for Tatiana Tucker at the travel agency, telling her where I could be reached and reminding her that I would be very interested in reading the first chapter of Will’s book—in order to convince my customer to lend the sword to the production, of course. I also, as promised, told her that my companion at the auction was single and interested in meeting her. Then I was off on the trail of Will Beauchamp, and if that helped, and I wasn’t sure it would, Helen Ford.
Will Beauchamp’s agent worked out of a small office near Siam Square shopping plaza. Bent Rowland, Talent Scout, Investment Advisor, and Literary Agent, the sign on the door said. A man of many talents was our Mr. Rowland. Finding him had not been as difficult as I feared, and once I’d mentioned Will’s name, I had no trouble getting an appointment; which is to say, I lied and said Will had suggested I give him a call.
“Yes, I represent William Beauchamp,” Rowland said, patting his hair. He was one of those men who try to cover up baldness by growing their hair long on one side and combing it over the bare patch. “I’m shopping his book around right now, as a matter of fact.” He had stuffed a half-eaten hamburger into his desk when I walked in, and the room smelled of French fries.
“Have you been in regular contact with Will?” I said.
“Of course,” he said, making a feeble attempt to straighten up the chaos that was his desk. “I check from time to time to see how the manuscript is coming along.”
“So have you seen him lately?” I said. “I’ve tried to reach him a couple of times without success. I was hoping to see him while I’m here.”
“I believe the last time we were in direct contact was a party at his place on July fourth. The book was almost finished then, and I had hoped to hear from him by now, but the muse works in strange and wonderful ways. But of course,” he added. “You know that.”