Ma Joong cast an uneasy glance at the dark forest behind them. "Never heard about it!" he said curtly.
"Could I have a look at your sword, sir?" Chiao Tai asked. "It seemed a fine antique blade to me."
As he handed him the sword, the magistrate said, "It is called Rain Dragon."
"Not the famous Rain Dragon!" Chiao Tai exclaimed ecstatically, "The blade all swordsmen under heaven talk about with awe! It was the last and best sword forged three hundred years ago by Threefingcr, the greatest swordsmith that ever was!"
"Tradition has it," Magistrate Dee observed, "that Threefinger attempted to forge it eight times, but each time he failed. Then he swore he would sacrifice his beloved young wife to the river god if he were successful. The ninth time he wrought this sword. He at once beheaded his wife with it on the river bank. A fearful tempest arose and Threefinger was killed by a thunderbolt. The bodies of him and his wife were washed away by the roaring waves. This sword has been an heirloom in my family for the last two hundred years, being always passed on to the eldest son."
Chiao Tai pulled his neckcloth over his nose and mouth so as not to soil the blade with his breath. Then he drew it from the scabbard. Raising it reverently in both hands, he admired its darkgreen sheen, and its hair-sharp edge that did not show a single nick. His eyes shone with a mystic fire as he spoke. "If it should be ordained that ever I should die by the sword, I pray that it may be this blade that is washed in my blood!"
With a deep bow he handed the sword back to Magistrate Dee. The rain had changed into drizzle. They mounted their horses again and began descending the slope.
Down in the plain they saw by the roadside the stone pillar marking the boundary of the district Peng-lai. A mist hung over the muddy plain, but the magistrate still thought it a nice landscape. This was now his territory.
They rode along at a brisk pace. Late in the afternoon the city wall of Peng-lai loomed through the mist ahead.
THIRD CHAPTER
WHEN the four men were approaching the west gate, Chiao Tai remarked on the low walls and the modest twostoried gatehouse.
"I saw on the map," Magistrate Dee explained, "that this town has natural defenses. It is located three miles up a river, where it is joined by a broad creek. At the river mouth stands a large fort, manned by a strong garrison. They search all incoming and outgoing ships, and a few years ago, during our war with Korea, they prevented Korean war junks from entering the river. North of the river the coast consists of high cliffs, and down to the south there is nothing but swamps. Thus Peng-lai, being the only good harbor hereabouts, has become the center of our trade with Korea and Japan."
"In the capital I heard people say," Hoong added, "that many Koreans have settled down here, especially sailors, shipwrights and Buddhist monks. They live in a Korean quarter, on the other side of the creek east of the city, near where there is also a famous old Buddhist temple."
"So you can now try your luck with a Korean girl!" Chiao Tai said to Ma Joong. "'Then you can also buy off your sin cheaply in that temple!"
Two armed guards opened the gate, and they rode along a busy shopping street till they reached the high wall of the tribunal compound. They followed it till they came to the main gate, in the south wall, where a few guards were sitting on a bench under the big bronze gong.
The men sprang to their feet and saluted the magistrate sharply. But Hoong noticed that behind his back they gave each other a meaningful glance.
A constable took them to the chancery on the opposite side of the main courtyard. Four clerks were busily wielding their brushes under the supervision of a gaunt, elderly man with a short gray beard.
He came to meet them in a flurry and, stuttering, introduced himself as the senior scribe, Tang, temporarily in charge of the district administration.
"This person deeply regrets," he added nervously, "that your honor's arrival was not announced in advance. I could make no preparations for the welcome-dinner and-"
"I assumed," the magistrate interrupted him, "that the boundary post would have sent a messenger ahead. There must have been a mistake somewhere. But since I am here, you'd better show me the tribunal."
Tang first took them to the spacious court hall. The tiled floor was swept clean, and the high bench on the platform in the back was covered with a piece of shining red brocade. The entire wall behind the bench was covered with a curtain of faded violet silk. In its center appeared as usual the large figure of a unicorn, symbol of perspicacity, embroidered in thick gold thread.
They went through the door behind the curtain and, after having crossed a narrow corridor, entered the private office of the magistrate. This room was also well kept: there was not a speck of dust on the polished writing desk, the plaster walls were newly whitewashed. The broad couch against the back wall was of beautiful dark green brocade. After a brief glance at the archives room next to the office, Magistrate Dee walked out into the second courtyard, which faced the reception hall. The old scribe explained nervously that the reception hall had not been used after the investigator's departure; it might be possible that a chair or a table would not be standing in its proper place. The magistrate looked curiously at the awkward, stooping figure; the man seemed very ill at ease.
"You kept everything in very good order," he said reassuringly. Tang bowed deeply and stammered, "This person has been serving here for forty years, your honor, in fact ever since I entered the tribunal as an errand boy. I like things to be in their proper order. Everything always went so smoothly here. It is terrible that now, after all those years-"
His voice trailed off. He hurriedly opened the door of the reception hall.
When they were gathered round the high, beautifully carved center table, Tang respectfully handed the large square seal of the tribunal to the magistrate. He compared it with the impression in the register, then signed the receipt. Now he was officially in charge of the district Peng-lai.
Stroking his beard, he said, "The magistrate's murder shall take precedence over all routine affairs. In due time I'll receive the notables of the district and comply with the other formalities. Apart from the personnel of the tribunal, the only district officials I want to see today are the wardens of the four quarters of the city."
"There is a fifth here, your honor," Tang remarked. "The warden of the Korean settlement."
"Is he a Chinese?" Judge Dee asked.
"No, your honor," Tang replied, "but he speaks our language fluently." He coughed behind his hand, then went on diffidently. "I fear this is rather an unusual situation, your honor, but the prefect has decided that these Korean settlements on the east coast here shall be semiautonomous. The warden is responsible for the maintenance of the peace there; our personnel can go in only if the warden asks for their assistance."
"That's certainly an unusual situation," the judge muttered. "I'll look into that one of these days. Well, you'll now tell the entire personnel to assemble in the court hall. In the meantime, I'll just have a look at my private quarters, and refresh myself."
Tang looked embarrassed. After some hesitation he said, "Your honor's residence is in excellent condition; the late magistrate had everything painted anew last summer, Unfortunately, however, his packed-up furniture and his luggage are still standing about there. There is no news yet from his brother, his only living relative. I don't know where all those things should be sent to. And since His Excellency Wang was a widower, he had employed only local servants, who left after his… demise."