Chapter Twenty-Four
The Sparrow Bridge
On the morning of the seventeenth she did the small civic things.
By the bakery-apprentice she sent the prefect's rolled petition to the receiving-bench of the third southern arcade — not in her own hand, but folded in the clean idiom of a Han widow who had asked a small favour of a clerk of the second southern arcade, and been told that any fold she set in his hand on the morning of an unfinished case would be at the receiving-clerk's bench by the noon-drum of the day after.
She set the seal at the lower edge.
She set the rolled petition in the apprentice's hand at the rear gate, at the dawn drum.
"Master."
"Lady."
"To the third southern arcade. By the noon-drum. At the slow walk of a baker's boy on his master's errand. Bring no answer."
"Lady."
He inclined his head and left at the slow walk of a baker's boy who had been told to walk slow.
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Nanny Zhou was at the brazier's edge in the second hour, setting a dipper of barley at the rim of the second water-jar of the morning — in the unhurried way of a nurse on the morning of an evening when her mistress would walk out the rear gate, at dusk, in cotton half-mourning.
She did not lift her eyes.
"Mistress."
"Nanny."
"By the dusk drum, this evening."
"By the dusk drum, Nanny."
"And the third watch of the eighteenth."
"The third watch, Nanny."
She set the dipper at the rim and the lid at the jar's edge. She did not turn.
"Mistress. On the morning of the eighteenth, the second water-jar will be at the brazier. On the evening, at dusk, I will set the small clay water-jar of that morning inside your right sleeve."
"Yes, Nanny."
"Boiled at the dawn drum. Cooled to the inside of the wrist. By the patient idiom of a nurse of fifty-seven years."
She set her hand at the brazier's edge and held it a few breaths.
"Mistress. On any evening you have walked out in the half-mourning, in the grey of an unfinished case, that water has been inside your right sleeve. On the evening you walk into the silk-merchant's compound, it will be there."
She did not turn, nor lift her hand to her face, nor weep that morning.
\ \ \*
Wanjun walked, in the grey, to the second cabinet behind the cistern.
She drew out the cotton half-mourning of the eighteenth month and set it on the bench, and from its cuff she drew her father's bronze pin.
From the inner drawer of the second cabinet she drew the small clay jar Lady Wei Wan had given her mid-ninth hour of the sixteenth, and set it on the bench beside the half-mourning.
From the inner drawer of the writing-desk she drew the small folded vial of clear glass Brother Hui had brought to the rear gate at the dusk drum of the sixteenth — the antidote of the third strength against the bitter Sogdian compound he had identified, at the brick-kiln on the seventh evening, as the second-day apothecary's storeroom's slow work.
She set the vial on the bench beside the jar.
She drew, from the inner drawer, the slip on which she had written, the second evening, Pei's reading of the eight doors of Zhang Cong's compound from Pei's three-line slip. She did not unfold it. She set it on the bench beside the vial.
From the second drawer she drew the small carved wooden token of a third-arcade death-rite — set, by the abbess of Princess Yuzhen's quiet cousin, at her writing-desk at the noon-drum of the sixteenth by a runner of the abbey.
She set the token on the bench.
She walked back to the writing-room.
\ \ \*
She walked, in the grey, to the tea-house of the Sparrow Bridge at dusk.
The tea-house belonged to a Han proprietor of the second southern arcade whose second alcove — at the south wall, its inner door opening on a half-square of his own kitchen-yard — had received many a small private meeting of an unfinished case, on any week the proprietor had been at his second cup of the noon-drum.
She walked in, at the slow Daoist pace, the half-mourning folded under the grey, the small clay jar inside her right sleeve, the bronze pin inside her right cuff, the folded vial inside her left.
The second alcove waited.
Brother Hui was at the lower stool of the south wall. Anaxa at the second stool of the north. Madam Khorshid at the third stool of the east, in the clean dark cotton of a Pingkang proprietress at a small private meeting, a folded slip from the dusk-drum keeper of the western quadrant of the Eastern Market at her hand. Ah-Sa at the fourth stool of the western wall. The brother of Princess Yuzhen's cousin's abbey at the fifth stool of the eastern wall — a Daoist of perhaps thirty-five in unbleached cotton, a small wooden death-rite token at his hand.
He inclined his head a finger's width. She inclined hers.
She sat at the first stool of the east wall.
\ \ \*
"Lady."
"Gongzi."
"You came."
"I came."
"Brother."
"Lady."
"The third strength."
The unfrocked monk drew, from inside his left sleeve, a small folded vial of clear glass, perhaps half the length of a man's thumb. He set it on the second stool.
"At the third strength, lady. The compound is the second-day apothecary's storeroom — and by my reading at the brick-kiln on the seventeenth, it is at the third strength. The antidote inside the vial is matched to it. When you drink it, at the inside of your left cuff, half an hour past the seventh of the eighteenth evening, the bitter at the second cup will come to nothing."
"Brother."
"Lady."
"The bitter."
"By your reading at the noon-drum of the seventh day, lady, your first cup at the inner study was bitter at the back of the throat — the slow Sogdian compound of the second-day storeroom. By your setting of the dried-fish half on the kitchen-yard wall that afternoon, the stray cat in the lane was dead by the dawn drum of the eighth."
"Brother."
"Lady."
"The compound."
"The compound, lady — by my reading at the brick-kiln on the seventh evening, and again at the third storeroom on the seventeenth — is the compound. And the antidote, at the third strength, is matched to it."
She inclined her head. She set the folded vial inside her left sleeve, at the place she had set the husband's letter on the morning of the sixteenth.
\ \ \*
"Madam."
"Lady."
"The drum-keeper."
The Persian proprietress laid her hand on the third stool.
"the seventh nearing its midpoint of the dusk of the eighteenth, lady, the keeper of the dusk drum of the western quadrant of the Eastern Market — through his second-cousin's husband's brother, who took his second cup with him at the noon-drum of the eighteenth — will hold the drum-stick at the rim of the drum's body for ten breaths."
She was quiet a moment. She set her hand on the slip.
"He has kept that drum eleven years, lady. He has never, in any week, held the stick at the rim for ten breaths."
"Madam."
"In those ten breaths, lady, the back lane of the third arcade will empty of its patrol. The Gold Bird patrol of that lane — by the gongzi's hand at the dawn drum of the eighteenth, at the small private gate of the Gold Bird captain's house in the second northern arcade — will be at the second-storey watch-house of the third southern arcade for the ten breaths."
"Madam."
"By the keeper, by the captain, by the second cousin's husband's brother, by the third southern arcade — by the gongzi's quiet hand at the dawn drum of the eighteenth."
She set the slip down again.
"The drum-keeper, lady, has not asked your name."
She inclined her head.
\ \ \*
"Gongzi."
"Lady."
"The eighth gate."
He laid his hand flat on the second stool.
"At the back lane behind the third arcade, lady, into the heart of the third watch of the eighteenth. Ah-Sa has been in that lane, in the dark grey under-tunic of a household porter, since the dawn drum of the fifteenth. By the noon-drum of the eighteenth he will be at the inner step of the eighth gate. When the third watch turns, the eighth gate will open."
Ah-Sa, at the fourth stool, inclined his head a finger's width.
"Gongzi."
"Lady."
"The rooftop."
"At the upper rim of the small carpenter's shop of the second arcade, lady, at dusk, two of Pei's archers — set by his quiet hand just past the noon-drum of the seventeenth. Two more at the upper rim of the second-storey watch-house of the third southern arcade, by the same hand at the same hour."
He was quiet a moment.
"The archers, lady, have not been told your name. They have been told the back lane at dusk, the back lane in the third watch, and the eighth gate."
"Gongzi."
"Lady."
"The gongzi."
"At the second pillar of the inner court of the second hall, lady, a fifth past the seventh hour of the eighteenth evening — under the religious cover of the brother of the abbey at the inner door of the seventh."
He rested his hand on the second stool.
"At that pillar, lady, I will be an acolyte of the third arcade."
He did not lift his eyes.
\ \ \*
"Brother."
"Lady."
The Daoist of the abbey inclined his head. He drew, from inside his left sleeve, the small carved wooden death-rite token and set it on the fifth stool, beside Wanjun's own.
"Under the religious cover, lady, the seventh hour half-spent of the eighteenth evening, the death-rite of the third arcade will be the rite of an unmarked Khotanese trader of the upper warehouse of the second arcade. By three runners of the abbey at work since the noon-drum of the sixteenth, the trader has been named in the silk-merchant's hearing — by a junior porter of his own compound whose family is tangled, since last spring, with the abbess's quiet cousin."
"Brother."
"By the abbess's reading at the dawn drum of the seventeenth, lady, the silk-merchant expects, at the inner door of his seventh, a small private death-rite for that trader — conducted by a Daoist nun in the half-mourning of the eighteenth month."
He inclined his head a second time.
"The nun, lady, is you."
"Brother."
"Lady."
"The acolyte."
"At your hand, at the second pillar of the inner court of the second hall, in the dark grey under-robe of an acolyte of the third arcade. The acolyte, under the cover, is the gongzi."
She inclined her head. She did not reach for her sleeve.
\ \ \*
"Lady."
It was Anaxa.
"Gongzi."
"The doors."
She held his eyes a moment.
"The first is at the front gate. The second at the second hall. The third at the arcade of the inner hall. The fourth at the inner study's outer corridor. The fifth at that corridor's inner door. The sixth at the inner study's outer door. The seventh at the inner study itself. The eighth at the back lane behind the third arcade, at the third watch."
"By the doors."
"The bolts at the first four are the plain iron bolt-and-pin of a second-arcade silk-merchant. The bolts at the fifth, sixth, and seventh carry, besides — a second small iron pin set at the lower edge of the bolt's ring."
"Lady."
"By that second pin, gongzi, the silk-merchant has been, every week he is away from his desk, a man who can tell at his return — by the noon-drum of his coming back from the third arcade — whether any hand has, in his absence, shifted the bolt at the fifth, sixth, or seventh."
"Lady."
"The pin is a lock that is not a lock."
"By your reading."
"By my reading at the back lane of the third arcade, the third evening, two hours after the dusk drum, when I walked the lane behind his compound at the slow Daoist pace of a widow returning from the Pingkang."
"Lady."
"By my own hand at that second pin, gongzi — at the fifth, sixth, and seventh, on my way in half-seventh — the silk-merchant's reading at his return at the dawn drum of the nineteenth, at his own desk after the audience, will be the reading of a hand that has not, in any week, shifted that pin."
"By your hand."
"By my hand."
He did not lift his eyes; he set his hand on the desk where his cup had stood.
\ \ \*
"Lady."
It was Brother Hui again.
"Brother."
"The cup."
"At the second cup, brother."
"By your reading at the inner study at the noon-drum of the seventh day, lady, the silk-merchant set the small jade weight at the upper edge of his inkstone in the unvaried idiom of a man whose hand has not, in any week at that desk, moved it elsewhere."
"Brother."
She inclined her head.
"He will pour the second celadon cup, brother, a fifth past the seventh hour of the eighteenth evening. He will drink, by his own slow patience, a quarter-hour after. So will I."
"Lady."
"At the half-hour past the seventh at its half-mark, brother, I will lift the vial of the third strength to my lips and drink. I will set the vial inside my left sleeve, where I have set the husband's letter."
"Lady."
"The antidote, brother."
"By the half-hour past, lady, the antidote will be at work. By the dawn drum of the nineteenth, the bitter at the second cup will be nothing. You, lady, will be at the prefect's audience."
She inclined her head.
\ \ \*
They held the second alcove perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and they went over it all: the eighth gate at the third watch; the drum-keeper a tenth past the seventh; the second cup at the quarter past; the vial at the half-hour past; the religious cover at the second pillar; the small water-jar inside her right sleeve at dusk; the prefect's audience at the dawn drum of the nineteenth.
\ \ \*
At mid-first-watch Wanjun rose.
She inclined her head, briefly, at the second stool and the third and the fourth and the fifth, in the slow careful idiom of a widow at the inner door of the second alcove.
"Gongzi."
"Lady."
"well into the seventh hour and a fifth of the eighteenth evening, at the second pillar."
"At the second pillar, lady."
"Madam."
"Lady."
"a tenth past mid-seventh, the drum."
"At the drum, lady."
"Brother."
"Lady."
"the middle of the third watch, the eighth gate."
"At the eighth gate, brother."
"Ah-Sa."
The bodyguard at the fourth stool inclined his head.
"Brother of the abbey."
"Sister."
"At the second pillar, the middle of the seventh hour."
"At the second pillar, sister."
She inclined her head a finger's width.
She walked to the inner door of the alcove, through the proprietor's kitchen-yard, out the rear gate into the back lane behind the second southern arcade.
She walked east.
\ \ \*
She walked back to Yongchong at the second hour of the night.
She walked alone. Anaxa had not walked with her this evening. At the first stool, by the middle of the first watch, she had set her right hand briefly inside his left sleeve, at the cuff — and not let her thumb move to the inside of his wrist. She had held her hand at the cuff a few breaths.
He had not walked her out.
She walked the back lanes of the second southern arcade, the public lane behind the western edge of the third eastern ward, east at the second arcade, and the back lane of Yongchong.
She reached her own rear gate a little past the second hour.
Nanny was at the gate.
"Mistress."
"Nanny."
"The Sparrow Bridge."
"The Sparrow Bridge, Nanny."
She did not lift her eyes.
The old woman took her at the gate.
She walked, in the grey, to the writing-room.
She set Lady Wei Wan's small clay jar on the writing-desk, beside the box. She set Brother Hui's folded vial inside her left cuff, where she had set the husband's letter. She set her father's bronze pin inside her right cuff. She set the carved wooden token beside the jar.
She read the wax tablet of the four days by the lamp. She set the stylus at the upper edge. Below the lines of the sixteenth and seventeenth she wrote three lines.
The eighth gate at the third watch. The second cup at the half-quarter past. The vial at the half-hour past.
She read them back. She did not let her hand drift to the corner of the box.
She set the tablet on the desk beside the box. She did not light a third lamp.
\ \ \*
She walked, in the grey, to the inner court.
The swallow at the kitchen eave had finished the sixth course of its nest. She did not look up at the eave. She sat at the bench by the cistern in the dark.
She set the hours of the next day in order in her mind: the dawn drum of the eighteenth at the fifth watch; the seventh hour at the third quarter of the fourth hour after it; dusk three hours past the seventh; the third watch three hours past dusk; the dawn drum of the nineteenth six hours past the third watch. The compound, by Brother Hui's reading at the brick-kiln and again at the third storeroom, would take six hours.
She held the shape of it against her chest.
She did not weep.
\ \ \*
She did not sleep on the night of the seventeenth into the eighteenth.
She lay in the grey, the small clay jar beside the platform-bed, Brother Hui's folded vial inside her left cuff, her father's bronze pin inside her right, and the husband's letter inside her under-robe, against the linen wrap of the grey.
The prefect's petition — already received at the third southern arcade against the dawn drum of the nineteenth — she set out of her mind, the way her father had taught her at twelve to set out of mind a thing she had set out of hand.
She lay in the dark through the second half-watch and the third watch and the fourth and into the fifth.
She did not weep.
She held against her chest the shape of the eighteenth day. She held the husband at the writing-desk of the inn at Hexi, at the third watch of the eleventh of the third moon of 748. She held her own hand inside the Sogdian's left sleeve at the threshold of his office, at the dusk drum of the fourteenth. She held her own father at the writing-desk of the third house of Yongchong, on an evening of the second moon of 738, his hand at the rite of the small clay jar.
She did not weep.
She rose deep into the fifth watch.
She washed her face at the basin at the lower edge of the platform-bed.
The dawn drum of the eighteenth sounded at the western quadrant of the Western Market.
She lifted her head.