Poets and Murder
- Автор: ван Гулик Роберт Ханс
- Серия: Judge Dee #16
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Poets and Murder». Краткое содержание книги:
Master detective Judge Dee sets out to solve a puzzling double murder and discovers that complicated passions lurk beneath the seemingly tranquil landscape of academic life. A student has been murdered; a beautiful poetess is accused of whipping her maidservant to death; and further mysteries lie in the shadows of the Shrine of the Black Fox.
'I had a fine climb. Saw one gold pheasant, and two gibbons swinging in the trees. Also a fox. A very large one. It ...'
'I do hope you'll spare us your spooky fox-stories tonight, Sexton!' the poetess interrupted with a smile. And to the judge: 'Last time we met in the Lake District, he gave all of us goose-flesh!' Judge Dee thought she was looking much better than at noon. But that might be because of her elaborate make-up.
The sexton fixed her with his bulging eyes.
'I have second sight, at times,' he said quietly. 'If I tell others what I see, it's partly to show off, partly to allay my own fears. For I don't like the things I see. Personally, I prefer to look at animals. In the wild.'
It struck Judge Dee that the sexton was in an unusually subdued mood.
'At my former post, Han-yuan,' the judge remarked, 'there were many gibbons in the forest, just behind my residence. I watched them every day while having my morning tea on the back gallery.'
'It's a good thing to like animals,' the sexton said slowly. 'One never knows what animal one was in a former existence. Neither into what animal one's soul might migrate in a future incarnation.'
'I imagine you were a fierce tiger once, Magistrate!’ the poetess told Judge Dee archly.
'A watchdog rather, madam!’ the judge said. And to the sexton: 'Well, sir, you stated you aren't a Buddhist any more. Yet you believe in the doctrine of transmigration.'
'Of course I do! Why do some people live in abject misery from cradle to grave? Or why does a young child die a painful and horrible death? The only acceptable explanation is that they expiate sins committed during a former life. How could the Powers on High expect us to make amends for all the wrongs we do in only one single lifetime?'
'No, no, I insist, Lo!’ the voice of the Academician cut into their conversation. 'You must recite one of your naughty love poems! To prove your reputation as a great lover!’
'Lo is a lover of love,' the poetess remarked dryly. 'He dallies with many, because he lacks the capacity to really love one.'
'An unkind remark to our worthy host!’ the Court Poet called out. 'As a fine, you shall recite one of your own love poems, Yoo-lan!’
'I don't recite love poetry. Not any more. But I'll write one verse for you.' Magistrate Lo beckoned the housemaster and pointed at the side-table where ink and paper had been made ready. Judge Dee noticed that his colleague had grown pale. Yoo-lan's remark had apparently touched a raw spot. The housemaster was selecting a sheet of paper, but the Academician shouted:
'Our great Yoo-lan shan't write her immortal verse on a scrap of paper! Write on the pillar there, so that your poem can be engraved in the wood, to be read and admired by later generations!’
The poetess shrugged. She got up and went to the nearest pillar. One maidservant followed her with a square inkslab and a writing-brush, another stood by with a candle. Yoo-lan rubbed the pillar till she found a smooth space. Again the judge was struck by her slender, expressive hands. She moistened the brush on the inkslab and wrote in clear, elegant characters:
'Ha!’ the Academician exclaimed. 'All the nostalgic mood of autumn captured in four lines. Our poetess is forgiven! Let's all drink to her!’
They had many more rounds, while the waiters served new hot dishes. Four large copper braziers heaped with glowing coals had been placed at the four corners of the company, for now that night had fallen it was becoming cold on the cliff, and a damp mist was rising up from the gorge. Dark clouds obscured the moon. Magistrate Lo, who had been staring absent-mindedly at the glow of the lampions in the pine trees outside, now suddenly leaned forward.
'What the devil are those three soldiers making a fire for, there under the trees?'
Those are my guards, Magistrate,' the poetess told him evenly.
'The impudent rascals!’ Lo shouted. 'I shall have them immediately ...'
'Your guarantee covers only my stay inside your residence,' she reminded him quickly.
'Ah ... hm. Yes, I see,' Lo muttered. Then he asked sharply: 'Where's the sweet-sour carp, Housemaster?'
Judge Dee personally refilled Yoo-lan's cup, and told her:
'My friend Lo gave me his notes on the case that is pending against you, madam. He thought I might be able to help you draw up your plea. I am not a very good writer, but I have made a special study of legal documents, and ...'
The poetess put her cup down.
'I do appreciate the kind intention, sir. But six weeks in various prisons gave me ample time to consider the merits of my case. Although I lack as a matter of course your immense knowledge of legal phraseology, I still think that I myself am the person best qualified for drawing up my defence. Let me pour you another drink!’
'Don't be a fool, Yoo-lan!’ the sexton said brusquely. 'Dee has made quite a reputation for himself in the field!’
'It struck me,' Judge Dee resumed, 'that the fact that the case was initiated on the basis of an anonymous letter was not given its full weight. I could find no indication of anyone going into the question of how the writer came to know about the buried body. The letter was written by an accomplished scholar, which rules out the members of the robber band. Don't you have any idea about his identity, madam?'
THE POETESS INSCRIBES A PILLAR
'If I had,' she replied curtly, 'I would have told the judges.' She emptied her cup, then added: 'Or maybe not.'
There was a sudden silence. Then the Court Poet remarked dryly:
'Inconsistency is the privilege of a beautiful and talented woman. I drink to you, Yoo-lan!'
'I join that toast!' the Academician boomed. There was general laughter, but the judge thought it didn't ring true. All had been drinking heavily, but he knew that the three men had a tremendous capacity, and they gave not the slightest sign of losing their composure. But there was a feverish glint in the eyes of the poetess; she seemed on the verge of breaking down. He must try to draw her out further, for her enigmatic last remark seemed to imply that she suspected someone, and that the person she suspected was sitting here at this table.
'The anonymous letter accusing you, madam,' he resumed, 'reminded me of one written here in Chin-hwa eighteen years ago. The letter that brought about the downfall of General Mo Te-ling. That letter had also been written by an accomplished scholar, you see.'
She darted a sharp look at him. Raising her curved eyebrows, she asked:
'Eighteen years ago, you say? That doesn't seem very helpful to me!'
'The fact is,' Judge Dee went on, 'that I met here a person who was connected with the general's case. Indirectly, it's true. Yet our conversation opened interesting possibilities. It was the daughter of one of the general's concubines. Of the surname Soong.'
He looked round at the sexton. But the obese monk didn't seem to have followed the conversation; he was intent on his food, a vegetarian dish of stewed bamboo shoots. The Academician and the Court Poet were listening, but their faces betrayed only polite interest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the startled look on the face of the poetess by his side. Amazed, he made a quick calculation: she had been only twelve at that time! Apparently someone had told her about the case. Someone who knew. The sexton put down his chopsticks.