Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994
- Автор: Bashover Albert, Crawford Dan
- Год: 1994
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN: 0002-5224
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994». Краткое содержание книги:
“I don’t know. She didn’t know either.”
“The foolishness of poets is hardly relevant to our investigation, Scribe Jo.”
“But there’s one other thing, sir. She said their retreat was somewhere off the coast, on the Island of the White Crane.”
“The Island of the White Crane, did you say?”
“Yes.”
Inspector Kang swiveled and rushed out into the hallway and back to his room. The boy and I followed. I noticed that the boy’s eyes were much more observant this morning. The food and the rest had done him much good. My stomach tightened like the fist of a boxer. I wish I felt nearly as good as the boy.
When we entered his room, my master had unrolled one of his charts and hunched over it.
“Here it is. Right here, scribe. Look at it!”
I bent over and peered through the dim light. My master’s fingertip jabbed just below the outline of a small island.
“Yes, sir. There it is,” I said.
“Don’t you see? This is just the area I had calculated when you consider... oh, never mind.”
My master turned and looked at the boy. “Come here, Yong-sok.” The boy stepped forward. Inspector Kang grasped his shoulders. “Your name means Steadfast Bravery. I want you to use that bravery today and take a message to your father.”
The boy nodded.
“Tell him that I sail today. To the Island of the Crane Who Eats Her Young. Do you understand that?”
The boy nodded.
“Repeat it back to me.”
The boy repeated the message back several times, and Inspector Kang patted him on the shoulder.
“How long will it take you to walk home?”
The boy brightened. “Less than a full day, sir.”
My master frowned. “Can you ride a donkey?”
“Yes.”
They both looked at me. I shrugged. Walking is just as good as riding that cursed beast, as far as I’m concerned.
We sent a courier to fetch our steeds and watched the boy as he rode off through the gates of the city. He switched the donkey’s backside confidently and moved forward at a brisk pace. The obstinate old bag of fleas must have decided to put on a display of obedience just to embarrass me.
The fisherman we hired on the quay of Mokpo had been happy to earn the money. Once we were outside the bay, my master stepped to the stern of the ship and spoke to the burnt-faced old man.
“Do you see that craft following us?”
“Been watching it since we left shore, sir.”
“Do you think you can elude him?”
“Of course.”
“There’ll be a hundred won more in it for you if you do.”
The fisherman nodded his head and steered off towards two little islands shrouded in mist. After a series of expert maneuvers, the ship following faded away and then disappeared in the low-lying clouds.
By the time we approached the Island of the White Crane, my stomach had expelled all its contents and was now nothing more than a dry, aching sack. My master and I hopped out of the small boat when we hit the shore and dragged it across the flat pebbles to the sand. Inspector Kang handed the fisherman a small bag of coins.
“Shall I wait for you, sir?”
“No need.”
“How will you get back?”
“Either other transportation will be provided or we won’t be in need of transportation.”
The fisherman nodded, and we shoved him back into the waves. A shiver went down my spine as he disappeared into the heavy bank of mist. I was afraid to ask my master about how we would get back to the mainland. I knew he had a plan, but if I coaxed him into telling me the details, I would probably be even more frightened. We walked up to the bluff that ran along the coast, and off in the distance, on a rise surrounded by groves of rippling elms, we saw the summer palace of the governor of Cholla Province. Craggy mountains loomed behind it, their peaks shrouded in the salty dark clouds of the southern seas.
Inspector Kang found a comfortable grassy knoll and sat down.
“We will rest here, scribe, until nightfall.”
I sat down next to him. In a few minutes he had leaned back and was fast asleep.
I wondered what in the name of the Great Sage Confucius we were doing here. The swooping gulls gave me no answer. Black clouds peeked over the mountains and lumbered slowly in our direction.
The rain and the winds were picking up strength when a surprised servant greeted us at the gateway and scurried back into the house. Lanterns were being lit as we stood in the courtyard, and in a moment a frail young man dressed in the flowing silk finery of the Chinese court stepped out onto the long wooden porch.
“Inspector Kang,” he said, bowing low. “What a wonderful surprise.”
More young men poured out onto the porch, all dressed just as foppishly as their host.
“We were about to sit down to our evening meal. Won’t you join us?”
Inspector Kang nodded, slipped off his sandals, and stepped up onto the porch. I followed. We were led down long corridors and into a central dining hall with low tables outfitted with shining silver chopsticks and brightly painted porcelain cups.
“Here, good inspector. Sit with me, at the head of the table.”
I was shuffled off to the side, and a servant bade me follow. I shook my head and took a seat on the warm floor at the edge of the hall.
Young Pak was a goodlooking young man, face all round and smooth and skin unblemished. He was frail but seemed slightly flushed, as if the excitement of life and the toll of his rich living would one day cause his outward beauty to crumble into red-veined decay. His manners were impeccable, and I noticed that his speech held none of the coarse syllables of the dialect of South Cholla.
The young men in his entourage were all much like him, as if they were trying to imitate him in some way. They made ironic little comments, barely audible, like inside jokes, and cackled occasionally amongst one another. My master ignored them and moved regally to his seat at the head of the table.
Holding the metal winepots with two hands, the young men all immediately filled one another’s cups. One of them leaned forward and filled first Young Pak’s and then Inspector Kang’s. My master ignored the insult.
Young Pak rose from the floor and held his cup above his forehead with both hands.
“To the health of our Great King, Sejong Daewang.”
Everyone stood and drank with him. When the cups were refilled, my master lifted his and said, “To the health and prosperity of the people of South Cholla Province.”
There was much giggling and only desultory drinking. Most of the men, I noticed, didn’t bother to drain their cups.
“Such an admiration for the rabble is quite commendable,” said the Young Pak. His followers roared their approval, and everyone sat down abruptly. Only Kang Huang-ho, Inspector of the Five White Horses, remained standing. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the golden amulet of his rank.
“I am not here to drink and trade barbs with you, young poets. I am here on a mission from my king.”
The men glanced at one another, rolling their eyes, quite amused by my master’s officious tone. Young Pak seemed delighted. A beatific smile covered his face.
“I have a few facts to recite to you gentlemen,” my master said. “First, the recent raids conducted by pirates along these coasts were not the evil work of Japanese.”
A murmur went through the crowd.
“And not the Chinese, either. The great warlord Koxinga, on the Island That Rises from the Sea, would have come to these shores in force. No one would have been able to doubt his presence. The Japanese, had they been responsible for the raids, would not have taken the time to chase old women into the woods and slay them. Only a man concerned with there being no living witnesses would have gone to that much trouble. The Japanese would have been concerned with getting their share of the booty and their share of the women and leaving as soon as possible. No, young poets, these raids were not conducted by pirates from the Source of the Sun.”