Poets and Murder

VIII

Dusk was falling. In the front courtyard of the residence two maids were lighting the lampions hanging from the eaves of the surrounding buildings.

When he had joined the teeming crowd in the broad thoroughfare in front of the tribunal's main gate, Judge Dee heaved a deep sigh of contentment. His feeling of frustration had come mainly from his being cooped up in his colleague's palatial residence, isolated from the pulsating life of the city, a city practically unknown to him. Now that he was taking action, he felt better at once. He let himself be carried along by the throng, scanning all the while the gaudily decorated shop fronts. When he saw the shop-sign of a dealer in musical instruments, he elbowed his way towards the door.

He was met by a deafening din, for half a dozen customers were trying out drums, flutes and two-stringed fiddles, all at the same time. On the eve of the Mid-autumn Festival, every musical amateur was keen to prepare himself for the gay gatherings on the following day. The judge went to the office in the rear, where the owner was hurriedly gobbling down a bowl of noodles at his desk, one watchful eye on his assistants who were helping the customers. Visibly impressed by Judge Dee's scholarly air, the man got up at once and asked what he could do for him.

The judge handed him the musical score.

'All these are tunes for the straight flute,' he said. 'I won­der if you could identify them for me.'

After one glance at the notation the music dealer gave the book back to the judge, saying with an apologetic smile:

'We only know the simple score of ten signs, sir. This must be some ancient system of notation. For that you must consult an expert. Lao-liu is your man, sir. The finest flute-player in town, plays any tune at sight, in any notation, old or new. Lives close by, too.' He wiped his greasy chin. 'Only trouble is that Lao-liu drinks, sir. He starts at noon, after he has given his music lessons, and he is usually drunk by this time. He sobers up later in the evening, when he has to play at parties. Makes good money, but squanders it all on wine and women.'

Judge Dee put a handful of coppers on the table.

'Let one of your men take me to him, anyway.' *

'Of course, sir. Thank you, sir! Hey there, Wang! Take this gentleman to Lao-liu's house. Come back here at once, mind you!’

As the young shop assistant was walking with Judge Dee down the street, he suddenly pulled his sleeve. Pointing at a wine shop opposite he said with a sly grin:

'If you want to do real business with Lao-liu, sir, you'd better buy him a little present. No matter how far gone he is, he'll wake up when you hold a jar of liquor under his nose!’

The judge bought a medium-sized jar of strong white liquor that was drunk cold. The youngster took him through a narrow passage to a dark, smelly back street, lined with ram­shackle wooden houses, and lit only by the light that filtered through a dingy paper window here and there. 'The fourth house on your left sir!’ Judge Dee gave him a tip and the boy scurried away.

The door of the flute-player's house was sagging on its hinges. From behind it came round curses, then a woman laughed shrilly. The judge put his hand against the panel and the door swung open.

In the small, bare room, lit by a smoking oil-lamp, hung an overpowering smell of cheap liquor. A fat man with a round, flushed face sat on the bamboo bench at the back. He wore baggy brown trousers, and a short jacket that was open in front, leaving his gleaming paunch bare. A girl was sitting on his knee. It was Small Phoenix. Lao-liu stared up at the judge with bleary eyes. The dancer quickly pulled her skirt down over her thighs, muscular and startlingly white, and fled to the farthest corner of the room, a fiery blush on her still, mask-like face.

'Who the hell are you?' the flute-player asked in a thick voice.

Ignoring the girl, Judge Dee sat down at the low bamboo table, and put the wine-jar down.

Lao-liu's bloodshot eyes grew wide.

'A jar of real Rose Dew, by heaven!’ He came unsteadily to his feet. 'You're welcome, even if you look like the King of Hell himself, with that big beard! Open it up, my friend!’

The judge put his hand on top of the jar.

'You'll have to earn your drink, Lao-liu.' He threw the score book on the table. 'I want you to tell me what tunes are there.'

Standing at the table, the fat man opened the book with his thick but surprisingly nimble fingers. 'Easy!’ he muttered. 'I'll freshen up a bit first, though.' He half-stumbled to the wash stand in the corner, and began to rub his face and breast with a soiled towel.

Judge Dee watched him in silence, still ignoring the dancer. What she was doing there was her own business. Small Phoe­nix hesitated, then she came up to the table and began timidly:

'I... I tried to persuade him to play at the dinner tonight, sir. He is a beast, but a marvellous musician. When he refused, I let him fondle me a bit...'

'I wouldn't play the blasted "Black Fox Lay" even if you lay with me till morning!' the fat man growled. He groped among the dozen or so bamboo flutes hanging from nails in the cracked plaster wall.

'I thought you were going to dance "A Phoenix among Purple Clouds",' the judge told her casually. He thought the dancer looked rather pitiful, with her still face and her bent narrow shoulders.

A FLUTE-PLAYER QUARRELS WITH A DANCER

'Yes indeed, sir. But after ... after I had seen the fine floor-space in the magistrate's hall ... and after I had been introduced to those two high officials from the capital, and the famous Sexton Loo, I thought this was a chance that would never come again. Therefore I thought I might try to dance the other tune. It allows for a quick, whirling move­ment... .'

'Wriggle that small bottom of yours to decent music!' Lao-liu snapped. 'The "Fox Lay" is a bad tune.' He sat down on a low stool and opened the score book on his large knee. 'Hm, you don't want to hear the first, of course. "White Clouds Remind Me of her Dress, Flowers of her Face." Every­body knows that love song. The second looks like ...' He brought the flute to his lips and played a few bars that had a fetching lilt. 'Oh yes, that's "Singing to the Autumn Moon". Quite popular in the capital last year.'

The fat man went through the score book, now and then playing a few bars to identify the tune. The judge hardly listened to his explanations. He was disappointed that his theory had come to nothing, but he had to admit it had been a far-fetched idea. The fact that the tunes had no titles and no words, and were written in a complicated notation he had never seen before, had suggested the possibility that it was no musical score at all, but the student's secret notes, written down in a kind of musical cipher. An obscene curse roused him from his thoughts.

'I'll be damned!’ The flute-player was looking fixedly at the last tune in the book. He muttered, 'The first bars look different, though.' He put the flute to his lips.

Low notes came forth, in a slow, mournful rhythm. The dancer sat up with a startled look. The rhythm quickened; high, shrill notes formed a weird melody. The fat man lowered his flute. 'That's the blasted "Black Fox Lay"!' he said disgustedly.

The dancer bent over the table.

'Give me that score, sir! Please!' There was a feverish gleam now in her large, slanting eyes. 'With that score, any good flautist can play it for me!’

'As long as it isn't me!' the fat man growled, throwing the book on the table. 'I prefer to stay in good health!'

'I shall gladly lend you the book,' Judge Dee told the dancer. 'But you must tell me a bit more about that "Black Fox Lay". I am interested in music, you see.'

'It's a little-known, old local tune, sir, not included in any handbook for the flute. Saffron, the girl who acts as guardian of the Black Fox Shrine in the south city, is always singing it. I tried to make her write it down for me, but the poor thing is a half-wit; she can't read or write a thing, let alone a difficult musical score. Yet it's the most magnificent music to dance to... .'

Judge Dee gave her the book. 'You can return it to me tonight, at the dinner party.'

'Oh, thanks ever so much, sir! I have to rush off now, for the musician will want to practise it a bit.' In the doorway she turned round. 'Please don't tell the other guests that I am going to do this dance, sir. I want it to be a surprise!’

The judge nodded. 'Get two large bowls,' he told the fat man.

The musician took two earthenware bowls from the shelf while Judge Dee removed the stopper from the jar. He filled Lao-liu's bowl to the rim.

'High-class stuff!' the musician exclaimed, sniffing at the bowl. Then he emptied it in one long draught. The judge took a careful sip of his. 'Strange girl, that dancer,' he remarked casually.

'If she's a girl! Wouldn't wonder if she turned out to be a fox spirit, with a plumed tail under her skirt. Was just trying to find that out when you came in, sir!’ He grinned, refilled his bowl and took a sip. Smacking his lips, he went on, 'Fox or not, she's great at squeezing the customers dry, the mercen­ary little bitch! Accepts their presents, lets them do a bit of kissing and patting, but as to real business, no, sir! No, never! And I have known her for over a year. Fine dancer she is, that I must say for her.' He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Well, perhaps she's a wise one, after all. Come to think of it, I've seen many a good dancer go to pieces because of too much cavorting on the bed mat!’

'How did you come to know the "Fox Lay"?'

'Heard it many a year ago, from a couple of old crones. Midwives who made an extra penny by expelling evil spirits from the house of the expectant mother. Don't know the music too well, to tell you frankly. But the witch over there in the shrine, she's real good at it.'

'Who is she?'

'A blasted witch, that's what she is! A real fox spirit, that one! An old woman who picks rags found her in the street, nice little tot. That's what she seemed, at least! Grew up as a half-wit, didn't talk till she was fifteen. Then she got fits every so often, would roll her eyes and say strange, horrible things. The old crone got frightened, and sold her to a brothel. She was a looker, it seems. Well, the owner of the brothel pocketed a good fee from the elderly amateur who was going to deflower her. The old gentleman should've known better than to fool around with a fox girl. Let's have another one, sir, it's the first real drink I have had today.'

Having downed the bowl, the fat man sadly shook his head.

'The wench bit off the tip of his tongue when he tried to kiss her, then she jumped out of the window and ran off to the deserted shrine near the South Gate. And there she's been ever since. Not even the toughest bullies of the brothel guild dared to go there! Place is haunted, you see. Hundreds were slaughtered on that spot, man, woman and child. At night you can hear their ghosts wailing on the piece of wasteland where the shrine stands. Superstitious people leave food at the tumbledown gate of the grounds, and the girl shares that with the wild foxes. Place is swarming with them. The girl dances around with them in the moonlight, singing that bl ... blasted song.' His voice became slurred. 'That... that dancer is a fox too. Only one who dares to go there. Bl ... blasted fox, that's what she is ...'

Judge Dee got up. 'If you've to play tonight, you'd better go slow on that jar. Good-bye.'

He walked to the main street, and asked a pedlar how to get to the south city gate.

'It's quite a long way, sir. You've to walk down this street, then pass the big market, and go down the whole length of Temple Street. Go on straight from there, and you'll soon see the gate ahead.'

The judge hailed a small litter and told the two bearers to take him to the shrine at the southern end of Temple Street. He thought he had better get down there, and walk the rest of the way. For chairbearers are notorious gossips.

'You mean the Temple of Subtle Insight, sir?'

'Exactly. An extra tip if you make it quick.'

The men put the long shafts on their calloused shoulders and trotted off, with lusty heigh-hos to warn the crowd to make way.