The Chinese Alchemist

Three

Wu Peng, the eunuch to whom I was sent, held a position of some importance in the Service for Palace Attendants. It was quickly apparent to me that this position was not due to his abilities—the man could neither read nor write, nor did he demonstrate any particular affinity for leadership. No, his position was due almost entirely to the fact that he was a distant cousin of the powerful Wu family in the palace, a clan that had produced numerous royal consorts, and most extraordinarily, an empress, Wu Zetian, ruler in her own right rather than just by virtue of marriage to an emperor. Wu Peng may not have been able to read and write, but he had amassed a fortune in a manner he would later explain to me. He had a rather lavish home outside the palace, a wife, in name only obviously, and two adopted sons. I too was adopted by Wu Peng and his wife, and took his surname, becoming known as Wu Yuan. I did not reside with Wu and his family, however. My place was in the Imperial Palace, serving the Son of Heaven.

Once the pain and trauma of the procedure that determined my life’s course as a eunuch had abated, I was brought to the Imperial Palace. That I, the son of a low-level mandarin, although certainly a mandarin with aspirations, should find himself in such a place never failed to amaze me. The beauty of the palace was simply astonishing. One could wander the passageways and courtyards, gardens and residences forever, it was so large, and every detail was exquisite. There were arches of jade and pearl, carpets of the finest silk, and furnishings of a noble craftsmanship of which I had seen no equal. There were parks of unparalleled beauty, gardens bursting with glorious scent both night and day, forests filled with animals, glorious pavilions, polo fields, archery ranges, many lakes stocked with fish, still other ponds where people of the court could drift in elegant boats, orchards of pears and plums and peaches. It was heady indeed for the boy that I was.

We eunuchs essentially have the run of the Imperial Palace. Not the inner chambers, to be sure, with a few exceptions, but in the course of our duties we see and hear much of what is going on. And we do like to gossip. As a newcomer I merely listened, but I learned much. At first, I was given many menial tasks, being sent to the markets to choose birdcages or musical instruments for the royal concubines, or to the silk market for special bolts of fabric for these same women. I was allowed to walk among the emperor’s women at will, given there was no opportunity for my seed to mingle with that of the emperor’s chosen ones.

It was on these errands in the city that I began to look for Number One Sister. I was particularly happy when sent to the Western Market, which, while not as sumptuous as the Eastern Market, located as it is in the wealthier part of Chang’an, had the distinct advantage from my perspective of being adjacent to the Northern Hamlet where famous courtesans, of whom I had become convinced my sister was one, having as a more mature person discarded the brigand theory, plied their trade. Men laughed when I, a young eunuch, walked the streets and lanes of that quarter. They knew from my voice and appearance that I would never know the love of a woman. I ignored them. I was a eunuch in the Imperial Palace, and not just any eunuch but a pure one, who unlike some had never, and would never, be intimate with a woman. I considered these men who frequented the North Hamlet to be my inferiors.

Soon it was discovered that I could read and write, a skill my father had insisted upon my acquiring, and I was assigned to teach some of the young women of the harem to do the same. I was told I was a comely young man, and soon became a favorite of many of the women, a favorite and perhaps a confidant. I had been afraid that my new responsibilities would not afford me the same opportunity to scour the lanes of the great city of Chang’an, looking for my sister, but I soon found I had even more latitude in my quest, as I both penned and delivered secret letters to the rapid relay stations for these lovely ladies. They had, by and large, a great deal of time on their hands, given the impressive size of the harem. Even those who ascended to the top ranks would spend a night with the Son of Heaven once every few months, and perhaps not even that often, unless they rose to the status of imperial favorites, or were found to be unusually proficient at producing sons.

Sometimes I would see the carriages of the courtesans, watch them climbing down to choose bolts of silk or whatever pleased them. I did not see Number One Sister. But I did not give up hope.

* * *

“Blue Toyota, no plates,” David said, as he came back into the building, casting a baleful eye on the doorman in the process. “I almost had him.”

Dr. Xie was engaged in what sounded like a heated discussion with the young man from the auction house, who looked to be in the throws of a full-blown panic attack. “Scandalous security,” he said to us, leaving the man wringing his hands. “How can they expect people to place items for sale under these kinds of circumstances? We will have to wait for the Beijing Public Security Bureau, I’m afraid.”

The man in black said something, which Dr. Xie translated. “He’s saying that the doorman is an idiot, grabbing the wrong person.” I was inclined to agree.

It took the police only a few minutes to get there, but already Burton was pacing up and down in a most annoying way. The instant the police arrived, the man in black pulled them aside. The conversation was in Chinese, so I couldn’t understand a word, but I noticed Burton had his head cocked in their direction, a rather bemused expression on his face. Whatever the discussion, it was brief and resulted in the man in black leaving immediately after it concluded. The rest of us were kept there considerably longer. We were all asked what we had seen, details of our passports and visas were taken, and then we were told we could leave as well. “How did that other guy get out of here so fast?” I said. “Army,” Dr. Xie said. “He’s high up in the Chinese army.”

“So what?”

“This is China,” Dr. Xie said in a warning tone. “It is not your home. Things are different here.”

“Well, that’s it, Lara,” Burton said, coming over to say good-bye. As usual, he didn’t offer to shake hands. “It’s been a blast. Might as well pack our bags and go home. See you there I hope.”

It didn’t work out like that.

My first order of business was to call George Matthews and deliver the bad news. I’d told Mira that she could deal with Eva Reti at the law firm, but that I should be the one to talk to George. He took it better than I thought he would, so much so that his reaction surprised me a little. “So that’s it, then,” he said. He sounded almost relieved. I didn’t figure it was the money, which would probably stay tied up for a period of time just in case the silver box showed up again. Maybe, as Rob had already pointed out to me, George knew this wish of his wife’s was a bit strange, even if he felt duty-bound to support it, and was glad to have it out of the way. “You were there when it was stolen?”

“Yes. It was an unbelievably bold heist. There were several of us there, but the thief was fast, and he had a car waiting right outside for him. No license plates on the car, either. Somebody really wanted that box very badly.”

“I expect someone really did,” George replied. “And now you should come home.”

I told George I was off to Taiwan as soon as I could get a flight, and this adventure, such as it was, was over. However, I tried to change my booking for Taiwan and couldn’t. I could have managed it for the following day, but that was devoted to a command performance at the auction house, this time to view the videotapes in the presence of three policemen. When I got there, Burton was on his mobile, also trying to book an earlier flight home. At least that was what I thought he was doing. He was speaking Chinese, and he said that was what he was attempting. I saw no reason to doubt him. That would come later.

Unfortunately, our arrival also coincided with a quiet but public dressing-down of the young auction house employee who had proven himself hopelessly inept as a custodian of the merchandise. The young man stood, head bowed, his back to us, and hands behind his back, one hand clasping a delicate wrist. Another man was speaking quietly, but there was no mistaking the tone. At the end of it, the boy let out a howl, took off his Cherished Treasures House jacket, threw it on the ground, and ran out of the place. It seemed pretty clear he’d been sacked.

“I believe everyone is here. We are ready to begin,” the person who looked to be in charge, someone by the name of Chen Maohong, said. His English was very good.

“No, I think we’re still missing one person,” I said.

“Everyone is here,” Chen said in a firm tone. I looked at Xie who very subtly shook his head. “We will now review the videotape.”

The videotape showed someone walk in, hesitate for only a moment, proceed directly to the silver box, grab it, and leave in haste. The cameras also showed the rest of us: David moving very fast, followed by the man in black, and Burton and I standing stock still in amazement for a few seconds before hurtling after them. Dr. Xie had followed at a much slower pace. What the videotape didn’t reveal was the thief’s face, which he kept averted from the cameras, thus proving that he knew exactly where they were.

There was no question that it was the T’ang silver box, and only the silver box, that the thief wanted. Now, it’s possible it was the easiest to grab, in terms of size and the fact that it was just sitting all by itself on a pedestal, but I didn’t think so. I had more than one reason for thinking that, not only the actions of the thief, but also because even though I couldn’t see his face, I had become almost certain it was the young man who had seemed to be ready to bid on the silver box when it was up for auction at Molesworth Cox in New York, the man I’d come to think of as Mr. Knockoff. I mentioned this aloud.

“You remember him, Burton,” I said.

“I don’t believe I do,” he replied.

“He was at the preview the same time you and I were,” I said. “Fake Hugo Boss suit. This time it was fake Armani. And he was definitely planning to bid that night. He was standing off to one side looking bored until Cox announced that the silver box had been withdrawn from the sale. He slapped his paddle against the wall, as good an indication as any that he was as displeased by that development as we were.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was so focused on the upcoming bidding that I didn’t notice,” Burton said. “I knew you were there, of course, and that there was a bidder on the telephone, but I don’t recall anyone else who looked particularly interested in the box.”

“To have a paddle, which is to say to be able to bid on something as expensive as that, the man must have established some kind of credit with Molesworth and Cox. If you get in touch with them,” I said to Chen, “they would almost certainly have a record, and you know, they might tell you who he was, given this is a criminal investigation.”

“They’re never going to find it,” Burton said as we were about to leave. “For one thing, by the time the people at Molesworth and Cox respond to the enquiry from the police here, it will be long gone. They’ll go on and on about protecting their clients’ identities, and will only give up the name if they are legally required to do so. I am going to have to find a new signature piece for the T’ang gallery. The box will disappear into the black market. What a crashing waste of time! The only happy note I can think of is that it serves the seller right for withdrawing it in New York at the last minute like that. I hope for their sake it was insured.”

I, too, was feeling similarly irked. “It’s all a little odd, isn’t it?” I said. “First it’s withdrawn, then it’s put up for sale halfway around the world, and then it’s stolen. I know it’s special, but still, this is a bit much.”

“A bit much is right. I’ve spent thousands following it around for nothing. Yes, my travel budget at the Cottingham is generous, but who can afford something as useless as this? I’m going home tomorrow, I hope. I’m wait-listed for tomorrow, and have a confirmed booking for Wednesday. I planned to be going home with the silver box, but I guess that’s not going to happen. It will not be my most triumphant return, I must say.”

“Nor mine. I don’t know what is worse, wasting someone else’s money or your own. Now that you mention it though, how were you planning to get the box out of the country?” I said. “China is clamping down on exports, as Mira Tetford has pointed out to me.”

“The auction house assured me that the requisite papers would be provided, because the piece was legally out of the country before it was put up for auction here. Anyway, it’s always possible, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question. “Palms can be greased, customs agents either too ignorant to know what they’re looking at, or persuaded to look the other way. But you should know that if you were planning to be the successful bidder. Does that mean you weren’t planning to take it out of the country? Interesting idea,” he said.

Oops, I thought. “That’s a cynical attitude, Burton,” I said.

“Cynical? I call it realistic. I was shopping on the antique street, Liulichang Dajie, a couple of days ago and went into a government-owned shop. At least, it was supposed to be a government-owned shop. It had the plaque outside the door proclaiming it as such. I was offered T’ang ceramics. I should probably say I was offered fake T’ang ceramics. Quite lovely, though. Pretending I didn’t know they were fake, I pointed out that they were way too old for export. They promised me that would not be a problem. Now given that they were fake, obviously it shouldn’t be a problem, but it does call the whole system into some question, does it not?”

“Maybe there was a language problem,” I said. “Maybe they were trying to tell you they were reproductions.”

“I speak Chinese, Lara. Surely you’ve noticed. Not well, perhaps, but well enough. Now, what are your plans?”

“I’m joining my partner Rob in Taiwan for a visit with his daughter,” I said.

“You have a client in Taiwan?” he said. “How would you manage that?”

“You know perfectly well I’m not going to fall for that,” I said. “You’re getting a little irritating on the subject of my client. But you are jumping to conclusions. Really, I am going to visit my sort-of stepdaughter. She is teaching English there, and I miss her a lot.”

“I see,” he said. I could tell he didn’t know whether to believe me or not, which in my opinion said more about him than about me. “Why don’t you join me this evening for a drink at the bar in the hotel?”

“Good idea,” I said, although I wasn’t sure it was. “What time?”

“Six? Maybe we can go out for a bite after.”

It seemed churlish to refuse, but the evening began even more badly than I’d feared. He couldn’t wait even two minutes to start at me again on the subject of my mystery client. “I confess that in New York I thought your client might be Dory Matthews, but I guess that would hardly be the case now. Too bad about Dory. I know you were fond of her.”

“Yes, I was, and still am.”

“I suppose it could still be George Matthews. Or his company Norfolk Matthews Pharmaceuticals, but he wouldn’t normally use you to get what he wanted.” I said nothing, but Burton, as usual, rattled on, oblivious to my discomfort. “It’s a bit peripheral for him. He collects medical equipment, and I’m not sure a box with a recipe for the elixir of immortality would qualify, as tantalizing as it might be for the rest of us. And anyway, it’s too soon after Dory’s death for him to be arranging for a purchase in Beijing, I’d think. Am I right?”

“Burton!” I said in a warning tone. “I think we should change the subject.”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for some time, Lara. Please hear me out. I know you were very fond of Dory. I was, too. It wasn’t my fault she got edged out at the Cottingham. The museum approached me. I didn’t know what the situation was. They told me she was retiring. Why would I think otherwise? I found out later she was pushed out against her will, but I honestly did not know that at the time, and even if I had, it wasn’t up to me. They asked me for an expression of interest, and who wouldn’t be interested, given the budget that museum has? I was keen, I sent my CV, and got an interview, then another, then the job. By the time I got there, she was gone.”

“You’re quite right, Burton. It wasn’t your fault that the Cottingham decided Dory had to go. But Courtney Cottingham told me you’d approached them first, and that it was too much of an opportunity to pass up, given that you are the hot item in this field.” Courtney had shared this annoying little confidence with me at Dory’s retirement bash. A lot of people knew that edging Dory out would be unpopular with certain people, my being one of them. I didn’t figure Courtney actually cared what I thought, nor did I think Burton did either, but both seemed to feel they had to say something to me. It’s just that Burton was lying, or at the very least stretching the truth, and I wasn’t prepared to let him get away with it.

Burton got just a little defensive. “I didn’t apply for the job, Lara. I simply met Courtney Cottingham and her husband at a soiree in Washington, and I told her if the job were ever open, I hoped she would consider me a candidate. I know you really, really liked Dory, and clearly you’re determined to think the worst of me, but what I’m saying is true. Several months after Courtney and I had this conversation, she got in touch with me. She told me Dory was retiring. If my casual remark sparked Dory’s departure, I feel bad about it, but I don’t think it would have changed anything. Courtney thought Dory was past it, and maybe she was. Her arthritis had slowed her down, and she wasn’t open to new ideas for the galleries.”

“Burton…” I began, but stopped. There was no use in arguing this point with him. “Look, I know you’re doing great things for the Cottingham, just as you did for that private museum in Boston. I’m sure the Cottingham is lucky to have you no matter what the circumstances. It’s too late for Dory, so let’s just talk about something else.” It was the best I could do.

“Thank you,” he said. “Dory was certainly very nice when I went to visit her a couple of weeks before she died. It was just before you and I headed for New York for our first futile attempts to get the box. She served me tea and cookies, and we had a lovely chat. She even sent me home with a care package, a box of homemade cookies and some of her own blend of tea. She used it to treat her arthritis, but she said it was good for almost all that ails you. I went to personally invite her to a reception we were having for donors. If she blamed me, she gave me no such indication, but I suppose she might say something to you and not to me.”

“She never said a bad word about you to me, Burton.” That was indeed true. “I doubt she said a bad word about you to anyone. She was not the sort of person to do that. She was a classy lady.”

“She was,” he agreed. “Now as you’ve already requested, let’s talk about something else. I got a seat on the plane tomorrow, so this is my last evening here. I know this place that serves fabulous food. Let’s go eat.”

I’d had enough of Burton for one day, but there didn’t seem to be a polite way to get out of it. I could hardly say I had other things to do, when clearly I didn’t. Reluctantly, I went with him. He ordered, not even bothering to ask me if there was anything I wanted. However, he knew Chinese food as well as he knew Chinese art. Platter after platter of food arrived in front of us, all really delicious. Over the course of the meal, I discovered that Burton could be quite amusing when he tried. I may have even found myself warming to him just the tiniest bit. He had the good grace to make fun of his health fetish, which he had to, really, when I asked him what on Earth he was doing as he proceeded to wipe down the chopsticks. In some cases, cleaning the chopsticks might be a good idea, but these had come in sealed packages, the kind you actually have to tear open to use. I tried more or less unsuccessfully not to laugh. Heaven knows, I try to be careful when I’m traveling. If I find myself some place that I think doesn’t measure up from a sanitary standpoint, I won’t eat anything that doesn’t have steam rising from it. It’s my number one rule. I’d sized this restaurant up pretty quickly and decided it was okay. Burton, however, was taking no chances. When he put disinfectant drops on the spotless serving spoons, though, I got the giggles. Even he started to laugh.

When I’d managed to get my hilarity under control, I got around to a question I was determined to ask. “You speak Chinese, don’t you? Mandarin?” I asked when I’d eaten as much as I possibly could.

“Yes,” he said. “Also a little Cantonese.”

“So what did that guy in black, the one who has enough pull that he avoids spending time looking at videotapes and being questioned with the rest of us, say to the doorman?”

“The guy with the expensive shoes? He said something along the lines of ‘Grab the young man’ or something. Why?”

“Well, what would you say under those circumstances?”

“ ‘Stop, thief,” I guess. I’ll grant you it was a little ambiguous, but really, wouldn’t you think the doorman would grab the guy with the silver box under his arm if that is indeed what the guy said?“

“I don’t know. The two were about the same age—David and the thief, that is.”

“Where are you going with this, Lara?”

“Promise you won’t laugh? I think there is a possibility that the man in black was in on the theft.”

“Whoa!” Burton said. “Chinese army. Be careful.”

“You’re not planning to discuss this with them, are you?”

“Of course not, but why would you think such a thing? Surely it is not because he left so soon after it happened and he didn’t come back the next day like the rest of us. Perhaps his shift of duty was about to begin. I don’t know, maybe they went and took his statement from him at his home or work as a professional courtesy. I don’t think you can assume he is a criminal just because he dodged some of the most incredibly boring hours I’ve put in while here.”

“It’s not that at all. He was ostensibly looking at a painting. The trouble is, he was standing in the wrong place to do that. That was a detailed painting. The rest of us stood much closer to look at it. I watched the videotape very carefully: where you stood, where I stood, and indeed where everybody stood when they were looking at it, and then I went over to it myself afterward. He was standing way too far back.”

“So maybe the guy doesn’t know how to look at paintings properly. Why does his ineptitude in that regard matter?”

“I think he was standing in the perfect place to block the young employee’s view of the silver box.”

“He hardly needed to do that,” Burton said. “The idiot wouldn’t have taken his eyes off that computer screen for a magnitude-nine earthquake. The building would have come down around him, and he’d be found dead staring at the screen.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t know that for sure would you, if you planned to grab the box? You couldn’t count on the fact that there was a computer-game addict in charge that day.”

“No, but you could probably count on poor security, I regret to say. They haven’t yet got the hang of it here. They actually rent compartments on trains to move works of art. I mean, you’ve got to hope thieves don’t know what they’re looking at when they pry open compartment doors, or that they’re interested in stealing something other than art.”

“I guess. Maybe you’re right and I’m just irked because the guy pulled rank and avoided two rather boring sessions with the police.”

“This is China, Lara,” Burton said.

“That must be the tenth time someone has said that to me.”

“Remember it.” Despite the fact that he lectured me, and clearly thought I was imagining things, we spent a pleasant enough evening after that, managing to avoid contentious subjects like Dory and the name of my client. We parted on good terms, Burton telling me he wouldn’t see me the next day as he had to leave early for the airport, and to phone him when I got home.

I didn’t expect to see Burton in Beijing again, but as I was to discover soon enough, Burton rarely did what he said he was going to do. For myself, I decided if I had to wait another couple of days, I might just as well go to the auction even if I didn’t plan to bid on anything. In the meantime, I would attempt to entertain myself by seeing the sights. I started with the Forbidden City, naturally, a must-see for anyone in Beijing. I began at the south end, across from Tian’anmen Square, at the Gate of Heavenly Peace, graced as it is with an enormous portrait of Chairman Mao. If you want to see the great one himself, you can do so by filing past his remarkably well-preserved corpse in the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall. I’d done that once, however, and once was enough. In the early days of our marriage, I’d told Clive about the experience and he’d suggested that we should do an embalmed leaders world tour, Mao, then Stalin in Moscow, supplementing it where necessary with impressive mausoleums in which embalmed dictators were interred, like maybe the Perons in Argentina. The idea didn’t seem nearly as amusing to me now, a much older and wiser person, but it did remind me that there had been a time when I’d enjoyed being with Clive. We never did the tour, I might add. Instead we collected watches with dead dictators on the faces, in Mao’s case, a particularly impressive model with Mao waving his arm for the second hand. Clive got the watch collection in our divorce, I regret to say, something he likes to remind me about from time to time, pushing his sleeve well up and making much of looking at the time when he’s wearing one of them.

The Forbidden City is called that because for much of its history as an imperial palace it was strictly off limits to almost everyone, your average person not even allowed to venture near the place. Now, however, you can wander at will, which is exactly what I did, admiring the large plazas, the brilliant red of the halls, the extraordinary carved staircases, impressive incense burners in the shape of cranes and tortoises, and of course, the throne room with the dragon throne. The further one moved north in the Forbidden City, through one vast plaza to the next, the closer one got to the emperor, known as the Son of Heaven.

I was heading for the most opulent of the imperial residences, the Palace of Heavenly Purity when I thought I saw Burton off in the distance just past a group of uniformed men—police or military, I didn’t know. It was not so much that I saw Burton, but rather the flash of an azure scarf and a head of blondish hair. I started to move closer, but the group disbanded and I could see no sign of anyone remotely resembling Burton. I reminded myself that he was leaving that day for home. It was still early in the day, but the nights went out in the early afternoon, so he wouldn’t have time for sightseeing. Furthermore, Burton did not hold a monopoly on azure scarves. I must have been mistaken.

Despite the grandeur of the buildings, my favorite part of the City was the garden at the north end. I browsed in the bookshop and purchased some woodcut prints that I thought might look nice framed for the shop, and generally lazed about. I felt guilty, though, as if I should be doing something. Mira had told me that my expenses would be paid until I left, but I thought I should see if I could make the trip pay for itself in some way, given that I wasn’t making any commission on the purchase of the silver box, by finding more treasures to take home for the shop. If I could, then I’d tell Mira I’d pay the last few nights in the hotel. With that goal in mind, and guilt therefore assuaged, I went shopping.

Liulichang Street, which is just south and a little west of the Forbidden City, is a pleasant tree-lined street for pedestrians and scooters only, lined with old houses, or at least houses that look old. Like much of Beijing, it was flattened not that long ago, but it has been reconstructed and certainly looks authentic. It’s supposed to be the premier antique street, but there are not a lot of real antiques to be found, more curios than anything else. I suppose it’s a pseudoantique street with pseudoantiques, when you think about it. It’s still attractive, though, most particularly the shops selling old books and calligraphic supplies, ink wells, stamp pads, and beautiful natural hair brushes in all sizes, even extraordinarily large ones, hanging in the windows of the shops. There are some interesting things to purchase, shadow puppets made of leather, for example. There are few truly old ones, but some of the new ones are beautifully done. I’d passed along my love of shadow puppets to Jennifer, and decided to bargain for two particularly lovely ones as a gift for her.

One of the best things about the area is that you get away from the high-rises, and catch a glimpse of the city that once was. There are markets, and tea houses, and ordinary little shops in addition to the tourist traps, and if you wander a little farther, which I did, given it was a clear winter day, cold but nice and sunny, you can find yourself on Dazhalan Lu, a real street with silk shops and a huge Chinese medicine store.

I was just wandering along, enjoying myself, when I saw Burton Haldimand framed, perhaps predictably, in the doorway of the medicine shop, putting on his sunglasses. Even though he was wearing a surgical mask, I was certain it was indeed Burton. I had also quite distinctly heard him say he was leaving early that day, which left me with the distinct possibility he’d lied. Perhaps because of this jaundiced view of mine, I decided that Burton was acting suspiciously. He looked carefully left and right before walking briskly in the direction from which I had just come. He was very intent on something. I followed. Fortunately the streets were crowded, which afforded me some cover. Soon we were back on Liulichang, where Burton proceeded to go into every single antique shop, and even some that looked pretty borderline in terms of antiques. Waiting for Burton would have been exceptionally tedious if he’d spent any time in the shops, but in each, no matter how big or how small, he spent only a few minutes, long enough for only a cursory look at the merchandise on offer. He had a piece of paper in his hand, which he folded each time he came out of a shop, and it didn’t take me long to develop a theory as to what he was doing. Eventually, after about a dozen shops, I got bored and decided it was time to show myself.

“Lara!” Burton said with a start as he came out of a shop to find me standing there.

“Burton,” I said, mimicking his tone.

“This is certainly serendipitous,” he said, after a slight pause during which he was doubtless formulating his next lie. “I’m glad to see you. I was hoping for company again at dinner. I’ve decided I might as well attend the auction. Dr. Xie will be there. He’s going after that poet’s folio, as I think you know. He said he was treating to champagne afterward in celebration if he was the successful bidder, or a wake of some kind if he wasn’t. It sounded good to me, either way.”

“I thought you were heading back to Toronto, Burton,” I said, in a perhaps somewhat snappish tone.

“I was, but I seem to have developed an aversion to the idea of going home empty-handed. I thought I’d see if there was something else I could purchase. The auction goes ahead tomorrow night as planned, minus one box, so I thought there might be something else. Courtney Cottingham pretty well gives me carte blanche as far as purchases are concerned.”

“And you thought Liulichang Street was the right place for museum-quality antiquities, did you?” I asked, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Not really,” he said. “But the auction does present a possibility or two.”

“I decided I’d go to the auction, too. I can’t get a flight for a day or two. Dr. Xie invited me for champagne as well, and perhaps young Mr. Knockoff will show up and we can sound the alarm.”

“Mr. Knockoff?”

“The fellow who was at Molesworth and Cox in New York, and who I think stole the box here. The fellow you can’t remember.”

“Hmmm. That would be something of a long shot,” Burton said. “I expect the thief knows better than to show up.”

“You never know,” I said. “How about we get a cup of tea? I’m finding it a bit cold now that the sun is going down.”

“Why not?” he said and we picked a little tea shop nearby. Once again, Burton ordered. I suppose it made sense, given he spoke the language, but I have a real aversion to men who order my food for me, particularly when they don’t ask me what I want.

“What have you been up to, Burton? Did you get your hand stuck in a car door or something?” I said. He’d taken off his mittens, and now was carefully peeling off one set of surgical gloves, and had another pristine pair waiting. I suppose he couldn’t possibly hold a tea cup with the same pair he’d worn in the street.

“What?” he said.

“Your nails look bruised. Both hands, actually. Hard labor, perhaps?”

“They do look a little blue, don’t they? But no, I can’t recall having them smashed or anything. I’m sure I’d remember it.” He quickly put his fingers in the new gloves. I noticed he didn’t remove his sunglasses.

I didn’t believe him, but there didn’t seem to be much point in pressing him on the subject. There was so much about Burton’s behavior that was perplexing, to say nothing of just plain annoying. “What are you doing?” I asked as the waiter brought the tea, a pot, and cup for each of us. Burton had fished a plastic bag out of his jacket pocket, and was dipping a tea bag into the single pot.

“I’ve brought my own tea,” he said. “I ordered Chinese green tea for you and hot water for me.”

“That tea of yours stinks, I’d have to say.” Perhaps it didn’t actually stink, but it sure overpowered the delicate scent of my green tea.

“It does smell a little strong, but it’s very efficacious,” he said. “Fights bacteria, keeps the blood running properly, eliminates blockages in the qi. You would get used to the strong flavor, and it would do you a world of good.”

I was tempted to say that when it wasn’t eliminating blockages in the qi it could probably be used to clear clogged drains, but I restrained myself. Instead, I returned to a more important subject, first tucking into one of the scrumptious custard tarts he’d also ordered, although he wasn’t eating them himself. I might have to concede that it had not been such a bad idea for him to order on my behalf if this is what I got. “What are you planning to do tomorrow?” I said. “Just the auction?”

“Probably. I’ll take it easy during the day, maybe visit the hotel’s fitness room. You can’t use a trip as an excuse not to keep in shape, you know. Then I’ll go to the auction and see you there.”

He didn’t do that either. At this point, I was starting to take these lies of his personally, and was therefore ready for them. I’d given him ample opportunity over tea to confess what he was doing. He’d chosen not to do so. That fast led me to the conclusion that he was not just an eccentric genius of overweening ambition, but essentially a slug.

The next morning, I watched as he scanned the lobby quickly when he got off the elevator, probably looking for me. I was strategically placed behind a potted palm, and had been just about to give up and move on when he appeared. Once he got going, though, he moved fast, out the door and into a cab in a matter of seconds. I took the next one in line and followed him, which takes some doing in Beijing traffic, but the driver managed it once he understood what I wanted, thanks to the hotel doorman who didn’t bat an eyelid when I asked for his translation services. Burton headed north and west from our hotel, skirting the north end of the Forbidden City, but after that we began to wend our way from street to street and I got hopelessly lost. My only consolation was that I had a card from our hotel with its name in Chinese, so at least I could get back. Finally, the cab ahead stopped and Burton got out. After giving him a minute’s head start, I did the same.

We were on a lively street, lined with gnarled old trees and many shops. It was crowded, which made it difficult to keep him in view, but it also afforded me some protection once again, necessary given he and I were the only non-Chinese on the street. He never looked back, but occasionally looked up to read the signs or numbers on the shops or peered in the windows, as if he were looking for something specific. There were no antique stores around that I could see, which begged the question, Why were we here? I had a sudden crisis of conscience, thinking I might have been wrong about him. Maybe he was visiting some Chinese herbalist for a consultation on the state of his health, or for another supply of vile-smelling tea. I mean, what would I say if he looked behind him and there I was?

Rather abruptly, Burton turned into a little grocery store. I stood across the street and waited for him to come out, but after several minutes, he hadn’t. Finally I followed him in. He wasn’t there. I’d lost him, although I couldn’t figure out how I’d managed to do so. I wished I could ask someone, but of course I couldn’t.

Annoyed, I turned to go, and almost tripped over a tiny old woman who was sitting by the door. She had a lovely face, deeply wrinkled but beautiful. She also had teeny little feet. I was appalled, my feminist hackles rising. Technically, foot binding in China had been outlawed in 1911, and I never thought I’d ever see someone with bound feet. Bound feet were often referred to as “golden lilies,” and the perfect foot an appalling three or four inches. Despite being outlawed, the practice probably went on in the country long after 1911, and it took the Communist Party, when it took over in 1949, to put an absolute close to this revolting practice. This woman clearly predated that time. I apologized, although I’m sure she couldn’t understand a word I said. But I smiled at her, and she smiled back, several teeth missing. Then she gestured toward the back of the shop.

At first I thought she wanted me to buy something, but then I noticed a rough wooden door at the back of the shop. The woman had assumed that a white woman on her own was almost inevitably looking for a white guy, and was pointing me in the right direction. My crisis of conscience was over: if Burton was sneaking out back doors, he was up to something. I planned to see what he did this time. And so, like Alice in Wonderland, I stepped through the door and into another world.