Jade Dragon Mountain by Elsa Hart

authors, commissioned by their conquerors to write the story of the defeated dynasty. What had he called it? Li Du frowned. A deadly exercise in tact.
    He turned sharply at the sound of a tap on the floor, and saw an old man with a walking stick approaching him from a patch of sunshine in the far corner of the room.
    â€œWho’s that?” The man’s voice was a croak. “Won’t have them saying I don’t look after the place. Who’s that, then?” His Chinese was heavily accented, guttural and difficult to understand.
    â€œI apologize for startling you. We have not met, but I am a guest in this house. My name is Li Du. You are Mu Gao, the librarian?”
    The man stopped just in front of Li Du. His back was so bent that it was difficult for him to lift his head to inspect Li Du’s face. His features proclaimed him a local. Wrinkled, papery skin hung from a long face with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip as he assessed Li Du with rheumy eyes.
    â€œThey don’t call me librarian,” he said finally. “I’m the caretaker. I do the dusting and sweeping. No need for more—not many visitors to this place, not usually.”
    â€œMy impression of the library was—”
    Mu Gao interrupted him with a little jab of his cane into the air. “So you’re the one the magistrate said would give me advice? The royal librarian? Well? Look around you. See any dust? Smell mildew? No? That’s right. Nothing wrong with my work.”
    Li Du hastened to reassure the old man. “You take wonderful care of it,” he said. Mu Gao eyed him suspiciously, and Li Du continued. “I was going to say that this is the most beautifully kept library I have seen in a very long time. There is no dampness, and I see that the books are in fine condition. I wondered, though, how you keep the insects from eating the paste and ruining the bindings?”
    â€œJewelvine root,” said Mu Gao, instantly. “After that, only task left is to sweep away the insects with the dust.”
    â€œOf course,” said Li Du. “That is what I used also. Tell me—do you keep it here in the library?”
    â€œWhere else would I keep it? Not needed for anything else, is it? Except some use it for killing fish, but not around these parts.”
    â€œIs it kept in a locked place?”
    Mu Gao grunted. “No. I keep it in a drawer, same place as the papers and inks. Why are you asking me about jewelvine? Is this something to do with the dead man? I don’t know anything about it, but they told me he died in the normal way.”
    Li Du was cautious. “I have no certain knowledge,” he said, “but it appears now that he did not die, as you say, in the normal way. I must speak with the magistrate.”
    *   *   *
    â€œBut it is clear what happened,” said Tulishen, after he had shut the door to his study. “Surely you have seen objects like this one during your travels through the province?” He motioned toward the embroidered purse that rested on the desk in front of him.
    â€œI know that this purse is in the Khampa style, but—”
    Tulishen broke in. “And must have been given to him by the Khampa with whom he traveled. You recall what I said to you when you arrived. His fate was sealed when he decided to travel with thieves and murderers.”
    â€œBut why would Brother Pieter have carried it with him, yet only used the tea leaves for the first time last night, when there was tea already provided for him in his room? And what reason would the Khampa traders have to give a foreigner, with whom, to my knowledge, they had no quarrel, poisoned tea leaves in a purse readily identifiable as being of Khampa make?”
    Tulishen’s eyes narrowed. “The answers to your questions are unimportant. Of what significance was his decision to drink the tea last night, or on any