The Chinese Alchemist by Lyn Hamilton Page A

sculptures, guardians of the gate. The wall of the compound stretched along the hutong for many yards, and I could see a rather impressive roofline inside the wall. If I were a betting person, I’d say whoever lived there had his own bathroom. After all, there were five beams on that gate. And to all appearances, the lucky person in question was the man in black.
    This was all very perplexing, to say nothing of irritating. As personally rewarding as touring the hutong neighborhood might have been for me, following Burton everywhere was not my idea of a good time, and his constant obfuscation as to his plans was definitely getting up my nose. Still, I too had a plan, one that involved finding my way back to the hotel and then ambushing him. With the Drum Tower, a fabulous structure that was used to sound the time both morning and evening for the inhabitants of ancient Beijing in the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, located, and a taxi hailed to take me to the hotel, I put my plan into action. I rather hoped the army officer hadn’t recognized me. I seemed to be the only Caucasian woman in the neighborhood, and therefore more obvious than usual. I’d worn a hat and scarf against the cold and snow, and I hadn’t noticed any glimmer of recognition on his face in the second or two before I’d hightailed it out of there. Indeed, he and Burton had been very deep in conversation. I was reasonably sure that Burton, with his back to me, had no inkling of my presence.
    I ordered myself a coffee in the lobby and waited for Burton to return. I gave him about five minutes to get to his room and get his coat off before I pounced. I knew which room was his. He’d bought the drinks when we’d met in the bar, and I’d noted it when he signed for them. He answered my knock with a can of disinfectant spray in his hand. I held my breath for a few seconds in case he decided I had to be hosed down before I would be permitted to enter. He didn’t look happy to see me, but at least he didn’t blast me with the disinfectant, and after a long pause, he stepped aside and gestured for me to come in.
    “I have a proposal for you, Burton,” I said.
    “Could it not wait until this evening? I’m going to see you at the auction. I was hoping to have a bit of a rest. I’m not feeling completely well.” Actually, he didn’t look well, now that he mentioned it. He kept his head down as he spoke, and still had his sunglasses on. This did not stop me.
    “Your qi is no longer harmonious, is that it, Burton? I’m sorry to hear that. Here is what you are up to. You aren’t looking for a substitute for the T’ang box. I think you’re looking for the box itself. Mira Tetford, whom you met the other day, has had all the newspapers checked, and there is no word of the theft from the auction house yet. You think if you put the word out, the thief, who may think he’s relatively safe given the lack of publicity, will come to you. You are following every lead. Am I right?” Actually, although I had decided not to mention it, the lead he’d been following that morning had been mine: the idea that the man in black had deliberately blocked the view of the custodian at the auction house so that the thief would have a head start. The man in black might even have given the doorman the wrong impression as to which young man to tackle.
    He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “I suppose I might be doing that,” he said. “There’s a chance, you know.”
    “I think it’s a really long shot, and probably a waste of time. But I want that box, too, as much as you do, if not more. What I am suggesting is that we look for the box together. It will save time. If one of us finds it, the deal is that it goes back to the auction house. We both get to compete for it again, and we’ll let the legal process take its course. May the best person win, as you would say. You might as well agree. Purchasing it is one thing, but you would have trouble getting it out of