Kaifeng ground his teeth. “This was done out of respect for the mourning period.”
“Constable,” the censor began with mock surprise, “you must be aware that memories and recall of events will erode with time. Also with additional time, the perpetrators have opportunity to fabricate lies and cover up their involvement.”
Inwardly, he cursed Magistrate Li and his proper and genteel ways. Outwardly, Kaifeng bit his tongue.
“The only person you questioned who appeared to have any personal knowledge of General Deng was—” The official squinted at the report again. An annoying habit. “Lady Mingyu, courtesan of the Lotus Palace and foster daughter to a Madame Sun Linjiang. You seem to have conversed with her in length. No arrest was made.” He glanced up with a shrewd look. “I’ve heard of this Mingyu. Perhaps you were moved to be lenient when faced with a beautiful woman?”
The way he lingered over Mingyu’s name made Kaifeng’s fists clench. Striking an official would certainly be seen as a threat to the stability of the state.
“There was not enough evidence for an arrest,” he replied. “And she can be easily found in the Pingkang li if further questioning is required.”
“No matter. I’ll advise Li Yen to assign his official deputies to this task. To men who understand the prescribed practice of enforcing the laws. Ones who have been educated beyond a few scrawls.” With a curl of his lip, he rolled the scroll closed. “Your talents are better served in the street, dragging in vagabonds and lending a heavy hand when needed.”
Magistrate Li appeared at the doorway. Behind him was the same official Li had met with several days earlier, the one who had requested that he be dismissed.
“Inspector Xi Lun,” Li greeted with a low bow. “We apologize for the delay.”
“No need for apology. This conversation was quite useful.” Xi Lun tucked the report beneath his arm and slanted a final glance at Wu Kaifeng before joining his colleagues. “I would like to hear what else is being done to investigate this crime, Magistrate Li. As you know, the Emperor himself is interested to know who would dare to assassinate one of his highest ranking generals, right here in the imperial capital under the Emperor’s watch.”
* * *
TALENTS BETTER SERVED in the street.
Indeed.
Kaifeng would gladly keep to the streets if it meant no more useless exchanges with self-important bureaucrats. If there was some scheme to have him dismissed, then so be it. There was little he could do about it, but perform his duties. So by the next morning, he had brushed such concerns aside and instead pondered the nature of cuts and wounds as he walked through the market.
Lady Mingyu would likely be unimpressed by such knowledge. She might even find it horrifying, but it certainly made him useful. Kaifeng had no illusions. Mingyu wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he wasn’t useful.
He reached the lane where the butcher’s shop was located and caught a scrawny youth darting from the crowd toward the street corner.
Kaifeng closed the distance and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. The urchin yelped and struggled while he shouted for help. Anyone who might have been inclined to intervene took one look at Kaifeng and kept on moving.
“Sir! Constable, sir, where are you taking me? I didn’t do anything.”
With Kaifeng’s long stride, the boy was skipping to keep pace as Kaifeng dragged him back toward the shop. As soon as the youth saw where they were going, he renewed his struggles, clawing at Kaifeng’s wrist. The butcher paused with his cleaver poised over a haunch of pork.
Kaifeng raised his arm, the gesture lifting the boy half off the ground. “Here is your thief.”
The butcher stared incredulously from Kaifeng to the boy in his grasp.
“That runt you caught a few days ago was innocent, but there was indeed a thief snatching your earnings. I saw this one waiting for you to be occupied with those hogs from your assistant.” Kaifeng nodded toward the pig carcasses stacked on the back counter. “Once your back was turned, he crept by to swipe a few coins.”
This boy was in rags very much like the first one. He started to squeak out a protest, but Kaifeng merely let him drop to the ground. A quick search of his person revealed two copper coins tucked into his shoe.
There was no need to test the coins in water for streaks of grease and blood. The boy, in the typical fashion of the guilty, piped up that this was only his first time stealing from the butcher.
“It wasn’t me all those other times,” he insisted.
The butcher’s face flushed red and his jowls shook as he roared, “I should chop off your hand myself, you no-good dog.”
He raised his cleaver to make good on the threat, which sent the thief scrambling behind Kaifeng for protection. “Sir! Constable, sir. Don’t let him kill me.”
On any other day, Kaifeng would leave the thief to the butcher to mete out punishment. There was no use in taking such a petty crime to the magistrate where the youth would only receive a few blows with the light rod as punishment.
“Put him to work,” Kaifeng suggested, seeing the butcher was less enthusiastic about wielding his cleaver on a person than on a side of pork.
Once the failed thief was on his knees scrubbing the floor, Kaifeng returned to his original intent for coming to the shop.
“There is a favor I must ask of you,” he said to the butcher.
“Anything, Constable.”
Kaifeng looked to the pigs stacked on the back counter, still intact. “If I could borrow two of those. You will get them back shortly, I assure you.”
The butcher shot him a questioning look, a look that said he wasn’t certain whether Wu Kaifeng was entirely sane. It was a look the constable got often.
“This might make your job easier for the day,” Kaifeng added.
The butcher set his son at the counter to take care of customers while he helped haul the two carcasses to the storeroom in back.
Hooks hung from the ceiling and the smell of old blood and gore clung to the air. This was where the meat was hung to drain after slaughter. The reformed thief made his way back there and plunked his wash bucket down. Scrunching up his face, he sank down to his knees and started scrubbing with an air of resignation.
Kaifeng secured the pigs onto the hooks, heads up so that their necks were exposed at his eye level. The weight of them was nearly equal to a man’s.
He thanked the butcher for his assistance, but the man remained in the storeroom, too curious to return to his counter. When Kaifeng positioned himself in front of one of the pigs and drew his sword, the boy stopped his scrubbing to watch with fascination.
Setting his feet and squaring his shoulders, Kaifeng sank into his stance. He gripped the broadsword in both hands—he had the feeling he would need the extra power in his swing—and pulled the weapon back.
Tension gathered in his shoulders as he prepared himself. He had watched the executioner deal such a blow, but had never done it himself. He had, however, wielded his sword against a flesh and blood enemy enough times to know the impact of steel into bone.
With a deep breath, he reared back and then struck with the exhale, directing his blow not into the body, but to a point on the other side. The broadsword sank deep, but not through the corpse. The resistance in the body stopped him short even though he was swinging at full force. It took another swipe to sever the head from the body. The carcass fell to the floor with a thump and the boy gasped in amazement.