They come, in dim procession led,
The cold, the faithless, and the dead...
-- Sir Walter Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel

18th February 1905

The award for best play was interesting only to the people directly involved. The university and the city went about their days, not knowing or caring that four sets of producers, directors and actors were on tenterhooks.

By evening the results were in: The Pirates of Penzance won Best Play, while Edward Hannay won Best Director for The Duchess of Malfi.

It was such a minor thing to cause such chaos.

~~~~

"It's just possible," Mr. Aoki insisted.

"It's not very likely," Mr. Li said.

The two of them had a map of Shanghai spread across Zhan's desk. He closed the door behind him, hung his coat up, and went over to see what their latest idea was.

"What's possible?" he asked.

Aoki pointed at the map. "Mr. Jiang Senior lives here. Our Mr. Jiang disappeared from here. We've assumed Mr. Jiang got on a train, but what if he just walked back to his father's house and is now hiding there? He only had a mile to walk."

Zhan had to agree with Mr. Li. "In a hotel attendant's uniform?"

"He took his own clothes with him in a suitcase. He could have changed somewhere — downstairs in the hotel, maybe — and no one would look twice. He wasn't reported missing until that evening."

Mr. Li looked unimpressed. "But why assume he went to his father's house? Do you think the whole family are in it?"

Without being rude enough to say so outright, Aoki managed to give the impression, by raising his eyebrows and coughing faintly, that this was exactly what he did think.

That had been Zhan's first theory. He'd checked Jiang Senior's financial situation and investigated his personal life. If there had been a scandal about to break, a callous businessman could have orchestrated a pretend kidnapping to deflect attention and gain sympathy. The only problem was that there was no evidence to support it. Jiang's business was secure. He probably did have dirty secrets, but they weren't about to be published.

"Jiang Qiu Heng fought with his father before the kidnapping. That was why he moved out to the hotel."

"The fight could have been staged."

A knock provided a welcome interruption before they went over yet more theories than had already been considered then discarded.

"Come in," Zhan said.

Seo opened the door. "Excuse me, Inspector, but I've been researching the extended Jiang family. I've found something interesting." He set a sheet of paper on top of the map. It was a family tree. "Jiang Qiu Heng has two younger brothers and four sisters. His father's will divides his money equally between the sons."

"I've heard that," Zhan said, suppressing a sigh. Why did everyone keep discovering facts that had already been investigated?

"But Jiang Yun Liang has an older brother who was disinherited." Seo pointed to a name on the tree: Jiang Yun Jin. "No one seems to know what he did. He married a woman his family disapprove of," a horizontal line connected Jiang Yun Jin's name to a question mark, "and has at least one son." A vertical line lead from the horizontal one to Jiang ?. "Jiang Qiu Heng met his cousin shortly before the argument."

"How do you know this?" Li asked.

"I talked to the Jiangs' youngest son."

~~~~

Yo-han visited the Jiang household with his mind running along the same lines as Aoki's; he wanted to make sure it was impossible for Jiang Qiu Heng to hide there. As a pretext for his visit he came up with a few questions for Mrs. Jiang.

Mrs. Jiang granted him the privilege of a brief interview. She had three friends over for tea, which — considering he had sent a note in the morning to warn of his arrival — had to be a pointed way of making sure he didn't stay long. Yo-han noted that. Why would a mother be so chilly towards a detective trying to find her son?

"Well, young man? What questions do you want to ask?" Mrs. Jiang asked, staring at him coolly over the rim of her teacup.

She neither looked nor sounded like a distressed mother. Either she knew her son was in no danger, or there was something truly wrong in the Jiang family.

Her three friends were exactly like her: well-dressed middle-aged ladies who looked at Yo-han as if they were shocked and pained by his presence.

Yo-han had thought he was prepared for anything. He was not prepared for this. His knowledge of Mandarin briefly deserted him. When he managed to string a sentence together he cringed internally at how ungrammatical and mispronounced it was.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Jiang asked.

He repeated himself, correcting his grammar but painfully aware of his accent. "I thought your son might have somewhere he always wanted to go. Beijing, for example. We think he has left the city."

That wasn't quite true. Some of the detectives thought this; Mr. Sun thought of either Taiwan or Hong Kong, while Mr. Gim was sure a runaway heir would go to America. Yo-han still thought Jiang was probably dead.

"Certainly not. My son has been to Beijing and told me he hated it."

Mrs. Jiang set her teacup down with a decided click. She couldn't have made it clearer that the interview was over if she had ordered Yo-han out.

He left, feeling sure of two things. The Jiangs lived in a mansion; short of getting a search warrant, there was no way to make sure Jiang Qiu Heng wasn't hidden somewhere. And Mrs. Jiang knew something.

As Yo-han walked to the gate he saw a boy of about eleven who was painting a bicycle. He looked up as Yo-han passed.

"Are you still looking for my brother?" he asked.

Yo-han stopped and looked at him curiously. The idea that Jiang could be hiding in the house became much less likely. Small boys were not noted for their ability to keep secrets.

"Yes," he said. "Where do you think he is?"

He didn't really expect an answer. He especially didn't expect the one he got.

"In Jiujiang."

"Jiujiang?" Yo-han repeated slowly to make sure he'd heard right.

The boy nodded, still focused on painting the seat tube. "He wrote to our uncle who lives there."

This was the first Yo-han had heard that Jiang Yun Liang had an older brother[1]. The boy either couldn't or wouldn't tell him any more.

~~~~

"So I went to the records department and checked. Jiang Yun Liang mentioned his older brother and a nephew when he was first questioned. His exact words were," Yo-han checked his notebook. "Well, the police officer's polite translation of his words is, 'My brother phoned to offer his sympathy. He only wants his son to take my son's place.' There's a note that Jiang's actual words were very rude."

Inspector Meng said, "We tried to trace Jiang Yun Jin here and in Beijing. He lives in Jiujiang? That explains why we didn't find him."

"Someone should go to Jiujiang and question him," Li said. He didn't sound enthusiastic. His next words explained why. "Better send Lee[2]. He's the only one here who speaks Cantonese."

"Two strangers can't go alone," Inspector Meng said, looking at Yo-han for some reason. "I'll send Sergeant Zhu with you."

Yo-han blinked. "Am I going?"

"You found out about this. You can investigate it."

~~~~

Edward Hannay blinked and rubbed his eyes. He must have had more to drink than he thought. For a minute he could have sworn he saw Miss Billingham put something in a glass.

Miss Billingham handed the glass to Otterbourne. He drank it in one go. He didn't comment on an odd taste. Edward decided he was seeing things.

It was the champagne. This was the first time he'd had it. Otterbourne had bought it specially for the celebratory party. Like all directors Edward had had many differences with his producer, and the party was one of them. He wouldn't mind a small celebration. A few drinks and a cake in the university's dining room, or even in the theatre itself. But Otterbourne, who always had more money than sense, insisted on dragging the whole cast to a nightclub. It was run and mostly attended by Americans. Being in it gave Edward the disconcerting feeling that he had stepped right out of China and into an alien country.

The pianist was playing a cheerful fast-paced piece by a composer Edward had never heard of before. He didn't like to interrupt his playing to ask what it was. Edward looked around for Vasily as the person most likely to know. Poor Vasily, he really wasn't enjoying himself at all. He was huddled over his drink at the far end of the table.

Most of the cast had crowded into a huddle around Philip, who was telling a funny story about the play last year when he was the only actor to remember his lines. Miss Gault was plastered against Otterbourne's side as usual. Kiyoshi, Vasily and Edward himself were the only ones left on the outskirts of the group.

The champagne and the thrill of being declared Best Director had left Edward feeling as if all was for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Seeing two of his friends being sidelined brought him down towards earth again.

He got up and walked very carefully. He wasn't drunk; simply feeling a bit giddy. He stopped next to Kiyoshi first.

"You did very well," he said cheerfully. He would have clapped him on the shoulder, but he thought Kiyoshi might be offended. "We'd never have won anything without you."

Kiyoshi smiled and said nothing.

Edward moved on and sank into the chair beside Vasily. His oldest friend mumbled some sort of greeting. Edward squinted against the garish lights. Vasily didn't look well at all. Not even the make-up he insisted on wearing could conceal the pallid tinge to his skin.

In the background Otterbourne was complaining, "Who put salt in my drink?"

Edward put two and two together. So that was how Miss Billingham got her revenge on Otterbourne and Miss Gault! He smiled to himself. Otterbourne had behaved like a clown during his speech to the judges. Implying Miss Billingham only got the lead role because her father was one of the university's directors!

"Hypocrite," he said aloud without thinking.

Vasily, poor foolish Vasily who went around thinking the entire world was his enemy, stiffened and gave Edward a look. Edward hurried to explain.

"I meant Otterbourne insulting Miss Billingham. As if he didn't try to make his fiancée play the Duchess! I don't blame her for putting salt in his drink."

Vasily smiled grimly. Edward remembered he had come over here to cheer him up, and he wasn't going a good job yet.

"What's that they're playing?" he asked, waving to the orchestra.

"Something by Joplin." Vasily always spoke as if it was a sin to waste words.

He hadn't always been like that. They had been inseparable as children. Living next door, going to the same school and church, climbing trees and playing pirates and getting on Edward's mother's nerves. It had been a rare day when they hadn't spent some part of it together. Edward and... But that was Before, and Vasily was very different to the boy he had been.

Something had gone wrong when his family took that holiday to Shanghai. He'd come back sullen and angry, hating his parents, hating himself, hating everyone around them, even hating Edward sometimes.

Edward had read a story once about a man who wore a suit of armour everywhere, protecting himself from evil but also from good. Vasily reminded him of that story.

He was more drunk than he thought, or he'd have known better than to say what he said next. "You don't have to act all the time. Most of them already know. No one but the likes of Otterbourne would think any worse of you, and who cares what he thinks?"

Vasily might as well have been turned to stone. Only his eyes showed life: enraged, hunted, glittering as if he was about to cry. He blinked furiously before he answered. "Shut up, Ed. You don't understand."

That was true, but not in the way Vasily meant. Edward really didn't understand how someone could try to cut off unwanted pieces of himself as if he was a photograph being trimmed to fit a frame.

He was still sober enough to change the subject. "I'm sorry you couldn't keep your dogs."

"I sent them back to my parents," Vasily said. His voice wavered.

Edward was pleased to hear that. Vasily had completely cut off contact with his parents after the dreadful argument last year. Surely it was a good sign that he was speaking to them again.

Another thought occurred to him. "What annoyed them?" he asked curiously. "The dogs, I mean. Why did they suddenly start barking?"

Vasily shrugged with an attempt at casualness. That hunted look was back in his eyes. Edward realised that he'd accidentally found yet another painful subject.

"Suppose they didn't like the chemistry set."

It was rather an unpleasant smell. Vasily had to pay extra to keep his rooms now that he was studying chemistry.

Otterbourne and Miss Gault were dancing now. Clumsily, because they had both had too much to drink. Miss Billingham and Xiao An were arguing about The Pirates of Penzance. Philip was asking Kiyoshi about a book called Genji written by someone called Heian[3]. Edward's head was beginning to hurt. The orchestra was too loud, the lights too bright.

"I'm going home," he said, getting up and almost tripping over the chair.

Vasily got up too. "So am I. I have to be up early tomorrow."

They said their goodbyes and left. The shock of the cold breeze sobered Edward up enough to remember he'd left his overcoat, with his room's keys in it, at the theatre. Or maybe it had been at Otterbourne's house; the producer had insisted on everyone coming there for a pre-dinner drink. Or it might even be in his classroom or the university library.

Something flickered across Vasily's face when Edward mentioned this. It looked almost like panic. "Are you going back for them tonight?"

"Have to, or wake the landlady and ask her to let me in."

"I'd ask you to stay with me, but my room is a terrible mess," Vasily said. He sounded strangely wooden.

"It's all right, I'll find them. You go on home."

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] Mandarin, unlike English, has different words for "uncle" depending on whether the uncle is paternal or maternal, and whether he's older or younger than your parent. The word used here is 伯父 (bó fù), the formal way of saying "father's older brother".

[2] Li's and Lee's names are both written 李. The different transliteration is because Li (from Beijing)'s native language is Mandarin and Lee (from Hong Kong)'s is Cantonese.

[3] Edward misunderstands this; Heian is an era in Japanese history (794–1185), not a person. The Tale of Genji was written by Murasaki Shikibu during the Heian period.