Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Michael and Miss Gardinier soon found the Oriental’s shop, which looked as if it had been shoved in between two larger buildings as an addendum.
None of the houses were lined up with each other, making the street more like a crooked path, but the apothecary shop had a small wooden sign hanging from the door with no words on it, but with a faded painting of a green herb.
Michael could smell the different herbs and roots even before they opened the door. Overpowering the grassy odor was a layer of musk like snow that settled over everything and made the air feel thick.
A counter ran across the back of the front room, and there was a large open doorway that revealed the back area, where Michael spotted a table and a cupboard. The figure of an Oriental man stood at the table working with a mortar and pestle.
The front area had shelves full of earthenware jars and glass bottles sealed with cork. The windows of the shop had been shuttered closed, and Michael recalled Miss Gardinier once telling him that the darkness often helped the dried herbs last for longer before they lost their efficacy.
When they entered, the man left his work, wiping his hands on an apron, which he quickly removed when he headed toward the counter in the front room.
Miss Gardinier introduced them to the apothecary, whose name was Li Wei.
As she asked him questions, Michael studied the man’s face, lined with so many wrinkles that he looked like a prune.
Yet his hair was black, darker black than anyone else Michael had seen—even Ruby, with her dyed tresses—and just barely streaked with gray hairs.
“I wondered if you might be able to tell me about a plant that I believe came from your country.” Miss Gardinier already had a coin in hand, which she slid across the counter.
Michael sensed the man’s heartbeat and watched his eyes and mouth, but he did not lie to them. “I know nothing of this Goldensuit, but there is a plant that is called ‘gold-colored root’ in Chinese.”
Michael could tell that this news excited Miss Gardinier, and he admitted his interest was also piqued.
The man spoke of how the poppy-like flower was cursed, which caused Michael to frown.
He didn’t like to believe in curses—most of them came to nothing, or else they were patently false, or possibly coincidental.
But then Li Wei began describing how people who breathed the pollen died.
Michael’s heart thudded hard in his chest.
“Some go mad within a day or two of the flowers blooming. Some do not … but everyone, everyone dies within two weeks.”
Michael had a flash of memory—an all-consuming rage, the feel of brick and wood breaking beneath his fists, screams of fear. A lantern in the darkness, illuminating a face he recognized. And a voice calling his name. “Michael.”
He shuddered, and the nightmare was gone again.
The Chinese man described the victims’ headaches and seizures. Michael wondered if this was what would happen to him, and when.
At first, he was confused as to why Miss Gardinier asked about how the plant pollen affected children, but then he remembered that the Blood Nectar given to Miss Sauber might have been made with infant blood.
“If this plant is so poisonous, then great numbers of your people would have died,” Michael said. “There would be entire villages utterly devastated.”
“The plant eventually dies, and the wind takes the pollen into the sky,” Li Wei said.
“The green plant is now pulled up if people see it growing, so there is no pollen to kill anyone. Before I left China, I had not heard of anyone dying from the plant in twenty years, thirty years. But the stories are still told so that people may know to destroy it if they see it.”
Miss Gardinier inquired after merchants who might have brought the seed from China, and at first Michael doubted they would discover anything of consequence. There must be dozens, if not hundreds, of vessels engaged in trade with the East, much of it under the control of the East India Company.
“Few will dare to go against the East India Company … but I know at least four merchants who travel only to China and who are known to bring back unusual things.”
Four merchants. The Goldensuit seeds must have come into England through one of them. Any legitimate cargo from China would have fallen under the scrutiny of the East India Company, and anyone dealing in such seeds would not have risked a record of them.
“Who are they?” Michael asked. From dozens of names down to four. And one of them could be tied to the Citadel.
Two of the merchants Li Wei listed were too young, and the other two had died. But Michael was more interested in them because they were dead.
The Citadel did not leave loose threads hanging. The merchant who was aware of what he had brought to England would not have been allowed to live and accidentally tell others.
“What are the names of all four men?” Miss Gardinier asked.
“I cannot give you the names,” Li Wei said.
“I will not report them to the East India Company,” Keriah said.
Michael added, “Or the customs authorities.” Anything brought in quietly would risk seizure if discovered.
He could hear the Chinese man’s heartbeat increase, could see the sweat that gathered on his forehead, could smell the sour, faintly bitter scent of his fear.
Michael pulled his entire leather pouch of coins from his coat and set them on the counter.
He had brought a great deal, anticipating the need for money to loosen lips, and he could tell this man was genuinely afraid.
If he would risk his life, he would need to be compensated more generously, if only to protect his family.
The Chinese man was surprised, but even the lure of gold could not overcome his obvious terror.
“If your shop is threatened by what you have told us, here is enough for passage anywhere in the world,” Michael said.
He could count the Oriental man’s heartbeats as he struggled to decide. He was considering the risks carefully.
Michael noticed the moment the man had chosen to tell them. He didn’t understand the words Li Wei spoke in his language, which sounded like liquid sound to his ear, but the apothecary reached for the money, perhaps a bit reluctantly.
Li Wei gave them four names, but Michael took special note of the last two—Mr. Spechley and Mr. Mifflin.
Keriah thanked him, and Michael nodded to the man, more fully aware of how difficult a decision it had been for him to give them the names.
Miss Gardinier turned to leave the shop, but Michael hesitated. “Did you know the Chinaman?”
Although their shops were distant from each other, there were not many Orientals in London, and the Chinaman had also been an apothecary.
A cold, slightly brackish scent rolled off of Li Wei, and Michael realized he was smelling his melancholy.
“He and I were friends,” Li Wei said softly. “I did not know him in China, but he arrived in England a year before I did. We became friends as well as rivals.”
“I apologize if I have brought up memories that bring you pain,” Michael said. All of last year, it had been almost like a physical ache every time he remembered his brother.
“It has been …” Li Wei paused as he thought. “It has been twenty years, but I still miss him.”
“Do you know what happened to him?” Michael asked.
Li Wei shook his head. “I do not know exactly what happened to him, but I do recall that in the two or three years before he disappeared, he had become involved with some very dangerous men. He was deceived, for they had the faces of respectable merchants and scholars.”
Merchants and scholars? “What types of scholars?” Michael asked.
Li Wei hesitated as he tried to recall. “I think he mentioned that one of them grew plants, while the other was a doctor.”
Miss Gardinier had drawn close, and now she leaned against the counter again. “Did you see any of these men? Can you describe their faces?”
Li Wei was startled by her sudden interest, but he considered her question carefully.
“I do not think I saw them. I did not visit Ah-Sing very often, and when he mentioned that a merchant asked him to appraise unknown Chinese goods which had been slipped past the port authorities, I wanted nothing to do with them. I avoided entering his shop when he was speaking with customers.”
“Do you recall what types of Chinese goods?” Miss Gardinier asked.
“Medicine. Expensive and rare. Dried seahorses and snake wine. Not to English taste.”
Miss Gardinier could not stop from grimacing. Michael’s mouth also tightened.
Then he heard Li Wei’s heartbeat stutter. “And … they brought him seeds,” he said slowly, as if just remembering.
Michael stared at the man intently. He was not lying, but he grew nervous as he suddenly connected the seeds with his old friend’s customers and his disappearance.
Li Wei shook his head. “I do not know exactly what types of seeds.”
Michael could tell he was telling the truth.
“Did you never see anyone at the Chinaman’s—at Ah-Sing’s shop who might have been these dangerous customers?
A man with—” Michael thought about describing Maxham or Jack, but both men would have been mere striplings twenty years ago.
Anyone Li Wei could describe would be old by now and may look nothing like he had. Or they might be dead.
But then Li Wei said slowly, “I do not know for certain if this was one of Ah-Sing’s dangerous customers, but there was a man I saw twice, exiting his shop.
I then went inside to speak to my old friend, but he was nervous.
” Li Wei looked down briefly. “I did not ask, for at the time I did not want to become involved with such men.”
“It may have saved your life,” Michael said.
“What did the customer look like?” Miss Gardinier asked.
“He was young. His hair was light brown and curly, but he used a strong-smelling oil that smoothed it down on his head. He was taller than me, but shorter than you.” Li Wei nodded at Michael.
“What color were his eyes?” Michael asked. “Did he have any other distinguishing features? Was he slim? Fat?”
“Blue eyes. He was not lean, but he was not portly.” Li Wei placed his hands a few inches away from his middle. The man himself was rather slender, and he indicated that this young man had had a slight paunch.
“Had the man any other remarkable features?” Michael asked.
“Was he the doctor or gardener your friend spoke of?” Miss Gardinier asked.
“I do not know.” Li Wei thought for a moment, then said, “He had three moles on his face.” He touched his finger to his cheek at three spots in the shape of an elongated triangle—or an arrowhead.
Michael’s breath seemed to freeze in his chest.
Only a week ago, he had spoken to the villagers in Branton, the village where Mr. Jadis used to live before he moved to London, before he married Bianca.
The villagers had often seen a young man with curly brown hair and three moles on his cheek. Jadis had called him Dr. Ward. The same name of the doctor who had been writing to Dr. Heddetch.
Suddenly Michael knew exactly what had happened to Li Wei’s friend.