“Long few days,” Inspector Han replied. “It would be easier to find rest if only I could see the sun, to feel its soothing warmth. All this darkness leaves me restless.”
Physical exhaustion distracted me from the inspector’s presence, and I was grateful for that. Twigs cracked and soil crumbled down the slope as the men climbed upward. We were not even halfway up the mountain, yet already officers were losing their breath.
Consequences, Inspector Han had said, threatening me for my meddling ways. I wished I could tell him that there were consequences, too, for those who threatened my family.
I looked around. No one was close in front of or behind me. I drew out the norigae, the inspector’s gift to his dead sister. I was about to release my fingers and watch it drop, drop, drop down the mountainside until I could no longer see the terrapin, until I could no longer feel the ties connecting me to the old promises or to the new what-if fears.
But an ache in my chest stopped me.
I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in me to punish. Not this way. I could not throw away Inspector Han’s token of affection for his sister.
Cursing under my breath, I shoved the norigae back into my robe, and it was then that a light drizzle fell, like sea mist spraying through the leaves. The soil released a moist, earthy scent. Strands of my hair became plastered onto my face, and when I pushed them back, I saw that I was too far behind. Hiking up my skirt, I hurried up until I was close enough.
“Three months have not yet passed since the king’s death…”
The legal clerk ahead of me spoke to another, his robe hanging from his slight figure and narrow shoulders, his black cap looking almost loose on his small head.
“… and yet someone dared to kill a cow? Whoever did it, does he think to live?”
So we were heading over to investigate a slaughtered cow. I could already imagine what we would find inside.
As a child, I had once stumbled upon the scene of a butchering. An illegal one, for it was as forbidden to slaughter a healthy cow as it was to kill a human being. Cows were too precious to our farming kingdom. Careful to keep quiet, I’d watched the rogue strike the cow’s head with a heavy iron hammer, and almost immediately, the creature had fallen over. In the next moment, the rogue had stripped the animal of its hide and had cut off its legs. What had terrified me most hadn’t been the slaughtering, but the fact that throughout the brutal process, life had continued to hang on so desperately to the stumps quivering on the legless cow.
After climbing higher, there appeared a shed made of planks and logs, a thatch roof, and a brushwood door. The peasant’s voice echoed ahead, and he was panting, “It was—it was this—this shed!”
Inspector Han crouched and observed the ground. “No hoofprints of the cow, but here are footprints, and the deep tracks in the mud suggest the men were carrying something heavy.”
I joined the circle of officers gathered around Inspector Han, peering down to see the prints. Where the steps had halted was a large rectangular object printed into the mud.
“What do you think this print is, sir?” Officer Shim asked.
“It seems to be a palanquin.”
“But a palanquin is not large enough to hold a cow,” another officer said.
“But look here.” Inspector Han pointed. “These vertical line prints look to be the handles.”
The team studied the prints for moments longer, making room for the police artist, who began sketching the scene with charcoal. After a while, Inspector Han reached into his robe and pulled out a white handkerchief. Pressing it against his nose, he told me and the other officers to follow, then disappeared into the shed.
Not wanting to smell the stench either, I pressed my sleeve against my nose and stepped into the dark and drafty place. Blue light streamed in through the cracks between the plank walls, casting stripes of light onto the hay rotting beneath our steps. A few paces away reed blinds hung down from a wooden beam.
“There’s something there,” I whispered, seeing a shadow looming behind it.
Inspector Han moved the reed blinds aside with the hilt of his sword. Then he froze. “What?” he whispered.
I moved to see past him, and the moment I did, my legs buckled and I was sitting with my eyes locked onto a man hanging upside down, suspended midair by a rope tied around his ankle. I couldn’t understand what I was staring at. A man, a dead man, hanging upside down.
“You said you saw a cow.” Inspector Han’s voice was flat and probing.
“I—I saw the shadow behind the blinds, and the s-s-smell,” the peasant replied. “I thought surely a cow carcass. I’ve seen p-plenty of cow carcasses hanging, but never a human—” He never finished, running outside, and all we heard was him heaving out vomit.
An officer kicked down a plank with splintering force. An abundance of light poured into the shed. Someone gasped loudly; perhaps it was me. The corpse’s wrists were tied. His nose was missing. And he looked familiar. He was hanging upside down, his face gray, so I couldn’t say for sure—
My heart froze. “It’s Scholar Ahn.”
Total silence followed, then whispers of confusion. Inspector Han just stood there, staring.
Officer Shim frowned. Then he turned to the inspector and whispered, “So he is not the killer?”
“The bandits from Suwon,” Inspector Han said in a subdued voice. “Do you have any information about them yet, Officer Shim?”
“No sighting of them, but a merchant said he’d seen an earless bandit before. He and the rest of the rogues caused trouble before in the Fox Mountain Pass, stealing from travelers. I had men comb through that area, but nothing.”
Silence crept back in as we stared at the hanging corpse.
“Inspector … the nose,” the legal clerk said. “Can this be connected to the first murder?”
“Perhaps.”
“But why the nose?” Officer Shim leaned in closer to observe the cavity in the victim’s face. “It reminds me of what occurred during the Imjin War.”
“Go on,” Inspector Han said.
“Hideyoshi wanted to take along with him the severed heads of our people, but there were simply too many. So he had their noses sliced off and pickled in salt instead. Maybe the killer took the noses of Ahn and O as a sort of memento. Much more portable and less suspicious than a head. And if that’s the case, does it not mean he’ll strike again? To collect more noses?”
“Hmm.” Inspector Han did not sound convinced. “Or perhaps the severed nose is a kind of symbol.”
“A symbol of what?”
“A symbol of the victim’s guilt. Ui-hyung, a punishment in which the culprit’s nose is cut off. Perhaps a mutilated nose is to the killer a justification for their death. To ease the killer’s sense of shame.”
The men nodded their heads, and I wondered what kind of killer this was. What kind of murderer understood shame?
Officer Shim tilted his head to the side as he frowned at the corpse. “But there is no sign of blood on him. No stab wounds. How did he die?”
“He drowned.”
“How do you know, sir?” I could not stop myself from asking, and I hoped no one had heard the suspicion edging my voice.
“Look, there is froth at the mouth.” Inspector Han took his white handkerchief and swabbed inside the mouth. “See this pinkish foam?” He raised the cloth to the stream of light. “It is tinged with blood.”