English.
“You must be tired.” She gestured towards the teapot and cups on the coffee table. “Please sit. I will pour you some tea.”
Ernie’s mouth fell open. “What kinda bullshit is this!”
He scurried off into the dark crevices of the chamber, checking the two doors, rattling the locks, pacing the length of the craggy stone walls. When he was satisfied that there was no way out, he returned to us, planted his feet in front of the Chinese woman, and held out his hand.
“Gimme the key,” he said. She smiled at him. “Gimme the goddamn key to the door!”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t have it.”
He bunched his fist and took a step toward her. I rushed forward and grabbed him.
“Hold it, pal. Give her a chance. They wouldn’t have left us down here with just her if there was a way out.”
Ernie glared at her, murder in his eyes.
In his haste, Ernie had missed a couple of spots.
“Over here,” I said.
We trotted to the other end of the chamber and in the shadows found an opening carved out of the rock. Ernie stared down a short stairwell that led into blackness. I turned to the girl.
“Where does this go?”
“Not out. Please, have a seat. You will be taken to my employer.”
Ernie peered into the black pit. “It’s too damn dark down there.”
I looked at the steps. They were carved out of stone.
Who in the hell had built this place?
I didn’t have any particular desire to go deeper into the cave. I looked back across the room. There must be a way to pry the doors open. I grabbed Ernie’s elbow and whispered.
“She’s our best bet to get out of here. Come on back. We’ll talk to her.”
He nodded and we returned to the center of the chamber.
“Who is your employer?” I asked.
She answered in Korean. “So Boncho-ga.” Herbalist So.
The man we wanted to talk to. Might as well have a go at it. We were just as likely to be able to bust out of here later as we were now. Which maybe wasn’t very likely at all.
I sat on the edge of the couch, keeping most of my weight on the balls of my feet, my forearms draped over my knees. Ernie joined me, but his head kept swiveling around as if he expected a window to open up in the stone walls any second.
She poured aromatic tea into thick porcelain cups with no handles and offered them to us with both hands. I took my cup from her and as I did I brushed the flesh of her fingers. Amazingly soft. This was a woman who had been bred for graciousness, not work. I looked at her feet. Normal. Soft-soled black canvas shoes with sequins. I’d almost expected her feet to be bound.
I sipped on the tea. The bitter taste of ginseng rolled down my parched throat. Ernie set his on the table in front of us. Didn’t touch it.
When I finished, I asked for more. No sense being impolite. She poured with a pleased expression.
Relaxing us like this so soon after our ordeal was obviously her job. And the fact that even I, a half-crazed foreign devil, had responded to her ministrations would give her good face. Demonstrate to her employer the full extent of her skills. Which were extraordinary. Just having her around, with her graceful movements and her beauty and the smooth serenity of her demeanor, had a calming effect.
On me, anyway. Ernie still looked angry enough to frighten Jack the Ripper.
I started to wonder about this Herbalist So. He hires thugs to knock us out and cart us through Itaewon. And then this beautiful woman to bring us back to a semblance of civility. So was used to manipulating people. I’d let him think it was working. For the time being.
After I finished my second cup of tea, the young lady rose and bowed again.
“It is time to see my employer,” she said. “Please come with me.”
When we didn’t move she stared at us, puzzled.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
She shook her head and her black hair fluttered like a raven’s wing. “Not important.”
“You’re not Korean,” I said. “You’re Chinese.”
“Many Chinese in Korea. Since the revolution.”
“Why do vou work for Herbalist So?”
“Who?”
“So Boncho-ga.”
“Oh. Because he is a very kind man.”
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Then why did he hit me over the head?”
“He did not hit you over the head. Those boys did.” A disapproving expression crossed the soft features of her face. “They are very bad.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Very bad.”
I pushed myself up. Ernie rose too, still swiveling his head around, looking for a monster to leap out of the dark so he could bust him in the chops.
We followed the beautiful Chinese woman through the carved opening in the stone, into the darkness that led to Herbalist So.
17
Wemade two turns, doubling back on ourselves through narrow passageways. It was cold down here and getting colder. I admired the goose-bumped flesh on the arms of the Chinese girl and wondered how she could stand the frigid temperatures.
Our path was lit by small oil lamps flickering out of indentations carved in the granite walls. Whoever set up this operation had little faith in electricity.
Mining must’ve gone on down here at one time or another. At the opening to an old shaft I spotted rusty rails and what appeared to be a cast-iron mining car. Probably an antique.
A shroud of smoke drifted close to the floor, snaking its way into the dark shaft.
At another carved opening, this one covered only with a beaded curtain, the Chinese girl bowed and motioned for us to enter. I nodded to her and watched as she trotted back into the darkness.
“Nice can,” Ernie said.
I grunted. He never lets up.
The beads clattered as we pushed through. This chamber was even darker than the hallway. In- side, there were no lamps. Instead, the sparse flames of stone stoves sputtered beneath thick earthen pots. The room was filled with the pungent aroma of herbs. Some tangy, some sweet. All types of herbs. Seared, boiled, roasted. I felt as if I had stepped into the den of some long-lost medieval alchemist.
Along the walls were plain wooden cabinets, each lined with hundreds of square panels. A wooden knob poked out of each little panel and every one was marked in black ink with a Chinese character. I couldn’t read all of the characters but most of them had the radicals for “wood” or “plant” or “horn.” The collection of herbs in the wall of tiny drawers was vast. It must’ve taken years to accumulate.
Something moved.
At first I thought it was nothing more than a shawl draped over the back of a chair. Then I realized it was a man, hunched over one of the small pots.
“Good evening, Agent Sueno,” he said.
His voice resonated with venerable authority. To my amazement he even pronounced my name correctly.
