in the capital, especially in the police bureau, the place that never slept. Prisoners groaned in the eastern courtyard. A servant ran with eyes to the ground, his torch going whoosh, whoosh as he searched for something lost. Though most of the gwanbi—the local office servants—had returned to their homes for the night, the damos were ibyeok, live-in servants, so we had no families to go to. The police bureau was our home.
Lanterns hanging from eaves illuminated the main pavilion; our superiors got little rest when a murder occurred.
This hanok building was divided into three quarters: the office of the commander, the meeting hall, and the guest room. The paper-screened doors of the office stood open to allow in the late summer breeze. Two gentlemen knelt inside. Inspector Han sat in a position of subordination, and the commander sat at the head of the table with the paneled screen behind him, the position of honor. Their voices were faint but audible, like the rustling of faraway trees.
“Councillor Ch’oi visited you, I hear,” the commander was saying.
“He did, yeonggam. His Lordship reminded me of his friendship with”—Inspector Han cleared his throat—“my father. He asked that I help him for the sake of old ties.”
“With what?”
“He fears the regent’s offensive to purge the Southerners.”
“Of course. He must be counting down the remaining days of his life.”
“Indeed. Without King Ch?ngjo’s protection, Councillor Ch’oi fears the Old Doctrine will come for him. He wants protection.”
“And what could you possibly do for him?”
“Assist in the capturing of Priest Zhou Wenmo.”
Silence pooled. I could feel the rippling tension. Priest Zhou Wenmo. There were wanted posters of him all over the capital, all over my hometown, and likely all over the kingdom. The only priest of Joseon.
Inspector Han continued, “If Councillor Ch’oi can claim to have had a hand in the priest’s capture, it will shield His Lordship from being swept along with his fellow Southerners. But you may rest assured, I have no intention of assisting him.”
A shiver trembled down my spine as a thought crept into my mind. Councillor Ch’oi feared that the link between his faction and Catholicism would lead to his death, and the councillor’s son resented the Catholic Lady O for humiliating him. A connecting thread gleamed.
“Aigoo, aigoo. Always eavesdropping, you.” It was Aejung, arriving with a tray of bottles of wine and bowls for officers staying at the bureau tonight. Even though she was a year older than I was, she was a head shorter. In fact, I was taller than most damos here. “One day, you will learn something you should not know and it will kill you.”
“They will never find out,” I said. “I’m invisible.”
As we passed by the pavilion, I noticed someone whom I hadn’t seen earlier. Senior Officer Shim was standing next to a pillar, hidden in the shadow. Though he must have seen us, his head didn’t turn as we passed. His gaze was locked in the direction of Commander Yi and Inspector Han, and his normally stern brows had weakened. I think there was despair in his eyes.
It seemed the bureau would drain the joy out of all of us until we were only shells.
* * *
“Seol! Hold the lantern higher.”
Aejung struggled to balance the clinking bottles as we walked through a small gate and stepped into the western courtyard. She kept her voice low as she said, “Officer Ky?n is also inside. He hasn’t forgiven you for stealing his bow.”
I felt as though I’d swallowed a steaming cup of hot water. I had almost forgotten that incident, but now it returned with a fury that burned through me.
“You may think he’s a lowly officer, but how do you suppose Officer Ky?n got his position despite his poor military skills? His family was once nobility and still has old ties to powerful families.”
“I know, I know,” I murmured.
“Senior Officer Shim”—Aejung glanced over her shoulder, as though to ensure he was not following us—“he is quite the opposite. His status is lower than Ky?n’s.”
“Eh? He’s not a nobleman?”
“He’s a seoja, a bastard. He was prohibited from taking the exams because of his impure blood.”
I frowned, confused. Police officers were selected through the mugwa military examination, and all men were allowed to take them except for illegitimate sons. A seoja was as helpless to rise in the ranks as the most ignorant peasant. “So how did he become a military officer?” I asked.
“Inspector Han. He appealed to the commander that great talent would be wasted. You know