The Chinese Alchemist Read Online Free PDF Page A

resources, could afford.
    Mr. Knockoff, the Asian man with spiky hair and fake Hugo Boss was there, and he had a paddle. That would indicate that he was indeed interested in bidding on something, presumably, given his interest, the silver box, even if he didn’t look to me as if he could afford it. Perhaps I should have tried to get a closer look at his suit, or perhaps my instinct for fakes only applied to furniture and not clothing. Or maybe the fake suit was designed to put people like me off their guard.
    The T’ang box was to be auctioned relatively late in the evening, but both Burton and I were there right from the opening bid on the first object, a beautiful, and highly collectible, bronze
jia,
a three-legged vessel for heating wine, dating to the Shang period, or, as Dory had made me memorize, the eighteenth to the twelfth century BCE.
    I called Dory, at home in her armchair, to tell her the auction was about to begin, being very careful not to call her by name in case Burton was eavesdropping. “Have you ascertained who might be bidding for the silver box?” she asked.
    “The Cottingham Museum in Toronto,” I said carefully. Burton was no doubt straining to hear, and I didn’t want him to think it would be anyone familiar with his name. “There was also a young man at the preview who was interested. He’s here but he doesn’t look as if he can afford it.”
    “Young?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe thirty? And there’s a telephone bidder. I was told that when I arrived. I have no idea who that is.”
    “Telephone,” she repeated. “Are there any Asian people there who might be bidding?”
    “Only one, the young man I’ve already mentioned, who does not look as if he is in the right league,” I said.
    “I see,” she said. She then started to cough, almost as if she were choking. “Excuse me, will you? I’m going to have to get myself a glass of water,” she gasped. “Call me when the bidding is about to start.”
    “Don’t worry, I will,” I said.
    It was after a break in the proceedings, about midway through the auction, that the situation changed significantly. The announcement came from the auctioneer, Gerald Cox, the Cox of Molesworth & Cox, who told us that an object had been withdrawn. Next to me, Burton was shuffling papers nervously, unwrapping something, most likely a cough drop, as he had been making little throat-clearing sounds all evening in a most irritating manner. Perhaps he had forgotten to say yes to good health that day. The rustling stopped, however, as Cox spoke.
    “I’m afraid the timing of this is highly unusual,” Cox said. “Item eighty-three, a silver coffret dating to the reign of T’ang Emperor Xuanzong has just been withdrawn by its owner.” In the booth next to me, Burton dropped his pen, which rolled in front of me. Mr. Knockoff, who had been leaning against the wall on one side of the room, slammed his paddle against the wall in frustration.
    I took a deep breath and phoned the news to Dory, hearing her sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry,” I said. I could feel her disappointment across the phone line.
    “It’s not for you to apologize,” she said quietly. “There’ll be another time.”
    There wasn’t another time for Dory, though, because ten days later she was dead.
    Two
    Life does not always unfold as we hope, of course, particularly when we make our plans without understanding the course of action others intend for us. I was not to become a soldier like my brother, nor a civil servant scurrying about the corridors of the August Enceinte where, Number One Brother informed me, the important business of managing the empire took place. Both my brothers were successful at their careers, none more so than Number Two Brother who, posted to the northern frontier, spent his idle hours trading with the caravans on the Silk Route, or perhaps, given his ne’er-do-well attitude, robbing them, thereby amassing a considerable fortune. The money he sent