The Silent Girl

it.”
    “Why?”
    “To determine if it was used in the commission of a crime.”
    “Will it be returned to me undamaged?”
    “Mrs. Fang, we’re not here to negotiate. Where is the sword?”
    Bella steps forward, fury radiating off her like the hum of a high-voltage wire. “You can’t just confiscate it!”
    “The law says I can.”
    “Zheng Yi has been in my family for generations,” I say. “It has never left my possession.”
    Detective Rizzoli frowns at me. “What is Zheng Yi?”
    “The name it was given when it was forged. It means ‘justice.’ ”
    “The sword has a name?”
    “Why are you surprised? Don’t you have a legend in Western culture, about a sword named Excalibur?”
    “Madam Fang,” says the black man, his voice quietly respectful. “Believe me, I don’t want the sword damaged in any way. I understand its value, and I promise I’ll treat it with care.”
    “And why should I believe you?” I ask.
    “Because it’s my job to protect and preserve such weapons. I’m Dr. Calvin Cherry from the Arthur Sackler Museum, and I’ve examined many ancient swords. I know their history. I know the battles they’ve fought.” He dips his head, a gesture of regard that impresses me. “I would be honored if you’d allow me to see Zheng Yi,” he says quietly.
    I look into his soft brown eyes and see a sincerity that I did not expect. This man pronounces the name with a perfect accent, so I know he speaks Mandarin. Even more important, he understandsthat a fine weapon is to be revered for the skill of its craftsman, and for the centuries it has survived.
    “Come with me,” I say. “Bella, please take charge of the class.”
    I lead the visitors into the back room and shut the door. From my pocket I take out a key and unlock the closet to reveal the silk-wrapped bundle that lies on the shelf. With both hands, I present it to Dr. Cherry.
    He receives it with a bow and carefully sets it on my desk. Detectives Rizzoli and Frost watch as he peels back the layers of red silk, exposing the sheathed weapon. He pauses for a moment to examine the scabbard, which is made of lacquered wood with bronze fittings. The handle, too, is lacquered wood, but covered with stingray skin that has been stained green. When he pulls out the sword, the blade makes a musical whine that sends a thrill across my skin.
    “Liuye dao,”
he says softly.
    I nod. “A willow leaf saber.”
    “And you say this comes from your family?”
    “It was my mother’s. And before that, her mother’s.”
    “How many generations does it go back?”
    “All the way to General Washi.”
    He looks up, clearly startled. “Truly?”
    “It is our family bloodline.”
    Detective Rizzoli asks, “Who was he, this general?”
    “You’d appreciate this bit of history, Detective,” says Dr. Cherry. “General Washi was a woman, and the most famous of the double
dao
masters. A warrior who fought with two swords, one in each hand. She commanded thousands of soldiers during the Ming dynasty, leading them in charges against those Japanese pirates I told you about.” He looks at me in wonder. “And you’re her descendant.”
    Smiling back at him, I nod. “I’m pleased you know of her.”
    “But this is astonishing! To think—”
    “Dr. Cherry,” cuts in Detective Rizzoli. “What about the sword?”
    “Oh yes. Of course.” He pulls out his glasses and slips them on his nose. Behind the lenses, his brown eyes squint in concentration.“This has the typical curve of a willow leaf
dao
. It’s a very old design,” he explains to the two detectives. “This one is somewhat shorter than usual, but I guess you’d expect it if this weapon was designed specifically for a woman’s hand. These blood grooves here are also typical, meant to make the blade a little lighter. Look at these etchings in the steel! I’m amazed how deep they still are! And this grip, you’d almost think it was original, if you didn’t know it has to be at least five hundred …” He pauses. Above his spectacles, I can see his frown deepen. For the next few moments he says nothing at all. He brings the
dao
close to his glasses, minutely studying the cutting edge of the blade. He tests the flexibility. Finally, he reaches into his pocket for a magnifier, through which he examines the etched panels.
    At last he straightens, and when he looks at me, I see a strange sadness in his eyes. A look that is almost regretful. Quietly, he slides the
dao
back into