It was a small room, not much more than a closet. Its shelves were filled with folded tapestries. A huge cedar trunk held nothing but four pairs of worn sandals.

The next room was bigger, but its only contents were clay jars of herbs and boxes of ink brushes.

The third contained huge ceramic jars of barley and, on a central table, a four-foot-long wrought-iron wrench. He stopped in frustration. There should be costumes. He had been certain there would be costumes. Someone had broken the trust and used a costume from Yerpa to kill Jao. He followed the curve of the passage at a jog, passing four more doors until he reached the end, where a large tapestry of the lives of Buddha was hung. He pushed it aside. It concealed a door.

The room was larger than the others, mustier, heavy with the scent of incense. He held up the lamp with a sigh of satisfaction. Gold brocade flickered in the light. The costumes were there, eight in all, laid out on deep shelves along each wall. His hand closed around the gau on his neck and he stepped forward. The skeletal leatherbound arms of the creatures hung out of the sleeves. He stepped to the nearest, raised the lamp to the head and groaned in horror.

He fell to his knees. A dry heave wracked his belly.

"It is a very special place," someone said behind him. It was Tsomo.

Shan slowly looked up, filled with self-revulsion. "I didn't-" he croaked. "I had to know. If there were costumes. For demon dancers."

Tsomo nodded, forgiveness already in his eyes. "It is understandable. But this is a poor hermitage. We do not celebrate many festivals. We have no such costumes."

Shan stood and lifted his eyes. "I was afraid you had Tamdin here. I had to…" He did not finish the sentence.

"Not here. Here-" Tsomo extended his hand reverently toward the silent forms on the shelves. "Here it is just a few old men asleep in their mountain."

Shan backed out, the scene of the mummified hermits of Yerpa forever seared into his brain.

As he closed the door, Tsomo smiled serenely. "Sometimes I visit them, to meditate. I am very peaceful when I am with them."

When they met Yeshe at the door to the mandala room, Gendun handed Yeshe and Shan each one of the small jars from the shelves.

"A hundred years ago there was a very great mandala, done by a monk who was soon to become our gomchen. These are the last of his sands."

Yeshe gasped and pushed the jar back. "I cannot take such a gift."

Gendun smiled. "It is not a gift. It is an empowerment."

Shan saw that Yeshe understood. The gift was their trust. The old monk put his hand on the back of Yeshe's head and uttered a small prayer of farewell.

They spoke no more until they were at the rock maze that led out of Yerpa. Yeshe had already disappeared into the rocks when Tsomo put a hand on Shan's shoulder.

"Why do you do this?" Shan asked. "Why endanger your secrets with me?"

"I would be saddened if you thought them a burden."

"Not a burden. An honor. A responsibility."

"Trinle and Choje, they decided it was no longer honorable not to let you know."

"But will it help me find the murderer?" Shan said in a near whisper, his hand clasped around the jar of sand in his pocket. They had given him empowerment. Could the secrets of Yerpa empower him to save Sungpo?

Tsomo shrugged. "Perhaps it will just make it easier when you do not find him. You must remember what you told me that first day. From Lao Tze. To know that you do not know, that is best." The youth gave a small smile that seemed almost mischievous.

"There is something that puzzles me about you," Shan said. "The gomchen knows nothing about the world outside. But you are the future gomchen. You know about it. Invaders. Murder. Massacre."

Tsomo shook his head. "I do not know those things. I am trained not to look beyond the mountains. I have heard of such possibilities. Like our ninth heard of the Great War and that the Emperor Pu Yi had been dethroned in Beijing. But they are only words. Like hearing of the atmosphere of a distant planet. Like fables. Not one of my realities. I have not encountered them." He studied Shan in silence for a moment. "I have encountered you. You are the most outside I have ever been."

Shan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I'm not much to judge the world by."

"There is no need to judge. I only celebrate what the great river of life pushes toward us. One day in his book, our gomchen drew a picture of a Buddha with long flat wings. It is what he saw when an airplane flew over."

Shan looked up at the high, tiny window, barely visible in the afternoon shadows. "I am envious," he said.

"Of the gomchen?"

Shan nodded. "I think it is best," he said heavily, "to know of not knowing."

Rebecca Fowler was at her desk, her head propped up on one arm, a haggard expression on her face.

"You look like hell," she said, as Shan walked in.

"I have been on the South Claw," Shan replied, trying to fight the exhaustion of his day. "Exploring." Sergeant Feng was sharing cigarettes with workers outside. Yeshe was asleep in the truck. "I need to ask you something."

"Just like that," she said, the bitterness returning. "Something came up while you were strolling over the Dragon Claws." She ran her fingers through her mop of auburn hair and looked up, not waiting for an answer. "I took his hand up there. Your demon's hand. They wanted me to recite mantras with them. Something began howling up on the mountain."

"Something?"

She didn't seem to hear him. "The sun went down," she recounted with a haunted expression. "They lit torches and continued the mantra. The moon came out. The howling began. An animal. Not an animal. I don't know." She put her head in her hands. "I haven't slept much since. It was all so- I don't know. So real." She looked up apologetically. "I'm sorry. I can't describe it."

"There was a man from Shanghai in my hut last year," Shan said quietly. "He scoffed at the monks at first. But later he said sometimes at night when he heard the mantras he held his hand over his mouth for fear his soul would pop out."

The American responded with a small, grateful smile.

"I need to see maps. Satellite maps."

She winced. "When Public Security approved my satellite license they made us agree to a protocol for access. Only eight authorized people. Software generates a log for every printout. The major was quite insistent. So they can be sure we're not looking at something we're not supposed to see." She was growing distant, suddenly wary of Shan. His request seemed to have scared her.

"That's why I came to you."

She sighed but did not reply.

"I'll need the sections that cover the South Claw. More than one date. But including the date of Jao's murder and one month before."

"I was supposed to be at the back ponds an hour ago."

"I need your help."

"The tourists arrive in Lhadrung in three days. My monthly report is already a week overdue. Faxes came from California, demanding to know if I resolved the permit suspension. I have a job to do. My shareholders expect me to do it. The Ministry of Geology expects me to do it. Beijing expects me to do it. The ninety families that depend on this mine for survival expect me to do it." She stood and lifted the hard hat that sat on her desk. "You, Mr. Shan, are the only one who doesn't expect me to do it."