by Kylie Chan
I turned the corner to find a lovely spot that must have been artificially created when the Shen were still there. The trees opened out to a small clearing next to a shallow three-metre-wide stream with a rocky bed. There were no steep muddy banks or brush-covered edges as I was used to in Australia; the grass went right to the edge of the water, and river sand was visible in the bottom of the stream between the rocks. To my left, the clearing narrowed along the stream’s edge and a deep pool was visible, reflecting the autumnal colouring of the trees above.
I fell to my knees next to the stream, aware that I’d regret getting my pants wet when the evening became cooler, and drank my fill. Then I fell back on the grass and lay there for a long time, revelling in the feeling of softness beneath me. I refused to worry about the stone. I had an idea what had happened: the Grandmother was holding all the stones in Heaven, and when she’d left, they’d all been taken with her. I was sure the stone would return; and even if it didn’t, the Grandmother would find John and I would be okay — we would be okay.
This spot was heavenly. I smiled wryly; technically, I was in Heaven. If I could catch fish to eat and somehow make a fire to keep warm, I would be able to manage until John found me. Or until I moved further west to find Semias.
Ruefully, I remembered how John and Leo had been fascinated by survival shows on the television, but I hadn’t wanted to watch with them. I’d gone into the other room to play something on the Playstation, and couldn’t even remember what it was.
‘You’re not interested, Emma?’ John had said.
‘She finds it boring ’cause she’s an Aussie,’ Leo had said. ‘They wrestle alligators before they can walk over there.’
‘Crocodiles,’ I’d said on the way out the door. ‘And no, I’m not interested. I’ll never need to use any of that. I much prefer civilisation, thank you very much.’
John had shrugged and Leo had grinned. And the unremembered game on the Playstation was really doing me a lot of good now.
30
Zhenwu
It took John nearly a day again to travel back to the West in his Turtle form, but this time he didn’t force his speed. He had to trust the Jade Emperor’s judgement. The JE didn’t seem terribly worried about Emma so he had to hope that she was okay. The demon menace was equally worrying; the new insect-things were fast and deadly. The realm needed to be protected, and getting intelligence was as important as finding Emma.
He went straight to the lake on Anglesey and entered the water, then took Celestial Form — only to find the gateway gone. He did his best to recall the particular tone of the Celestial Harmony that had opened the way, but it refused to resonate. This entrance to Heaven had been closed as well.
He rose out of the lake and shot straight into the air, moving fast enough to leave a contrail behind him. At a thousand metres he slowed, looking for the gateway into the Celestial Plane. He hung in the air and resonated in the right Celestial Harmony, but there was no answering vibration. He moved in a search pattern and received no reply at all. The gateway was gone.
He descended to Holy Mountain and pulled out the Dragon’s phone, hoping that it was waterproof.
‘Phone,’ he said.
‘Please ask me a question,’ the phone said.
‘Find the location of a Holyhead medical practitioner, first name Margaret, surname either …’ DDOMA. ‘Defaoite, Donahoe, O’Breen, MacLaren or Anathain.’
‘Searching,’ the phone said, its high-pitched female voice incongruous with its businesslike tone. ‘Doctor Margaret Anathain, Medical Practitioner.’
It gave the address in Holyhead and showed him where it was. He summoned a cloud and went straight there. The building was a square grey house with a large glass enclosure at the front. He landed in the car park behind it and went in.
Benches along the side of the waiting room held red-eyed mothers with coughing children, and old people obviously in discomfort. A couple of toddlers sat on the floor playing with faded plastic toys. Everybody eyed him suspiciously as he approached the desk and he regretted not changing his appearance into something less intimidating. He was in his usual tall human warrior form, wearing black jeans and a black shirt under a knitted black sweater, with his long hair tied in a topknot.
The middle-aged woman at the desk glared at him as he approached.
‘I need to see Margaret Anathain,’ he said. ‘It’s an emergency.’
‘Is this your first time here?’ she said, looking around on the desk and picking up a clipboard.
‘I’m not a patient. This is personal.’
‘Then see her after she finishes work. We have a long list of people here more important than you,’ the woman snapped, not looking up from the clipboard, then she gasped and lowered her voice to speak angrily to him. ‘Are you the reason she’s not been in? I don’t know what business you’re in, but it’s not good, is it?’ She picked up the telephone handset and waved it in his face. ‘How about I call the police, eh? Would they be interested in you? How about that?’
‘Go right ahead,’ he said mildly. ‘My name is Doctor John Chen, PhD from Cambridge. If you have the internet there, you can look me up.’
‘Sure you are,’ she said, dropping the phone handset. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. I’ll tell Doctor Anathain you’re here, but you need to sit quietly and wait because we don’t put walk-ins before legitimate patients with real appointments.’
He lowered his voice as well. ‘Please tell her it’s a DDOMA issue.’
That obviously meant nothing to her. He looked around, saw that there was nowhere to sit, and leaned against the wall instead, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting to see if he needed to contact Margaret telepathically.
The receptionist called Margaret. ‘There’s a man called Chen here to see you, Doctor Anathain,’ she said, then cupped her hand around the mouthpiece so that he couldn’t hear her. ‘He looks like some sort of Chinese gangster — you’re not in any trouble, are you? Do you want me to call the police for you?’ She glanced at John, her hand still cupping the phone. ‘He lied about being from Cambridge, and he looks like he could murder us all any time.’ Her expression shifted to surprise. ‘Really? You’re sure?’ She sighed. ‘Okay, but if there’s any trouble at all you just look at me and I’ll call the police for you.’
She put the phone down and glared at John. He placidly matched her gaze.
Margaret came out of one of the offices, accompanying a young man. She gave his file to the receptionist, then approached John with her hand out. ‘Doctor Chen, so nice to meet you. I read your thesis, fascinating work. Come into my office.’
She shook his hand and guided him towards the office, nodding to the receptionist, who was still scowling at John.
‘This won’t take long,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Buzz me if you need anything at all,’ the receptionist said.
Margaret led him into her office and he sat in the patient’s chair.
‘Sorry about her,’ Margaret said. ‘It’s her job to stop people from jumping the queue. We have way more patients than we have time for, and sometimes young idiots come in trying to score drugs. She’s very good at what she does.’
‘I can see she is.’ He leaned his elbow on her desk. ‘I don’t want to take too much of your time. You have people who need you.’
‘From what you say, the whole world needs you more.’
‘That’s true.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I used the lake gateway to enter your Heaven, but I was called back home by an emergency. When I returned, it had been sealed. I tried to find another gateway but it was closed. I need you to find another one.’
‘I did some research and I’ve found another likely spot. The information is back at the town hall.’ She rose. ‘Let’s get it for you.’
‘You can just think it at me,’ he said, pointing at her forehead.
She shook her head. ‘It’s marked on a map. It’s in the middle of the ocean — I have
to give you coordinates.’
He knew why she really wanted to go with him and his heart went out to her. She really had fallen hard.
He sighed. ‘Let’s go then. How’s the stone?’
‘I’m here, black turtle,’ the stone said from a paperclip box on Margaret’s desk. ‘Oh, sorry, Margaret.’
‘That’s okay, Stacey, he knows who you are,’ Margaret said, her voice warm with affection. She picked up the box. ‘Let’s help Mr Chen find his wife.’
She led him out of the office and stopped at the reception desk. ‘I’ll be right back, I won’t be more than five minutes.’
She turned away before the woman could say anything, nodded to John and they went out together.
‘Why does Stacey call you black turtle?’ Margaret said as they walked up the hill towards the town hall.
‘That’s what I am,’ John said, sending his senses around and finding nothing unusual. ‘And giving the little stone a name was a very bad idea; I suggest you stop immediately. If the Grandmother finds out you’ve named it, she’ll be furious, and when she’s angry it can be very bad.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Margaret said. ‘I just thought it would be nice to name the stone after my … little sister.’
‘You have a sister?’
‘Not any more; she was … she was working in the school. When it happened. My brother Jamie has never really got over it; both his wife and his sister were at the school.’
‘Jamie from the café?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see. It might be best just to call the stone “stone” and don’t give it a gender,’ John said. ‘Stones are very touchy about the fact that they’re not gender-differentiated like us animals.’
‘Oh,’ Margaret said softly. ‘I guess I’ll just call you stone, then.’
‘I don’t mind, Margaret,’ the stone said.
‘What do you mean you’re a black turtle?’ Margaret said, realising what he’d said. ‘I looked you up and found your PhD at Cambridge, but that was forty years ago. When I looked up your real name I didn’t find anything.’
‘Xuan is spelled with an X,’ he said. ‘You probably weren’t looking for that.’
‘Oh, I thought it was “sh”.’
She opened the town hall doors. A group of men and women were eating their lunches on the central table. They swivelled to watch as Margaret led John to a map laid out on a side table.
‘Here,’ she said, pointing at the location.
John pulled out the Dragon’s mobile. ‘Phone.’
‘Please ask me a question.’
John read out the coordinates that Margaret had written next to the dot over the ocean. ‘Save these. How far away is that?’
‘Three hundred and twenty kilometres west of your current location.’
‘Can you guide me there?’
The phone was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Method of transportation?’
‘Flying.’
‘Celestial flying?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does that mean?’ Margaret said.
‘It’s a long story,’ John said. ‘Phone, guide me.’
A large arrow and a number appeared in the air above the phone.
‘That will do,’ John said.
He turned to Margaret, pulled the other phone out of his pocket and gave it to her. ‘As promised.’
‘No need, really,’ she said, waving her hands in front of her.
‘I said I would, and I am a creature of my word,’ John said. He put the phone on the table next to her.
‘Good luck. I hope you find her,’ Margaret said.
He nodded to her and teleported out, floating a hundred metres directly above the town hall. He followed the phone’s arrow and flew west as fast as he could.
It took two hours of travel, then another ten minutes of fine-tuning, before the number went to zero, the arrow changed to a green circle and he was there. He looked down: he was over a tiny island west of Ireland, dotted with small farms and green fields. He attuned himself to Celestial Harmony again and saw a faint shimmer in the air. He tried to control his excitement, then his disappointment as it faded. It had been blocked as well.
‘Phone.’
‘Please ask me a question.’
‘Can you just say “yes” instead of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He took a quick breath. ‘Locate the Earthly equivalent of the Glass Citadel.’
‘There is no Earthly equivalent.’
That stopped him; it was unheard of for a Celestial structure not to have an Earthly equivalent. He gathered himself, taking more deep breaths. ‘If there was an Earthly equivalent, where would it be?’
‘Reduce your altitude by three hundred metres.’
He dropped the required distance and hovered just above the grass.
‘You are now at the location of the Earthly equivalent of the Glass Citadel.’
He tried again with Celestial Harmony and failed. He seriously needed something to hit.
It had been very hard waiting for everybody to leave the British Museum, but they were all gone now and John had the place to himself — apart from the motion detectors in the corners of the rooms, the CCTV cameras everywhere, and the bored-looking guards. None of them detected him, however, as he drifted into the forty-metre-wide circular Reading Room. Most of its lights were dimmed, which suited him more than the daylight brightness and he moved quickly through the comfortable dark. The domed ceiling high above had been renovated when the museum had been redeveloped, and the papier-mâché interior had been repainted in stunning pale blue, cream and gold.
As he slid quietly between the silent desks, he flashed back to the early seventies, when he’d spent a great deal of time here researching Arthurian mythology and the Romantic movement. One of the young staff members, who was full of fire to change the world, had pursued him relentlessly and he wondered where she was now. He’d turned down all her advances. Back then, he’d had a strict no-human policy, afraid of what would happen should they be exposed to his life of violence and destruction.
The Reading Room was now used for exhibitions, but still had bookshelves all around its circumference: an impressive sight. John recalled his resolution to build something similar on the Mountain to hold his martial arts and philosophy collections. It had never happened. He’d met Michelle instead, and thrown away all his reservations about liaisons with humans. The minute he laid eyes on her he was defeated; she had glowed with courage and spirit, unlike any other he’d seen until he met Emma. He’d deserted his realm and his Mountain for her.
He felt a twinge of guilt, then straightened. After three thousand years of living to serve the realm, he deserved a small piece of happiness for himself. His resolve fagged again when he remembered where that had led Michelle, and where Emma was now. He would find Emma, and he would find out exactly what was going on here; but to do both these things he needed to break into their Heaven.
The main book collection had been moved to a different location, but the reference system here would tell him what he needed to know. He just wished the Archivist would come back to him with whatever the Eastern Archives had.
He selected a console in a secluded location, pulled out a chair, and stopped halfway to sitting as a pair of security guards just outside the doors had a loud conversation in Hindi, discussing their kids’ grades with obvious pride. When they’d moved away, he turned on the computer and jumped when the welcome ping sounded. He needed a login to access the system, and his old pass to the collection was well and truly out of date.
He put the phone on the table next to the screen. ‘Phone.’
‘Please ask me a question.’
‘I thought you could say “yes” instead of that?’
‘I can,’ the phone said.
‘Well, why don’t you?’
‘You didn’t tell me to.’
‘Say yes in future. Understood?’
‘Underst
ood.’
‘Good.’ John waved one hand in front of the monitor. ‘Can you break into this computer and locate anything in the collection about entry to the Western Heavens or the Glass Citadel?’
‘Yes. I can also cross-index with the Archivist’s information in my memory.’
‘Do so.’
‘Accessing,’ the phone said, and the screen flashed. A login screen appeared, the box filled with asterisks, and then the screen started to flick through thousands of images inhumanly fast. The resulting blur made John feel slightly nauseous and he turned away.
‘Done,’ the phone said, and a map and list appeared in the air above it.
John leaned forward to study the map. ‘Remove any locations that I’ve already been to.’
All of them disappeared, and John thumped the table.
‘Return the locations,’ he said.
The list reappeared.
There were four: the castle with the stone lab; the Penrhos Feilw standing stones; the lake; and the Earthly analogue for the Glass Citadel.
‘Widen the search to anything that could be remotely listed as a gateway,’ he said.
The Trefignath burial chamber appeared at the bottom of the list, marked with a note that said: This is probably a gateway to Hell not Heaven — Archivist.
‘Why isn’t there anything else?’ John said, frustrated. ‘This is ridiculous. We have many more gateways than that in the East.’
‘Accessing,’ the phone said. The list disappeared and a snippet of text appeared above the phone.
Mostly oral history. These stupid fuckwits never wrote anything down; they kept it secret by transferring the information by word of mouth. What a bunch of useless retards. If they’d had something like the Shang/Zhou war with resulting Jade Emperor like we had, this would not be an issue; their Jade Emperor analogue would have forced them to start recording shit. As it was, one of their gods created a transcription method for them and it was never used. I salute their bloody-minded devotion to this idiocy. — Archivist.