Demon and the City

by Liz Williams

  44

  The atmosphere in the room was growing colder by the minute. Paravang stared hopelessly across the table at his bride-to-be, whose expression was warring between complacent and unhappy. Complacent, because she had finally found a husband, and unhappy, because of the amount of the dowry on which Paravang had insisted.

  “It is a lot of money,” she muttered. Her fleshy face still bore faint traces of the illness that had carried her off: some kind of psoriatic epidemic, or so Paravang understood. Her skin had a curiously mottled appearance, reminiscent of a stormy sky.

  “Well, that may be, but I’m afraid I can’t get married without it. There’s a price on my head, you see.”

  “Yes, I understand that.” The woman, Mahibel Wing, appeared remarkably unfazed by the news that her intended was a target of the Assassins’ Guild, which said much for the kind of men she must have been dating in Hell. She sighed. “If that is what you insist upon, then I suppose that is what I will have to pay.”

  “And the circumstances of the marriage,” Paravang said. “As I understand it, the wedding will take place here and you will then return to Hell.”

  “Yes, to await your arrival in due course. You do understand, do you not, that this contract means that you will not be able to enter Heaven upon the event of your death?”

  “I’m aware of that. It’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make.” Paravang managed a saccharine smile. He did not add that the chances of entering Heaven were, in any case, somewhat remote: he had not lived a good enough life for that, despite the necessary offerings to Senditreya. You had to believe in the essential goodness of your fellow man and that, for Paravang, had proved to be the sticking point.

  “In that case,” Mahibel said shyly, “we need to set a date.”

  “As soon as possible would be good,” Paravang said, adding, “otherwise I’ll be joining you in Hell rather sooner than expected, in which case I’m afraid the wedding will be off.”

  “Suits me,” Mahibel said with a terrifying attempt at being jaunty. “I will return now—I can’t stay long here. I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Paravang said, thinking that an attempt at gallantry wouldn’t go amiss. She whirled out of the room in a silent column of dust, leaving Paravang to sit at the table and stare at his hands. The summoning contract that the butcher had drawn up for her had obviously been much less extensive than that arranged with his mother, for the latter was still very much present. He could hear her now, humming tunelessly in the next room as she did the vacuuming. Paravang rose from the table, slipped past the door of the lounge and into the bathroom, where he locked himself in. Apart from sleep, it was the only privacy he’d managed to obtain over the last forty-eight hours. Did she never stop talking? Who did she talk to in Hell, or were there battalions of middle-aged, gossiping dead ladies who all entertained one another? It was almost worth making a final effort to get into Heaven, Paravang thought, but somehow he didn’t think that things would be much different there.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror, somewhat horrified. He looked so much older … his unshaven cheeks sunken and hollow, his hair stringy. He was certainly a fitting bridegroom for poor Mahibel, if looks were anything to go by. And the coldness she had brought with her was still there, sipping gently at his will to live. Was that the idea, perhaps? Get him into her clutches and then debilitate him so that he ended up in Hell several years too early? Just like a woman, Paravang thought bitterly. It struck him that if this were the case, then he might as well just give up and succumb to the Assassins’ Guild. After all, they could only kill him as well, and they’d probably be a lot more efficient about it.

  45

  As he had expected, Zhu Irzh was not getting on well with Heaven. They had now been taken ashore and led up a pretty cliff path through fields of blossoming trees and into a pavilion. Here, someone so august had been waiting that Zhu Irzh had been unable to look at him and was obliged to stumble outside. It was quite some time before the dazzle had faded from his eyes and, when it did, he looked up to see Chen standing beside him. The badger was at his feet.

  “You too, eh?” the demon said.

  “It didn’t affect me as badly, but yes, the sight of the Jade Emperor is a bit much, I agree.” The badger grunted, as if in agreement. “How are you feeling now?” Chen added.

  “Weak. This place is sapping me. I can’t even think about sex.”

  Chen looked a little pained, but said that he had expected as much.

  “After all, you’re a creature of Hell. It’s only reasonable that you should react badly on the Celestial plane. Badger doesn’t like it either.”

  “I wish to return to Earth,” the badger muttered.

  “What’s happening back in the tent?”

  “Not a lot. Joyful reunions between father and son. Robin’s gone to sit outside, but I don’t think there’ll be any serious difficulty there. She seems to feel pretty badly about the whole thing, but she didn’t know what she was doing and she did free him, after all. The goddess wants to speak with me later, I don’t know what about.”

  “So where do things go from here, Chen? Does Heaven take over and sort things out?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose so. But Senditreya’s fled, of course.”

  “Where to?”

  “Either Earth or Hell. There aren’t many places for a renegade goddess to go. But what’s worse is that the meridian disruption is continuing. And it’s affecting the city. I really would prefer to go back and make sure that Inari’s all right, at least. Time passes oddly in the Night Harbor—she might be back from Hawaii by now.”

  “Even Earth’s better than this,” the demon remarked, gloomily kicking at a tuft of pleasantly scented grass.

  “But possibly not for long.” Chen looked up. The goddess was approaching through the trees.

  “Chen. I need to speak to you. To both of you.” She glanced at the badger. “And you, creature of Earth.”

  Zhu Irzh, the badger and Chen followed her into a grove of flowering plum. As they entered the grove, Zhu Irzh glanced up and saw that a kind of night had fallen: there were blazing stars visible through the white blossoms, visible in a burning azure sky. When he stepped back out of the grove, it was day once more. Kuan Yin was regarding him with an impatient tolerance.

  “When you’ve finished, young man …”

  “Sorry.”

  “There is a problem,” the goddess said. She sounded curiously hesitant, as if unused to sharing her difficulties with mortals. Let alone Hellkind, Zhu Irzh thought. “Now that the son of the Jade Emperor has returned, the Emperor has announced His intention to sever links with the other worlds.”

  “What?” Chen was staring at her, aghast. “That would surely mean that not another human soul can enter Heaven.”

  “I know.”

  There goes Chen’s pension, the demon thought. Well, it would be nice to have Chen down in Hell in due course, and be able to repay some hospitality, though Zhu Irzh admitted that his colleague might not feel the same way. Chen and Inari should both stay at the Irzh mansion: avoiding Chen’s horrible in-laws. With a slight effort, Zhu Irzh directed his attention back to the matter at hand.

  “The Emperor feels that things have gone on long enough. We have tried to educate the human world, and we have tried to keep Hell at bay, but it is now the Emperor’s view that humanity has been given its chance to learn, and has failed. With this latest plot, to suborn Heaven itself, it is His view that we should withdraw. He will be announcing His intention to other Celestial planes, of course: they may feel differently. If one were to become Christian or Hindu, matters might be entirely other.”

  Chen was watching the goddess closely. “And how do you feel about this? You don’t like it, do you?”

  “My feelings on the matter are irrelevant,” the goddess said, and Zhu Irzh did not think he imagined the note of sadness in her voice. “I must do as the Emperor commands. But before Heaven can
withdraw, there is something that remains to be done.”

  “Finding Senditreya?”

  “Indeed. The goddess is too powerful to be allowed to remain on Earth, or in Hell. We saw that on the Sea of Night. The Emperor, moreover, feels that we have a certain responsibility in that respect. He has therefore asked me to send you back to Earth to track her down, and meanwhile He will arrange for the kuei to be sent, when she is found. He does not want to send the kuei right away; it will be too disruptive for the people. But I think her temple will be destroyed here.”

  “Good,” said Zhu Irzh, before Chen could answer. “When are we going?”

  “Now,” the goddess said, and snapped her fingers.

  “Wait a minute!” Chen said, but it was too late. The trees around them thrashed as if a gale had suddenly blown in. Stars and plum blossoms alike began to fall, whirling downward, and engulfing Chen and the demon in a pale tempest. Zhu Irzh began to cough and his vision dimmed. For a split second, before his eyes filled with bloody tears, he saw the whole of Heaven laid out beneath like a pastel tapestry: its plains, its mountains, its temples and cities. Its complexity and depth overwhelmed him. He staggered against Chen. Then they were over the Sea of Night and his sight went dark.

  When it cleared again, they were standing in the courtyard of Kuan Yin’s temple, not far from Shaopeng. The badger gave a sneezing snort, which managed to sound almost happy. Zhu Irzh suppressed an inclination to pat the badger on the head, took a lungful of diesel-laden air and reached for his cigarettes.

  “It’s great to be back.”

  And at that point, the earth cracked under his feet.

  46

  Jhai was halfway out of the city when the first quake hit. The limousine in which she and Opal were traveling was flung sideways across the road, slamming into a lamppost. Jai and her mother were hurled forward, but the seatbelts held them in. Jhai detached the belt, wrenched open the door and leaped from the car. She ran around to the driver’s side, where a dazed Colonel Ei was also getting out.

  “What the hell—!”

  A gaping chasm had opened up along the length of the street. It was not very deep, but cars and a tram had half-fallen into it and now rested at a variety of angles, with people scrambling from them.

  “It’s a quake,” Ei shouted unnecessarily.

  “I can see that!” Jhai looked behind her. The chasm extended up the road, zigzagging unevenly across it. No chance of driving anywhere now: they would have to continue on foot. And the airport was a good twenty miles outside town. Once they’d got beyond the quake damage, she would have to find a taxi.

  “Jhai?” Opal came to stand beside her daughter, her face creased with fright. “What’s going on?”

  Jhai could not help feeling that all this earth-heaving wrath was somehow directed at her. Was this Heaven’s attempt to strike her down? It seemed uncharacteristically unsubtle. If that were the case, then the best thing to do was to take advantage of the confusion around her and make as quick an exit from the city as possible, before anyone noticed she was gone. At the airport, a private plane to Kerala was waiting. If they could only get there—she would not think about the possibility of damage at the airport itself.

  “Ei,” she said. “Where’s the nearest main road? Apart from this one?”

  “Shaopeng.” Ei pointed. “Up there.”

  “Come on,” Jhai said. “We’ll get a taxi.”

  “Shouldn’t we go back to the tower?” Opal quavered. “It’s supposed to be earthquake proof, that nice Japanese man told me. And we can visit Kerala another time.”

  “No, Mother,” Jhai said firmly. Perhaps it would have been better to tell Opal the truth after all. “We’re getting out of here. Trust me.”

  Opal gave her a suspicious look. “Is there anything you’re not telling me, dear?”

  “Of course not.” Jhai took her mother by the hand and led her, followed by Ei, up the street of steps that came out into Shaopeng. Here, to her relief, the traffic seemed unimpeded and the road surface was intact. A few cars had been abandoned by the roadside, but otherwise it seemed that people had resolutely decided to ignore the quake. Jhai, looking uneasily up at the sky, stepped out into the street and flagged down a taxi. It took several minutes, but eventually one slowed to a halt and she pushed Opal inside.

  “The airport. Quickly!”

  47

  Paravang had gone to Senditreya’s temple that morning to give the priest-broker the good news, and had been unable to find the old man. Indeed, the whole temple seemed to be in complete disarray, with priests and dowsers running to and fro. Eventually Paravang managed to collar a temple clerk and ask what was going on.

  “No one knows!” the clerk gasped. “It’s been chaos here. The goddess hasn’t been answering prayer slips—not even the highest priests have been able to reach her. And the city is falling apart.”

  “Apart?” Paravang said, nonplussed. “What do you mean, ‘apart’?” He hadn’t done any actual dowsing or geomantic analysis since the episode at the murder site; he must be out of touch.

  “The meridians are contorted. No one knows what’s wrong with them. Ch’i, sha, it doesn’t matter—the place is starting to crack along them as though they were fault lines. I spoke to a priest this morning and he said that it’s as though the goddess has been holding the meridians in her hands like a knot, and now she’s just let them slip.”

  “But why?”

  “We don’t know. There are rumors of a war in Heaven.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s the nature of the visions that people have been receiving. And there have been prophecies about the end of the city.” The clerk wrung his hands. “The end of the world.” Then, summoned by one of the priests, he hastened away.

  What nonsense, thought Paravang. He was sure that this was nothing more than hysterical speculation. War in Heaven, indeed. He decided to concentrate on his own concerns and track down the priest-broker. Then, once the Assassins’ Guild had been paid off, he could go back home and have a nice rest for a couple of days, his troubles at a temporary end. Who had ever heard of such a thing as a Celestial war?

  But at that moment his theological certainties were undermined by a commotion in the courtyard. It came in the form of a thunderous roar, as though a jet engine was landing in the temple precincts. Paravang clapped his hands over his ears, but it was no use. The whole temple structure was beginning to shake and shudder, cracks and slits appearing in the walls. A shower of plaster fell from the ceiling like dandruff and the floor bucked under him, causing the tiles to snap. Paravang gripped a bench for support and when the ground stopped moving, he ran out into the courtyard with some vague notion that it was an earthquake.

  It wasn’t. It was the goddess.

  Senditreya was standing in a chariot drawn by two fire-colored cattle at the center of the courtyard, on a pedestal of rock formed by the cracked earth around her. Paravang caught a glimpse down one of those cracks and reeled: it seemed to go all the way to Hell. Senditreya herself displayed none of the bovine calm with which Paravang had always associated her. The goddess was clearly furious. She carried the full mantle of her awe about her, the kind of atmosphere that could bring mortals involuntarily to their knees, and her dark eyes were snapping with fire. Paravang caught sight of her snarling mouth and flung himself face down on what remained of the ground. This was not a conscious decision, and moments later, he regretted it. Once more the ground shuddered and shook. Paravang felt as though he were riding a great wave of the sea: he was picked up and flung down again. With the breath knocked out of him, he twisted around and saw that the shivering temple had become overlaid with a triplicity of images: the place of worship with which he was so familiar; a gleaming, glittering palace with stars in its rafters; and a terrible dark hollow, echoing with woe. His paralyzed mind finally came up with the solution to this curious effect: he was seeing Senditreya’s temple in all three dimensions, Heav
en, Earth and Hell. As he watched, stunned, the Heavenly version of the temple grew stronger, its outlines bolder and sharply illuminated. He saw his fellow feng shui practitioners, shuffling back against the meager protection afforded by the temple wall, and he managed to pull himself to his feet and join them. But something was moving down out of the starry sky—a vast rushing shape, its robes billowing out around it like sails, its immense face filled with resolution. Its eyes seemed the size of moons. Paravang, having beheld it, could not look away. Lightning zapped around its hair and storm clouds swirled around it like a cape. It was, Paravang’s terror informed him, one of the kuei, the Storm Lord enforcers of Heaven. As it sped toward them it reached out a hand, talon-tipped.

  “No!” Paravang heard the goddess cry. Her shout came close to rupturing his eardrums. “You shall not!”

  “Madam, I shall!” the kuei replied, in a voice like thunder. The taloned hand came closer, Paravang shut his eyes and then with a sensation of swift descent he was stumbling back into the courtyard of the earthly temple. Looking up, he saw the Storm Lord’s hand close over the roof of the temple’s Heavenly counterpart and then the Celestial version of the temple was collapsing, folding in upon itself with unnatural swiftness as if the structure holding it together had simply become unpinned. The hand was gone, too. The temple contracted down to a tiny spinning building and then with a starlit flash it was gone. Senditreya had been banished from Heaven.

  Standing in her chariot, the goddess raised her head and shrieked. Beneath the racket, Paravang detected a low moaning noise that he was alarmed to identify was coming from himself. Senditreya raised a flail and brought it down across the backs of the cattle. They bellowed in pain and alarm, and sprang forward, carrying the chariot across the gap and toward the road, within feet of Paravang Roche.

  “A guide!” Senditreya shouted. “You’ll do.”

  Paravang, too late, tried to scramble away but felt a hot divine hand grasp the back of his neck and haul him bodily into the chariot. The flail whipped over his head like a thunder-crack and the chariot sped off, blasting through the closed gates of the temple and sending them into a thousand splinters. Paravang, his mouth and nose filled with sawdust, tried to jump down, but the goddess still had hold of the nape of his neck. Her hands were huge—she was huge, in fact, at least eight feet high and built like an ox beneath the billowing crimson and indigo robes. Paravang caught sight of her face and wished he hadn’t: looking into Senditreya’s eyes was like looking into the pit of Hell.