by Liz Williams
19
The taxi slowed to a halt at the end of the road where Tang’s mansion stood, and Chen leaped out, throwing a handful of change at the driver. With a growing sense of unease he saw that the street had been cordoned off. Two of the department’s new anti-riot vehicles were parked at the entrance to the road and a mesh of nanowire had been erected to form an impenetrable barrier. As Chen drew near, a white-faced SWAT officer leaped down from one of the vehicles and began motioning him frantically back.
“Go back, go back! The road’s closed!”
Chen flashed his badge and saw the officer’s eyes widen in comprehension.
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize—go on through.”
Pausing to check that the flickering form of the demon was still at his shoulder, Chen went down the street at a run. As he drew closer to the mansion he saw that the bulky figure of Sergeant Ma was standing in full view out in the road. Ma was surrounded by uniformed police, a fire engine, and the surveillance van, and as Chen watched, a tall figure strode out into the light. Chen could see the hilt of a ritual sword hanging from the man’s back: this, then, must be No Ro Shi, the demon-hunter.
“What’s all the fuss?” Zhu Irzh’s puzzled voice said in his ear.
“I’ve no idea.” But clasped in Chen’s arms, the ghost-tracker gave a rattle of alarm and struggled to be free. Chen dropped it, none too gently, upon the pavement, and it tore the lead out of his hand and disappeared into the bushes. Chen swore.
“Never mind,” Zhu Irzh said. “We’re better off without it, if you ask me.”
There was a cry of recognition as Sergeant Ma spotted Chen. Panting, the sergeant hastened up and began a long, garbled explanation that made no sense whatsoever.
“Sergeant, calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Taking a deep breath, Ma managed to utter a single intelligible word. “Look.”
Chen glanced towards the mansion and with an increasing sense of incredulity saw that it was no longer there. Where Tang’s pompous, nouveau riche house had stood was nothing more than a whirling cloud of darkness, shot with neon. Chen’s stomach churned; Ma’s unusual pallor was suddenly explained.
“Ma, what the hell?”
Before Ma could open his mouth, Chen found his hand grasped in an iron grip and a voice barked, “Comrade Chen!”
Chen looked up into a storm-dark gaze. He had never met demon-hunter No Ro Shi before now, but he had seen him plenty of times on documentaries and the news, and No Ro Shi’s austere features were frequently plastered over the pages of the Beijing press. Chen’s horror at the demon-hunter’s presence was slightly softened by admiration: No Ro Shi refused to give way to the cult of celebrity (recognizing, perhaps, that this was in itself a secure pathway to Hell) and apparently eschewed a personal life. His job was all-consuming, from what Chen had heard, and doubtless he would be assured of a prominent position in the hereafter, always assuming that he didn’t slip up first. A position of which Chen himself might have been assured, before his marriage; there had been plenty of subsequent nights on which he had lain awake, wondering precisely what the gods had in store after his death. As long as he stayed with Inari, he told himself over and over again, he did not greatly care. He risked a second glance at the phenomenon that had been Tang’s house.
“Remarkable,” he said as calmly as he could. “Perhaps you’d like to bring me up to speed on what’s been going on, Mr—that is to say, Comrade—Shi.”
“There’s been a surveillance team at the residence since early this morning, as you’re aware. I’ve been watching Tang myself through the infrared; there was relatively little movement until an hour or so ago. He stayed in his study; we’ve been logging his e-mails. At 1:25 P.M. the scanners showed evidence of hostile activity: increased s/r levels and biomorphic patterning systematic of an incursion from another realm. Tang appeared agitated, seemed to be attempting communication with something unseen. We’re analyzing the voice-vibrations now. At 1:48 levels rose and there appeared to be some kind of implosion within the house, centering on Tang’s study. The house began to fragment. As you can see, it is still doing so.”
“We think Tang was trying to recapture his daughter’s spirit,” Chen said. “Perhaps he over-reached himself.”
“It’s a possibility. However, it is also a possibility that one of his associates has decided that the price of failure is termination.”
“You’re suggesting that Tang’s been assassinated? That’s quite probable.”
No Ro Shi’s moustache bristled with satisfaction. “Hostiles rarely tolerate failure. Tang was becoming a liability. He bungled his daughter’s illicit passage to Hell and attracted the attention of both the police and the Celestial authorities. You say he was trying to recapture his daughter’s spirit? I wasn’t aware that it was missing.”
Chen gave a brief account of recent events, omitting for now any mention of the demon. He gave an idle glance around him as he spoke, but there was no sign of Zhu Irzh. Chen did not know whether to be relieved that Zhu Irzh had managed to avoid No Ro Shi’s attention or alarmed that the demon was no longer in view. His narrative was interrupted by a sudden, soundless explosion in the direction of the house, and a violent shove in the small of his back as someone knocked him to the ground. The shockwave flattened him against the tarmac and a great blast of heat passed overhead. The air itself changed: he was spread-eagled fleetingly in the midst of a spinning cloud of darkness, and then it passed. Spitting dust, Chen raised his head.
Nothing remained of Tang’s mansion; not even a smoldering hole in the ground. Instead, a garden was blooming. Roses with soft, ebony petals and thorns as curled as a mandarin’s fingernails entwined themselves around the shadowy branches of vines, hung with grapes the color of night. The crimson tongue of a great dark orchid flickered out to catch an unwary cockchafer, humming over black grass. There was a heavy, soporific odor of incense and opium and old honey. It was, Chen silently admitted to himself, something of an improvement upon Tang’s vulgar mansion. A hand grasped him by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. No Ro Shi spoke into a voice recorder.
“Termination of direct hostile activity; placement of incursion, 2:33 P.M.” His voice echoed through a silence that seemed to fill the whole of the world.
20
Seneschal Zhu Irzh, after a wild glance around him, realized to his alarm and annoyance that he was back in Hell. He was standing in some kind of parlor; elegantly decorated with lacquer and ivory to give a subtle impression of human flesh. Two spindly chairs were covered with delicate, creamy skin and a massive desk bore the striations of bone. A great deal of money and influence had gone into decorating this room; it was designed to impress, but Zhu Irzh merely felt his irritation growing. He glared at the red lacquered walls and the ornate furnishings, wondering exactly where he might be, but the answer to that question came almost immediately, as the door opened and the First Lord of Banking stepped imperiously through. Angry though he was, Zhu Irzh managed to deliver an appropriately low bow.
“Seneschal? Forgive the interruption of your duties.” The First Lord of Banking spoke indifferently, with nothing more than a nod to politesse. “I thought it expedient to bring you back while there was an opening between the worlds.”
“Of course, Lord. May I know why I have been summoned?”
“The situation has changed somewhat since our earlier conversation. I told you to find the ghost of Pearl Tang. Clearly, you have failed.”
“Lord, I succeeded in finding her, but then events took a rather different turn—I—”
Tsin Tsi dismissed his complaints with a wave of a taloned hand. “No matter. Something is going on, Zhu Irzh. Something to which the Ministry of Wealth is not privy. I need you here. I am telling you this in honesty, no matter that it causes me to lose face. I do not know what this issue might be, only that it involves a Ministry. And I believe now that this Ministry is that of Epidemics.”
“Epid
emics?” Zhu Irzh said, frowning. When had he last had a conversation about Ministries? Then he remembered. “The girl,” he said.
“What about her?” Tsin Tsi’s crimson eyes were as bright as fire.
“When I went to the brothel, Pearl was not to be found, but another—a ghost—told me that certain people had come from one of the Ministries, looking for human ghosts.”
“Epidemics,” mused the First Lord of Banking. “And the souls of virtuous humans. Rumors of a new drug …” He sat down in the heavy bone chair that stood behind his desk and picked up a little round box made of ivory and wood. Zhu Irzh recognized it as a child’s toy, a puzzle for infants. “I can’t make the pieces fit,” the First Lord murmured, turning the box in his hands. “An illegal trade in the ghosts of the virtuous, the Ministry of Epidemics, and now the kidnapping of a human ghost-trader …” He glanced up and gave a raw smile. “That’s why I had you brought back, you see. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to remove Tang H’suen to more congenial climes before he could be interrogated. Such as Hell.”
“Tang’s here?”
“So I believe. You saw what they did to his house?”
“Yes, I was there. The police think he’s been killed.”
“I don’t think so. One of my employees has been watching the house. If Tang had died, his soul would have been compelled to travel by the usual means through the Night Harbor, where you or the police might have been able to track him down, but Taigun—my employee—is a soul-smeller and he detected no sign of death. No, Tang has been taken to Hell alive.”
“But by whom?”
“That is an interesting question, and I am counting on you to provide an answer to it. By someone very powerful, who will stop at nothing. To snatch Tang’s house, with him inside it—that takes power, Zhu Irzh. The kind of power enjoyed by the Minister of Epidemics, among others. It is also a reckless, visible thing to do that suggests someone is playing for high stakes.”
“What about the girl? Tang’s daughter?”
“It is highly improbable that she knows more than her father,” the First Lord said. “From now on, he must be our priority.”
“The policeman,” Zhu Irzh said. “Detective Chen. He’s also interested in hunting down the girl.”
“How useful. What is that Western expression? Killing two birds with one stone? If he finds Pearl, then we can catch up with him later, and in any case it may serve to distract him from Tang’s disappearance.”
“I doubt it. He’s quite tenacious.”
“Then we’ll just have to find Tang first, won’t we? I don’t approve of human intervention in Hell’s affairs; the living can get above themselves on occasion.”
“So what do you want me to do now?” asked Zhu Irzh. The First Lord of Banking spread his hands flat on the table top and smiled.
“Go to the Ministry of Epidemics. I suspect they are the folks who have taken Tang. See what you can find. But be very discreet. You don’t want to come down with something nasty, after all.”
21
The sinister garden that now stood in the place of Tang’s house had been sealed off, and a team of exorcists, under the grumbling supervision of Lao, had been moved in to secure the area. Chen made a hasty, covert search for the demon but found nothing. Evidently Zhu Irzh had taken the disturbance as an opportunity to go off on his own pursuits. Nor was there any sign of the ghost-tracker. Chen was about to return to the houseboat when Ma appeared, still pale, and bearing orders from Captain Sung that Chen was to report back immediately. Chafing with annoyance, and certain that any chance he might have had of locating Pearl Tang had been blown, Chen went back to the precinct with Ma and the demon-hunter.
The covert glances darting in his direction in the back of the SWAT vehicle uncomfortably reminded Chen that he had not changed his clothes since the previous day, and there had been the intervening sojourn in the sewers … Using this as his excuse, Chen made a brief detour to the men’s locker room and phoned home, but there was still no answer. Frustrated, Chen took a hasty but thorough shower and fished out a spare pair of trousers and a sweatshirt. These were crumpled but clean; at least he would be able to face No Ro Shi and the captain with some semblance of decency. He’d get this interview over, then see what he could do about finding Inari, Chen thought, stifling a now-familiar rush of dismay. There was nothing he could do about Zhu Irzh now, but if he could only get No Ro Shi off his back … As he was folding the rest of his noxious clothes into a plastic bag, the door of the locker room sprang open and Sergeant Ma walked in.
“Oh! Sir, I thought you’d finished in here. I just wanted to freshen up before we speak to the captain, and—”
“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” Chen said. “I’m sure this locker room’s big enough for both of us. Anyway, I’m on my way out.” He slapped Ma on the shoulder as he left the room. He had to reach up to do so, but nonetheless he had an uncharacteristically sadistic pleasure in seeing Ma flinch.
When he got upstairs, he could see the demon-hunter’s unyielding back standing to attention behind the glass wall of the commander’s office.
“No Ro Shi’s brought you up to speed on what happened last night, I understand,” Captain Sung said as Chen came in.
“On the phone this morning,” Chen replied. Deeming it best to make the first move, he added: “I understand I’ve had a home visit. Must have rattled someone’s cage, then. I’m inclined to think it’s a promising sign.”
No Ro Shi gave a small, tight grimace, which after a moment Chen recognized as a smile of approval. “My thoughts exactly. Whoever’s behind all this must be someone of reasonable importance, otherwise they’d never have the authority to send a hostile after you. Tang clearly hasn’t been working alone. Now. We need to make sure that your home’s secure, or find you alternative accommodations.”
“I’d rather go home, if you don’t mind,” Chen said hastily. “Most of my working implements are there. I’m quite capable of securing things myself—I’m a licensed feng shui practitioner, after all. I’ll ask Lao to give me a hand.”
“What sort of wards did you set originally?” No Ro Shi asked, frowning. “Whatever was occupying your houseboat last night clearly didn’t have any problems breaking through.”
“The place was heavily warded, as a matter of fact,” Chen explained. “But certain spells grow a little stale over time. I’ve been meaning to upgrade, but things have been pretty busy recently and I just didn’t get around to it. My mistake.”
“Well, we’ll leave all that up to you,” Captain Sung said, clearly keen to move on, and to Chen’s relief, No Ro Shi simply nodded.
The ensuing conversation was brief and pragmatic. Once Chen had expressed his wish to be relieved of duty for a few hours in order to go home and sort things out, it was decided that No Ro Shi should resume the search for Pearl Tang. Chen informed him of the day’s progress, or rather lack of it, and handed over the fading scrap that was Pearl’s scarf. He was compelled to discuss Zhu Irzh’s involvement in the case; predictably, No Ro Shi was horrified.
“This is most unorthodox! To knowingly involve a hostile in the course of an investigation displays a degree of ideological unsoundness that I can only condemn.”
“Well, I didn’t have a great deal of choice,” Chen said. “And he helped me out at Tang’s mansion last night. If it wasn’t for Zhu Irzh, I might not have been able to free Pearl.”
“Only to lose her again as a direct result of the demon’s interference.”
“True. But if he hadn’t interfered in the first place, Pearl might have disappeared with her father when the mansion imploded. At least now we have a faint chance of finding her.”
“Perhaps the mansion was destroyed because Tang let his daughter slip,” Ma suggested. Chen had to admit that the sergeant had a point, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Look,” the captain said wearily. “How sure are we that Tang’s dead?”
“There was no trace of a body, b
ut frankly, that doesn’t mean a whole lot.”
“So if Tang is dead, then presumably he’ll have to pass through this place you say we all go through when we die, isn’t that right? The Night Harbor?” Sung’s heavy face betrayed his unease; Chen couldn’t really blame him.
“Possibly. It depends how powerful his associates in Hell are. It’s feasible that they took him straight there.”
Puzzled, Ma said, “Can’t you just go to the Night Harbor and look?”
“Sergeant, you have to understand that the authorities aren’t very keen on me trooping in and out of the Night Harbor as though it were my own living room. If it wasn’t so tricky to gain access, then I could solve most of the city’s murders on my own—all we’d need to do would be to go down there once or twice a day and ask the victims who killed them. Unfortunately, as we’ve discussed, it isn’t that easy. Celestial protocols are often more stringent than Hell’s, oddly enough. I’ve had to call in quite a few favors to try to see Mrs Tang.”