by Liz Williams
“Hurry!” cried the broker, and Mrs Pa and the Kung family hastily bundled all the waiting presents out of their scarlet envelopes and threw them into the blaze. The little gifts went first: sweets, crackers and cookies vanished into the fire before raining down on the deck of the junk. Then as the fire caught, the proper gifts followed. Flat paper chairs and tables, a handsome parchment bed, the paper stove and pots and pans, everything for the young couple, were consumed by the flames. They would go to the new house, to which Mai and her husband would return. Then the two families threw the money onto the fire, each note bearing the smiling face of the demonic banker, and a fine representation of the Bank of Hell. The people on the junk were briefly obscured in a shower of banknotes, falling like leaves around their feet. At last it was over. The broker clapped her hands and banged the little drum. Mrs Pa saw Mai wince, and gave a sympathetic wave. The tide started to turn.
“Goodbye, mother!” and “Phone me!” Mrs Pa and her pale daughter cried, and then Precious Dragon’s silhouette crew cast off and the sails of the junk caught the incense wind and streamed out, carrying the dead out beyond the western darkness, out of sight.
6
Chen sat towards the end of the table in the restaurant, trying to catch Zhu Irzh’s eye. The demon, who sat opposite, was concentrating on the dissection of his squid. At the head of the table, Captain Sung droned on, reciting endless statistics about the fall in the crime rate, what a success the final year had been, how the murder rate had dropped by fifteen percent …
Mind numbing. And also wrong, because the city’s crime stats were massaged ad nauseam depending on the requirements of Singapore Three’s governor and in any case, all the data had been hopelessly skewed over the course of the last few months as a result of the disasters that had hit the city. With so many dead, a few of them had to be criminals. But here they were, with Zhu Irzh along as well in order to demonstrate the success of the police department’s equal ops policy, for Sung to show off in front of the governor.
Without the equal ops fad, neither Chen nor Zhu Irzh would even be here. Chen had grown used to being the department’s embarrassing little secret, but since he had, effectively, saved the world, Sung had reluctantly recognised that some acknowledgement of his services needed to be made.
And having a demented goddess rampaging through the streets in a chariot drawn by fiery-eyed oxen tended to convince even the most hardened atheist of some evidence of deity.
Unable to attract Zhu Irzh’s attention, Chen glanced at the Governor. Ling was a saturnine, depressed looking man—although admittedly, he had plenty to be depressed about. Not quite as humourless as Chen had always thought, however: he had already made two quite amusing jokes. Chen wondered if they’d been scripted.
“… and of course, our outreach liaison has been immensely successful,” Sung was saying. “Isn’t that so, Inspector Chen?”
What “outreach liaison”? “Absolutely. A tremendous success.” Better agree with him now and sort it out later.
“Chen’s leading the team,” Sung said, beaming like a shark. “Of course, the inspiration for it came from your own pioneering ideas in equal opportunity.”
What? Chen smiled politely and willed himself not to shout. What a waste of time this was—excellent food, to be sure, but he really needed to be back at the station. If he had to go out to dinner, he’d rather do so with his wife, although options for dining out with a female demon were admittedly a trifle limited. He had a mountain of paperwork back at the station, several phone calls to make and besides all the official cases, several of which were quite urgent, there was this odd matter of the young actress who’d gone missing at Paugeng’s party. Chen wanted to discuss this with Zhu Irzh, but the demon had been off on a case of his own these last few days and the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Chen didn’t want to phone Zhu Irzh, because what with the demon’s relationship with Jhai Tserai, security had suddenly become a bit of an issue. Chen did not put it past Jhai to have Zhu Irzh’s phones bugged.
Sung and the Governor were both beaming at one another in mutual admiration. Chen forced himself to attend to what Sung was saying.
“… leading a small group down to Hell on a fact finding mission, after a very kind invitation … current exchange has gone so well that we’re thinking of making it a permanent post.”
That made Zhu Irzh look up from his squid. Chen saw his lips move behind his napkin. Chen? We need to talk.
Now he tells me.
Back at the station, Chen focused on ploughing through that paperwork. As soon as he got rid of one piece, another appeared to take its place: incorrectly filed visa applications for Heaven, a whole slew of Hell-based internet scams. Zhu Irzh had disappeared the moment they’d left the restaurant, called away on some urgent piece of business, apparently. Chen felt frustration mounting and eventually he went down to the locker room and sat in meditation for a few minutes. It helped, but not a lot.
When he came back up to the office, however, he found Zhu Irzh perched on his desk, waiting for him.
“Hi,” the demon said. “Sorry I had to rush off.”
“Not a problem,” Chen said, although it had been. “Sung’s evidently got a bee in his bonnet.”
“About this outreach thing,” Zhu Irzh remarked. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“You’re not the only one. I looked up a few policy statements when I got back. It’s tied in with this equal ops thing. Increased connectivity between the worlds. After that episode with Heaven, the governor apparently started thinking that improving links with Hell might not be a bad idea. There’s a Western saying: better the devil you know.”
The demon grimaced. “I thought Governor Ling already had improved connections with Hell. They’ve been giving him kickbacks for years.”
“No surprises there.” Just for once, Chen thought, he’d like to be taken aback by proof of someone’s innocence.
And strangely, proof was not long in coming.
The demon suggested going for a quiet beer, to talk things over. It sounded like a fine suggestion to Chen, after the end of a long, sticky, tedious day, but as he was on his way out of the door with the demon, Sung hurtled out of his office like a human torpedo and stepped into Chen’s path.
“Chen. Sorry, I can see you’re leaving. Have you got a moment?”—in that tone that suggested it was not optional.
“Both of us? Or just me?” Chen asked. The prospect of a peaceful beer was receding glumly into the distance.
“Both of you.”
Chen and the demon followed Sung into his cramped office and Sung closed the door behind them. To Chen’s surprise, they were not alone in the office, though he had seen no one come past for the last hour. Someone was seated in the chair on the other side of Sung’s desk.
The person was small and slight and pale, smiling beneath a fall of white hair. It was hard to tell at first whether it was male or female, but then it shifted position and Chen glimpsed breasts.
She still wasn’t human, though. An unmistakable, and rather sickly, waft of peach blossom floated across the room from the personage’s pink and white silk robes.
“This,” said Captain Sung, is “Mi Li Qi. She’s from Heaven.” An expression of fleeting alarm crossed his features as he spoke, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said.
“Delighted,” Zhu Irzh drawled. Oh dear, thought Chen. The demon’s last trip to Heaven hadn’t been an unmitigated success. You couldn’t smoke, for a start, and although they clearly tried very hard to be non-discriminatory, Zhu Irzh was, after all, demonic.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Qi,” Chen added.
“And you,” Miss Qi said. She had a voice like a breath of wind, light and airy and slightly tinkling. Chen, seeing that Zhu Irzh was about to say something further, cut him off at the pass.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” he said.
“This equal opportunities policy,” Sung said. Chen had heard
a number of ominous statements in his time (“the assassin is on his way”, “the goddess has gone mad”) but few of them were beginning to strike such fear into his heart as ‘This equal opportunities policy.’ “Chen,” the Captain went on. “You don’t have much on at the moment, do you?”
“Yes,” Chen said.
“So,” Sung continued as though Chen had not spoken, “I thought this was the ideal time to strengthen connectivity, think outside the box in developing our links between the worlds …”
The management course that Sung had been obliged to attend last month had had disastrous results, Chen thought. Prior to that, Sung had been one of those fierce northern steppe people, with a low tolerance rating for bullshit. Now, he was all about ballparks and blue sky thinking. How did they do it? Did they brainwash attendees?
“Miss Qi is here as part of a team,” Sung said. “The Governor would like you to go to Hell as part of a fact-finding mission, work closely with the Ministry of War. The original invitation came through them, for Miss Qi, but Heaven’s insisting that she be escorted and the Ministry have been really very helpful, extended the invitation at once.” He nodded at Zhu Irzh. “Seneschal? How do you feel about a trip home?”
Zhu Irzh shrugged. “I can cope. As long as we don’t have to visit my relatives.”
“Family is most important,” Miss Qi said, in a little disapproving breath.
“Exactly. My family is most important. Just not to me.”
A faint frown creased the denizen of Heaven’s brow. “But—”
“Miss Qi will be coming with us, then?” Chen asked, more to stave off yet another difficult discussion than out of any real attempt to clarify matters.
“She will indeed.”
“What, to Hell?” Zhu Irzh said. It was the demon’s turn to look disapproving. “She’ll be eaten alive.”
Miss Qi’s frown deepened. Sung said, “No, she won’t. Not if she has you to look after her. You’ll be leaving at ten p.m. tomorrow; I’ve sorted out your papers. Chen, any loose ends will be passed on to Ma.”
“Hang on,” Zhu Irzh said. “What about my loose ends? I’m in the middle of a case, you know.”
“I’ll get someone to handle it. Leave the paperwork on your desk and I’ll pass it on.”
“But—”
“Governor’s orders, Zhu Irzh. Although it’s nice to see you being conscientious about things.”
Chen, rather to his shame, became instantly suspicious. It might be nice, but “nice” did not adequately describe Zhu Irzh’s usual modus operandi, which during previous cases had included sleeping with suspects, taking bribes, intimidating witnesses and generally behaving like the vice cop from Hell. Chen did not blame the demon, he knew no better, he was what he was. But nice?
Zhu Irzh subsided, with conspicuous reluctance. Chen sighed.
“What time tomorrow? And why are we going under the aegis of the Ministry of War?”
“You’ll need to be at the Night Harbour for ten in the evening. As for War, I’m not sure. I think it has to do with someone’s governmental contacts. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you could see Miss Qi safely back to her hotel.”
Chen thought of an innocent of Heaven wandering the streets of Singapore Three—one step removed from Hell itself, after all—and mentally quailed. “Of course we will,” he said.
Outside, it was still hot. Miss Qi took a deep breath and staggered slightly. Chen took her arm. “Careful. It can hit you like a hammer when you’re not used to it.”
“If it’s this hot here,” Miss Qi said faintly, “Whatever will it be like in Hell?”
“Hotter,” Zhu Irzh said, not without a trace of satisfaction. Chen looked at the address given to him by the Captain and saw that the hotel was very close to the Opera House. The merest prickle of engineered coincidence stirred his cerebral cortex: that was where the rent boy came from, and the missing girl. No more had come of this and that was typical enough, in this sprawl where young people went missing every day, but somehow he still didn’t like it and that in itself was worrying. He had, long ago, learned to listen to disturbing instincts.
“It’s too far to walk,” he said. “We’ll get a taxi. Zhu Irzh, are you coming, or do you have things to do?” Forget the beer. He’d have enough to cope with during the trip, because Zhu Irzh was bound to get a rise out of needling Miss Qi, so he was hoping that the demon would cry off and head home on his own. Then Chen could see Miss Qi to her hotel and go back to Inari, who might—rightfully—be feeling somewhat neglected. Inari never complained, however, and would deny any feelings of neglect if charged, so it was hard to tell. Anyway, Zhu Irzh had a girlfriend of his own to placate these days.
But the demon disappointed him. “I’ll come along. Why not?”
“I thought you might want to spend the evening with Jhai,” Chen said.
“Jhai—let’s just say that a break won’t do either of us any harm,” Zhu Irzh said. “She’s taking a bit too much for granted.”
“I see.” Chen did not add: rather you than me. He did not like the thought of playing games with Jhai Tserai, but presumably the demon knew her better. He glanced at Miss Qi. The inhabitants of Heaven are much too refined to sweat, but Miss Qi certainly glowed: a wan, ambient light of her own that made her stand shadowless in the glare of the sun.
“Miss Qi, you’re melting,” Chen said. “Let’s get you somewhere cooler.” He stepped out into the street and flagged down a cab.
Interestingly, it transpired that the taxi driver could see neither Zhu Irzh nor Miss Qi. The demon was not infrequently invisible to humans, but Chen wasn’t sure what an inability to see either Hell or Heavenkind betokened. A wilful atheism? Had the taxi driver been able to see mad Senditreya during her rampage through the city? Interesting, but he did not press the point and they arrived at Miss Qi’s hotel in peace. At least they’d put her somewhere pleasant: a small family-run place behind a green stand of trees, at the back of the Opera House. The girl behind the desk seemed to be expecting Miss Qi and greeted her warmly. His duty thus discharged, Chen let the demon talk him into a beer after all.
“So,” Chen said, half an hour later. “This case of yours.” They were sitting in a bar next door to the Opera House; a cramped little place, with hundreds of photos of opera stars adorning the walls.
To his surprise, the demon was relatively forthcoming.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. It’s an odd one. It has to do with Sulai-Ba.”
“What, the temple of Sulai-Ba? It’s a ruin, isn’t it?”
“It is now, yes. In all the worlds—well, I don’t know for sure about Heaven. I should have asked little Miss Qi. But I made enquiries and someone told me that it has been abandoned even in Heaven.”
“I’ve lived here for years,” Chen mused, “and I’ve never known much about Sulai-Ba. It was supposed to be a temple to the goddess of the sea, that much I do know, and it was here long before Singapore Three grew up around it. I heard it suddenly fell into disuse, about twenty years ago.”
“It fell into disuse because the goddess died,” Zhu Irzh said. He curled long fingers around his bottled beer.
“Goddesses don’t die,” Chen said, startled. “At least—well, Senditreya isn’t dead.”
“No, she’s a cow, in Hell. She might work her way back up to being human again one day, if they let her reincarnate. Should think she’s blown her chances of ever being a deity again, though. But this goddess was called Sulai-Ba. She fell in love with a mortal—one of those—but he wouldn’t leave his wife for her, so she killed herself. In such a way that her spirit did not go to Heaven or Hell, or anywhere that anyone knows about. She disincarnated.”
“That’s technically possible,” Chen said. “But it’s very rare. I’ve never heard this story. Where did you learn it?”
“I asked Mhara,” Zhu Irzh said. “Thought a prince of Heaven might know, and sure enough, he did.”
“Fair enough,” Chen said.
“But what does your case have to do with a long-ago dead goddess?”
“I don’t know. You see, Sulai-Ba’s been locked for years, but people have gone in and out of it all the same. And lately, it looks as though the earthquakes jarred something loose, because there’s been a lot of activity around Sulai-Ba: things heard in the night by people who live near it, things seen.”
“What kind of things?”
“Big things.”
“Mmm,” said Chen. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Someone saw something huge flying around Sulai-Ba. Something with wings and a tail.”
“Something dragon-shaped, perhaps?” There was one of those disturbing instincts again, smacking him right in the solar plexus.
“Well, we don’t know that for sure,” the demon said. “It might have been something else—a trapped Storm Lord, for instance.”
“That’s not reassuring. I’d rather have dragons.” Dragons were essentially ancient, civilised creatures, guardians of celestial courts, keepers of old books and forgotten spells. You could reason with a dragon. They weren’t like the Storm Lords, kuei, Hellkind’s centipede law-enforcers.
“The thing is,” Zhu Irzh said, “There aren’t many dragons in China these days. They’re ideologically unsound. Most of them left when the Communists took over. A handful in the mountains, perhaps. But otherwise, they all retreated to Sambalai, a little way off from Heaven.”
“Cloud Kingdom,” Chen said. “I’ve heard of it.”
“So, I don’t know whether it’s a dragon or what it is. But in light of recent events, I thought I’d better check it out.”
“The thing that’s concerning me,” Chen said, “Is this missing girl from the Opera. And I don’t know why. It’s hardly uncommon for those sorts of people to disappear, unfortunately.”