by Liz Williams
“Yes. He’s a technician, but not at Epidemics. He works for Malaises.”
Pin frowned. “How is that different?”
“Malaises aren’t quite so bad. It’s a step down, to be honest. He used to work in Epidemics but he refused to do something—they were working on a contagion and he couldn’t bring himself to do the experiments they asked him to do.” Mai grimaced. “They were horrible, actually. He had to dissect things from the lower levels—everyone says that those sorts of beings can’t feel pain, but I know they can, from what my husband said. So he was sacked and luckily he managed to pick up a job in Malaises, because someone else got fired from there the same week. It’s like that in Hell. We say: dead men’s shoes. That’s a little joke, you see.”
Pin managed a smile. “I’m sorry about your husband,” he said. “But I admire that. I think it was a brave thing to do.”
Mai’s own smile lit up her sickly face. “I think so, too. That’s why I love him,” she said. “Have you finished your porridge? Then perhaps we ought to go.”
In the brassy light of morning, Mai’s part of Hell was run-down and partially ruined, though no worse than some parts of Singapore Three, Pin supposed. An oily canal ran through the backstreets, clogged with rubbish and things that looked dead, but might not have been. Many of the buildings looked like old warehouses, long since derelict and abandoned, their windows lined with broken glass. Some of the roofs were glassy and dripping, as if they had once been melted.
“What happened there?” Pin asked. Mai gave a shrug.
“I don’t know. There’s been a lot of conflict in Hell—mainly between the Ministries. I think War was trying out a new weapon. They used to do that sometimes before the Emperor made them practice somewhere else. And sometimes they missed.”
She fell silent and they walked on, along an alley that led down to the side of the canal.
“I don’t like going down here,” Mai said. “But we don’t have a choice—the other streets were blocked off when one of the buildings collapsed.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Pin started to ask and then he leaped back. Something was rising from the oily water of the canal: a thing with woman’s breasts and am empty gouge where her face should have been. She was covered with glistening black oil but as she rose, the oil oozed away to reveal only the sketchy outline of her form. She held out beseeching, groping hands. Mai motioned Pin back.
“Don’t let her touch you! She’s a hungry ghost, she wants to eat you.”
“With what?” Pin quavered.
There were more of them now, a host of dozens, swarming up from the polluted waters of the canal. Mai and Pin ran, fleeing along the canal side until they reached an alleyway that could take them up into the city and safety. The water ghosts fell behind.
“They’re the spirits of the drowned,” Mai explained. She was panting for breath, but Pin had run faster and harder than he’d ever done in his life and he felt no different. “The ones who did not lead good lives.”
“What a horrible existence,” Pin said.
But as they walked on, in between the wrecked warehouses Pin caught glimpses of a different Hell: little houses, neatly kept, occasionally with a small black lawn and shadowy flowers. And Mai’s own home had been better than anything Pin had ever known. Perhaps he should just stay here, after all.
He was trying to work out how to say this, and how to ask Mai what she thought, when they turned a corner and Pin saw the red sign of a remedy maker ahead of them.
“There it is,” Mai said, pointing. “I think that’s the place—yes, it is. Shi’s.”
Now that they were finally approaching their destination, in spite of the unwelcome attentions of the hungry ghosts, Pin found himself dragging his feet. This was a dreadful place, but he was becoming increasingly unsure that he wanted to go back to his life. Mai, however, did not seem prepared to give him a choice. She ushered him through the door of the remedy shop.
But although the door was open, the shop appeared empty.
“Where is the remedy man?” Mai asked, frowning. She pushed past Pin, leaving him to examine the many fascinating shelves of herbs, roots, insects. In spite of its location, it was very similar to the remedy shops that he had visited with his mother, during her desperate, and unsuccessful, quest for a cure. The remedies had been there, but Pin’s mother had not been able to afford them, any more than she had been able to afford a hospital bed or, before her illness, the insurance to pay for it. It was, she told Pin, just the way things were.
While Mai went back behind the counter to look for the remedy man, Pin picked up a jar and peered inside it. Something was moving, deep within. He put the jar down hastily—just as well, he thought later, because he would probably have dropped it in response to Mai’s shriek.
“Pin!”
Pin ran around the counter in the direction of the shriek and found an open door. It led to what was evidently a storeroom: a dusty place, lined with huge jars. Some of them were cracked and the contents were oozing out over the floor, creating a pungent melange of odours that Pin was a little surprised at being able to smell. Mai stood in the middle of the floor, looking down at a body.
“Pin—he’s dead.”
“Oh dear,” Pin started to say. Unfortunately, this was not the first dead body that he’d seen and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He was about to add that these things happened, before he remembered that this wasn’t Singapore Three, it was Hell, where you were supposed to be dead already.
“What?” he said. “He can’t be.” And then, “How can you tell?”
“Breathing and pulse are obviously not an option,” Mai replied, rather tartly. “Just look at him.”
Pin did as he was told and saw that the remedy man was tiny and old, almost mummified. His body was curled around itself. His skin was stretched tightly over the bones of his face and his open, staring eyes were like small black seeds. His mouth was open, the discoloured tongue protruding.
“He certainly looks dead,” Pin concurred. “But how can he be? This is Hell.”
“Exactly,” Mai said. Her bloodless face looked even paler. “The only powers here who have the ability to kill those who are already dead—not just send them to the lower levels, which is usually what happens—but to kill, are the kuei. This means that the kuei have been here, Pin.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Have been here?” Pin asked sharply, because a sudden icy shiver was crawling through him, not just his spine, but his entire shadowy body. He’d once heard that you know if you’re about to be struck by lightning, that your body senses the bolt before it comes and tries desperately to escape. This felt as he imagined it to be. “Or still are?”
He saw Mai as if through a sheet of heat. Her mouth opened and he thought he saw her say his name. Then her pale eyes opened wide and she looked up, as though her head was being dragged forcibly back. Pin followed her gaze and wished he hadn’t. The dingy roof of the remedy shop was unscrolling like a tin can, revealing a racing storm across the crimson sky. A huge hot wind poured in through the gap, knocking the bottles from the shelves and sending them rolling and tumbling across the floor. All the dust in the storeroom was whirled up into a choking cloud, which took on a vague form of its own, complete with two red eyes. The dust looked upwards, wailed, and fled. Mai was shrieking but Pin could barely hear her above the wind. Then his perspective changed, snapping away, and he saw that what he had considered to be the red eye of the storm was the eye of something huge and living.
The kuei opened an immense pincered mouth and emitted a shrivelling blast of heat. Mai and Pin ducked back behind the fallen jars but Pin felt his essence beginning to unravel, a dreadful tugging sensation. On the other side of it lay nothingness and he knew that his soul was starting to be undone, unpicked from the weave of life and death and dissipated upon the burning air. Mai’s hair streamed out from her head and all at once he could see her component atoms, spinning about their nuclei, like the diagram he
’d once seen on TV. She was being unmade, too, and he felt grief that he had been responsible for snatching away what little life she had.
The kuei opened its mouth once more and Pin, with a last remaining scrap of consciousness, knew that this was the end. Then something cried out, with a vast and desperate love, “No! You shall not!”
Beneath Pin, the floor of the remedy shop opened up. He saw limitless chasms below him and then he and Mai were falling, blazing like a pair of comets into the lower levels of Hell. Even with what lay below, Pin had a sudden sense of exhilaration: they were free, they had escaped. But that was before, twisting, he looked up and saw that he’d been mistaken.
The kuei was coming too.
33
“Sorry about that,” Jhai Tserai said. She was lounging against the opposite wall, absently cleaning the dagger that she’d plucked from the guard’s shrivelling body. Hell was taking its toll on Jhai, Chen observed with interest. It had brought out her true inner form, her tiger nature, the form that Jhai was so keen to conceal from the human authorities of Singapore Three. There were laws against those of demon stock from holding interests on Earth, even if that stock was not from the Chinese version of Hell—not that the regulations couldn’t be surpassed by a generous bribe, Chen was sure. But for whatever reason, Jhai had chosen to do things the hard way. She probably enjoyed the risk.
So now the industrialist still regained her elegant sari, her expensive earrings and delicate bangles, but these were accessorised by tiger claws and tiger teeth. Jhai’s eyes were a deep dark gold, hidden fire, and stripes shadowed her skin. A tail flickered about her ankles.
“What are you doing here?” Jhai’s sudden, lethal, appearance seemed to have rattled Zhu Irzh more than anything else on this trip.
“I got bored,” Jhai said. “Company’s doing its thing, rebuilding is progressing as planned, life was normal. So I thought I’d come and see what you’re doing.”
“Are you checking up on me?” Zhu Irzh said.
“Why? What have you been doing?” Jhai raised a painted eyebrow. “Actually, you don’t have to answer that. I pretty much know.”
“It doesn’t really matter why she’s here, does it?” Chen said, hoping to forestall a domestic tiff. “She saved your life.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” Jhai said. “And it’s lovely to see you, by the way. We never seem to have enough time to chat.” Jhai was always heavy with the charm, but the trouble was that she seemed to mean it.
“Unfortunately, that includes now,” Chen said. “We still haven’t found Qi and the Ministry knows we’re here.”
“You haven’t found your Heavenly friend,” Jhai said. “But I have. I took a quick detour while you were hanging about commenting on the décor back there. She’s one level down, in a holding cell. It was pretty obvious who she was. That peach blossom smell’s a dead giveaway.”
“Is she all right?” Chen said, and at the same time Zhu Irzh asked, “Why didn’t you free her?”
“Too many guards,” Jhai said. “And I don’t know whether she’s all right or not. She was sitting up and she didn’t look pleased.”
“We need to get down there,” Chen said.
“All right,” Jhai agreed with a shrug. “No time like the present, eh?” And with a flick of her tiger tail, she jumped through the hole in the floor. Zhu Irzh, with a curse, started after her.
Following, Chen descended into a passage very similar to the ones through which they had just come, but more dimly lit. As Underling No dropped through the hole, the light from above was abruptly cut off as the hole closed. Jhai led the way down the passage, moving swiftly. Chen and the others followed.
“I can’t believe she’s bloody here,” Zhu Irzh muttered. “She followed me! Can you credit that?”
“She must care more than you think,” Chen said. He didn’t want to get caught up in a disagreement between Zhu Irzh and Jhai. He had a feeling Jhai might win.
“That’s the trouble,” Zhu Irzh said.
“I heard that,” Jhai remarked, without turning round. She put out a warning hand. “Careful.”
It wasn’t clear whether she was referring to the circumstances or to her dispute with Zhu Irzh. They had come to another door, and the sibilance of voices beyond it. Chen checked for magic—an inward turning, a moment of focus—and to his consternation, found none there. The Ministry had blocked him.
“I’m useless, magically,” he said quietly to Zhu Irzh. Underling No turned, frowning.
“But you can still fight, yes?”
“Yes, to some extent. I’m trained in Hsing-I. They teach it to the infantry on Earth.” No defensive manoeuvres, no blocks. Just a fast forward striking, lethal in the right—or the wrong—hands.
“Good,” No said with evident relief. Chen wondered what she’d do if she ever met someone who was not capable of fighting. Perhaps she would literally be unable to see them.
“You’re going to need it,” Jhai said. “I think the Ministry’s marshalling its troops. There are at least six guards in there.”
“And more on the way,” Zhu Irzh said. Just as he spoke, Chen could hear feet running along the corridor, behind them. No choice, then.
“In,” he said.
Jhai kicked the door open and dived. Inside, something shrieked. Blood, black and sticky, spattered Chen’s face as he went after her. Zhu Irzh brought the scimitar down and around in a sweeping rush and cut two of the guards in half. The whole room stank of sudden rot.
“Inspector!” a familiar voice cried. “Seneschal!”
Jhai had been right about one thing, then. They’d found Qi.
“Let me out!” the Celestial demanded. Chen struck a guard hard above the eye, let her crumple. He rushed to the cell and started tearing at the lock, eventually ripping it free from the wall, which began a slow seep and bleed.
“Miss Qi, are you all right?”
The Celestial turned to Chen with eyes the colour of bruises. A dreadful weight hung over her like a psychic pall.
“No,” Miss Qi replied.
But she did not have time to explain further. A guard was on them, stabbing out with a needle dagger. Miss Qi knocked the dagger from her hand, seized the guard by the throat and the jaw and with careful deliberation, tore off her head.
“Wow,” said Jhai, momentarily distracted. “She’s not as delicate as she looks, is she?”
Miss Qi gave Jhai Tserai a look of deep disdain. Her usual humility seemed to have disappeared, scoured by recent events. “I am a Celestial warrior. Deal with it.”
The guards fell back, and Chen felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction, before realising why. There wasn’t any need for the guards to risk further destruction. More of the insect-eyed women were pouring into the chamber, carrying bows. Chen and his companions were confronted by a ring of glittering arrowheads. The ring split, briefly, to let a woman walk through.
She wore rubies. Her hair was as red as blood and so were her slanted eyes and full lips. Her garnet tongue flicked out, thick as a toad’s, and the air became dreamy and filled with desire. Chen hadn’t been so much at the mercy of his hormones since he was a teenager; he took a deep breath and concentrated on a zen meditation. Behind him, he heard Jhai give a small snort and Miss Qi was blushing furiously.
“Visitors!” said the Minister of Lust.
Chen had, on a couple of occasions, been invited to parties where someone had tried to kill him. But he’d never found himself facing a swathe of weapons only to be invited to a party. He mentioned this to his companions.
“Believe me, it won’t be much of a party,” Underling No said bitterly from across the cell. “More like an orgy.”
Jhai, lying flat on a bench and to all intents and purposes asleep, murmured, “It might even be entertaining.”
“You don’t understand,” No said. “The only ones doing any entertaining will be us.”
Chen could not avoid glancing at Miss Qi, who sat statue-still with her face turned to t
he wall. He had not yet dared ask what had happened to her.
“Use it as an opportunity,” Zhu Irzh said. “We’ll be together, presumably, and we’ll be free to move about.”
“How do you know that?” No demanded. “How do you know that they won’t tie us up in some kind of bondage session?”
“I don’t,” Zhu Irzh said, discomfited, “but we have to think positively.”
“To be brutally frank,” said Chen. “It’s hard to think at all around the Minister.”
“I’d forgotten that you hadn’t met Su Yi,” Zhu Irzh said. “She’s difficult to deal with. For obvious reasons.”
“Well, I don’t find her remotely attractive,” Jhai said. “All that red is so last century. And that sexual magnetism is a well known trick of the trade—you take pheromonal enhancers to boost your appeal.”
“One assumes that you would know?” Underling No said, but politely.
“I would, actually. I come from a long line of Keralan courtesan demons. We know how to big it up, if you’ll pardon the expression. Normally, I take suppressants to dim it down: it’s not very helpful in the lab. And I don’t think it’s terribly business-like, to be honest.”
“If that’s the case,” Chen said, “Then is there any more indirect way in which you might be able to fight the Minister? After all, you’re not taking the suppressants now, are you?”
“No,” Jhai said. She opened her golden eyes and stared at Chen. “That’s an interesting suggestion.”
“Moving between the worlds changes people,” Chen said. “My magic is different down here. Zhu Irzh’s abilities alter when he comes to Earth. And it’s impossible not to notice that your own inner nature is more strongly aspected, the longer you’re here. You’re more tiger than you were when I first saw you a while ago.”
“It’s definitely bringing it out of me,” Jhai agreed. “But I’m not losing sentient awareness. I’m still me. And it has a limit, obviously. A few more stripes and I’ll be there.”