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Forty-Four

Zhu Irzh seemed to have recovered his exuberance along with a return to health. They had now been making their way through the Pleasure Quarter for some twenty minutes, and despite Chen's protestations, Zhu Irzh still wouldn't stop talking. Since the demon was clearly too streetwise to use names, the conversation was not only one-sided but cryptic in the extreme.

"—remarkable how they thought they could pull a stunt like this without anyone noticing," he said over his shoulder, as they passed a stall selling deep-fried knucklebones. "After all, it's hardly as though they don't have enemies. Such conceit! And such carelessness, too—the only reason that the relationship between the worlds has survived as long as it has is because of mutual self-interest and support."

"You mean your people set up deals with powerful humans and bleed the rest dry," Chen remarked at the demon's retreating back.

"Well, precisely! What other arrangement did you have in mind? The whole justification for having such a bureaucratic system in the first place is so that balance is maintained, and so that one institution doesn't benefit at the expense of all others. Imagine the chaos that would ensue on Earth and in Hell if the Ministry of War were perpetually triumphant! Humans would be decimated and half of Hell would be out of a job." Zhu Irzh ducked under an awning of sinews and waited for Chen and the badger to catch up.

"How's your hand?" Chen asked, to stem the flow of socio-economic analysis. The demon waved it negligently at him.

"Fine now, thank you. I really am most obliged, Detective Inspector."

"Good. Where did you say we were headed?"

"First, to my employer. As I explained to you, the notion of further investigating our friends at the You Know Where is an excellent one, but having been assaulted by an entity masquerading as my own saucepan in my own front room, I am somewhat loathe to do so without reinforcements of some kind. Hence we are going to visit my employer."

"By which you mean the Vice Division?"

"Actually, ah, no." Zhu Irzh's face betrayed some slight unease. "Although Vice is, indeed, my principal employer, I've recently been co-opted by someone else. I'd rather not name names now, if you don't mind. One never knows who might be listening."

He led Chen down a further warren of side streets. They had left the Pleasure Quarter behind, now, and were making their way through the shadowy, unlit streets of one of the residential quarters of Hell. This region seemed to Chen to be aiming at a certain degree of bourgeois respectability: each small house bore a neat, black lawn, like an undertaker's apron, and he could see a familiar corpse-light neon flicker within.

"You have television here?" he whispered to Zhu Irzh. Somehow, this was an aspect of Hell that had passed him by. The demon merely grinned.

"Who do you think invented it? Some of your finest technological advances emanate from the laboratories of Hell, after all. Not all of them have been granted their export licenses yet, if what I understand from my cousin in Customs and Excise is correct, but once the paperwork's been sorted out I'm sure you'll find your world makes a few further technical strides. . . Through here."

Chen followed him through a small, dark park. Dim lights glistened in the shadows, and there was a faint, unpleasant sound of whispering. A soft, sucking noise drew Chen's attention, but Zhu Irzh drew him away.

"That's what the Vice Division likes to see," he murmured. "Young people out enjoying themselves. . . Another couple of blocks and we'll be there."

Turning the corner, Chen saw that they were now standing in a wide square, lined on one side by spiked iron railings. A pair of tall and imposing gates led onto the square itself; surprisingly, these were open. Zhu Irzh frowned.

"Unusual."

"Is this where your employer lives?"

Absently, the demon nodded. "Yes, but his security's generally pretty good—they only let me in because I've got a pass."

"We'd better take a look," Chen murmured. He followed Zhu Irzh's cautious, sideways path towards the gates. They were flanked by a small guardhouse, presumably the place where security normally stood, but it was empty. The headless body of a winged, doglike creature still clung to the peaked roof of the guardhouse. The badger-teakettle gave a long, low growl.

"What do you think that was?" Chen asked.

"Ro'ei," replied Zhu Irzh, staring up at the corpse. "Like a security camera. Someone's made sure it can't see much anymore. . . Follow me."

He angled around the gates, careful not to touch the glistening iron, and Chen followed his example. They were now standing at the top of a short drive, paved with a white, smooth substance that Chen at first thought to be stone. Then he realized.

"Bone paving," he said aloud.

Zhu Irzh nodded. "My employer's not short of cash. You should see the inside of the house." He gestured towards the mansion that stood at the end of the driveway, and Chen's eyebrows rose. The curling, lacquered roofs and gilded gargoyles were impressive enough, and so was the immense colonnade which ran the length of the facade, but it was the height of the building that Chen found so remarkable. It must have been at least nine stories high: the size of a small office block, and every inch encrusted with ornate decoration. Typical of Hell, thought Chen: overdone and ostentatious and overwhelming, designed to cow an already beaten populace.

"Wow," he said. The demon grinned sympathetically.

"It is a bit excessive, isn't it?"

"Who does it belong to?"

"My employer is the First Lord of Banking. Head of the Ministry of Wealth. He—" Zhu Irzh broke off and grabbed Chen by the arm, dragging him backwards into the spiny bushes. The gates were opening. Crouching uncomfortably in the shrubbery with the badger at his feet, Chen stared, aghast, at what was coming through.

The creature was covered in thick, black scales. Eyes like stars glittered beneath heavy brow ridges and its clawed feet grated against the bone surface of the driveway. It was at once more horse than dragon, and more dragon than horse, depending on the angle from which you viewed it. A surprisingly anomalous array of ebony plumes nodded above its elongated head; its bridle was encrusted with silver. It was drawing a carriage: a huge, round construction that seemed on continual verge of toppling over. As this ensemble rushed past towards the house, Chen glimpsed a pale, pinched face peering out from behind the veils that concealed the carriage window, and there was the unmistakable reek of decay.

"The Ministry of Epidemics?" Chen whispered.

"I think so. Certainly smells like it."

"Why are they here?" They were crushed so closely together in the midst of the bushes that Chen felt, rather than saw, Zhu Irzh shake his head.

"I've no idea. Someone from the Ministry paid my employer a visit a day or so ago: they're keeping a close eye on each other."

"And you said your employer is the First Lord of Banking? I've never had any dealings with him."

"My family has ancient associations with the Ministry of Wealth. In fact, it was a bit of a scandal when I decided to go into Vice—my dad thought it was too respectable—but we patched it up. I don't know why they've come—" Chen nudged him sharply in the ribs. Others were coming through the gates: a battalion of the troops of Hell. They marched in the traditional rows of three abreast: they carried pikes, and their swords were swung over their shoulders. They moved with the spiky lurch of insects, though their feet were invisible beneath the long leather armor. Chen could see their faces only dimly: desiccated human brows and noses above loose, toothed jaws. Zhu Irzh's grip tightened on his arm as they passed, but Chen had already seen it. Each warrior bore a badge upon his arm: a sun, in eclipse. The sign of the High Imperial Court of Hell.

Zhu Irzh clasped Chen by both arms and hauled him backwards through the shrubbery until they were standing on the lawn. Mouthing, "Come with me," the demon ran in the direction of a nearby pergola, keeping to the shadows. Chen followed. He could still hear the sound of the coach as it thundered up the drive, and as he joined the demon beneath an arbor shrouded with the heavy scent of blood-roses he saw the coach sweep around the side of the house and come to such an abrupt halt that splinters of bone sprayed out beneath its wheels. Lights were going on inside the mansion, until the vast structure was lit up like the Pellucid Island Opera House. A moment later, a figure appeared on the balcony. Chen saw that it was wrapped in what looked like a bulky dressing gown, and from its curious gait he determined that its feet were reversed. This person was one of the honored ones of Hell, then. As he watched, the figure shimmered, as if seen behind a haze of heat: a protective spell had been cast.

"Is that the First Lord?" he whispered to Zhu Irzh.

"I think so." Zhu Irzh poked him in the back. "Look."

Someone was getting ponderously out of the coach. This person wore stiff, pale robes, and moved with a heavy, rolling stride. The dragon-horse snorted restlessly as he passed. The odor of disease momentarily overcame the drenching scent of the blood-roses.

"I think that's the Minister of Epidemics," Zhu Irzh murmured.

"This is serious then. Demons of that status don't normally leave their own institutions. They don't have to."

"Unlike their minions," Zhu Irzh remarked bitterly.

"Sshh! He's saying something."

The Minister's voice drifted across the gardens like a plague cloud.

"I am here on the authority of his Imperial Majesty! You are to surrender this property and all its works to the Ministry of Epidemics, my own organization, without ado. Failure to comply will result in the immediate forced appropriation of your assets."

"This is monstrous!" the First Lord of Banking cried from behind the haze of his spell. "I protest in the strongest possible terms."

"So you are refusing to comply with my authority?"

"I most certainly am!"

The Minister of Epidemics motioned to the Imperial warriors, who now surrounded the house.

"Bind it!"

The warriors who stood closest to the balcony raised thin, spidery hands. A tangle of wet, black silk shot forth and clung to the lacquered underside of the balcony. The First Lord of Banking hissed like a viper, and stepped from within the protective spell. A bolt of light shot from his hand, severing the sticky silk with explosive force. Fragments of charred cobweb rained down upon the garden. The First Lord of Banking seized a metal staff from a shadowy associate and sent it spinning through the air. It howled as it flew towards the Minister of Epidemics, who hastily erected a protective spell of his own. Deflected, the staff whirled away and struck the Minister's coach with a resounding report. The coach fell neatly into two halves. The dragon-horse reared and bolted, dragging the wreckage of the coach behind it as it fled through the gardens, leaping the ponds and bridges with ease. The Minister raised a gloved hand and sent a meteoric bolt of light into the nearest pond. The flailing golden bodies of carp were catapulted into the air as if dynamited, and the entire garden began to smell pervasively of fish.

"My carp!" the First Lord of Banking cried, enraged. "Do you know how much those cost?"

"Doubtless more than your miserable life!" replied the Minister. "I'll see you in the menstrual pits for this!"

As if on cue, the Imperial warriors raised their hands, and silk shot from their palms to form an immense web that hovered over the mansion for a moment before settling down upon the roof. Chen heard the First Lord of Banking give a single, muffled cry before the black threads began to weave a swift and complex cradle around the building. The Minister raised a hand. There was a dark bolt of lightning, the signature of a reversed spell, and the figure of the First Lord toppled wailing from the balcony to land in the seething waters of the pond below. Soon, the mansion of the First Lord of Banking resembled a huge insect: trapped in the mesh of a vast web and ready to be sucked dry. The Minister of Epidemics gave a soft snort of laughter, and wiped his wet mouth. He snapped his fingers in the direction of the Imperial Guards, four of whom trotted forwards and picked him up. Borne on their bony shoulders, the Minister of Epidemics was carried swiftly back down the drive, leaving the silent cocoon of the mansion behind him.

 

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Framed