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PART SIX

Fifty-Three

 

Hell

"Here it is," Zhu Irzh said with satisfaction. They had paused before an immense pair of metal-paneled doors, bearing the legend RECORDS OFFICE on a small, bronze plaque.

"Careful," Chen said as Zhu Irzh made to open the door. "You don't know what's in there."

The demon waved a hand and replied, "Don't worry about it. I know these departments. The only people who'll be in here are a few clerks."

Cautiously, he opened the door, and came face to face with the lipless, fire-blackened visage of the Imperial alchemist. Behind the alchemist—silent except for the rhythmic clicking of their jaws, and entirely filling the vast vault of the Records Office—were row after row of Imperial troops.

Immediately, Zhu Irzh moved to slam the door shut, but it was torn out of his hands by the alchemist's scorched claw. The alchemist uttered a shriek of fury and triumph and swung the black blade of the machete downwards. Zhu Irzh ducked; the blade buried itself in the metal door. The alchemist roared again, wrenching the blade free with a squeal of tortured metal that made Chen's teeth sing in his head. The front row of troops gave a great bound, springing forwards on curiously jointed heels. Zhu Irzh kicked upward, catching the alchemist on the wrist. The last loosely attached shards of flesh and bone came apart and the alchemist's hand, still grasping the machete, clattered to the floor. The alchemist wailed aloud: a thin, eerie sound like a screaming frog. He raised his good hand in command: fire shot from it, once more singeing Chen's hair and setting alight the skirts of the demon's much-maligned coat. Chen lifted his rosary, stilled his breath in his pounding chest and began to chant. Zhu Irzh snatched off the coat, balled up the flaming bundle and hurled it into the alchemist's face. Then he drew his sword, slicing across the alchemist's midriff. The alchemist folded over the sword like a broken puppet, only to snap up again moments later. He opened his mouth wide and a gout of flame shot from it, still stinking of chemicals from the laboratory. In the split second before he dived to the floor, Chen realized how the alchemist had survived the fire: he had simply swallowed it. The protective chant diverted the blast of flame, which roared upwards and torched the drapes of the hall. Chen rolled beneath the blast of heat; came up on his feet on the opposite side of the hallway. Zhu Irzh was still slashing at the alchemist; the fire had missed him. The Imperial troops took another leap and this time their efforts landed them in the blazing hallway. Chen found himself facing two huge warriors; the time had come for flight.

"Zhu Irzh!" Chen shouted, evading the slash of an axe blade. "Leave it! Run!" He turned to bolt down the corridor and this time found himself facing the Minister of Epidemics. The Minister's face was distorted and purple with rage. Any thoughts that the Minister might still want them alive were dispelled in the next instant.

"Kill them both!" the Minister roared. "Kill them now!"

But at that point the fire abruptly hissed out. A great cold wind blew through the hallway, scattering the Imperial troops like so many ninepins, and Chen's breath was sucked out of him as violently as if he had been shoved through an airlock. Someone struck him, knocking him against the wall, and Chen recognized Zhu Irzh's gaping face. The doors of the Records Office slammed shut, trapping the Imperial troops behind them. The alchemist collapsed like a bag of bloody bones, and Chen could breathe again.

And three people were sprawling in the wreckage of the hallway.

 

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Framed