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MING I:
The Darkening of the Light

Nine

In the fashionably muted atrium of Paugeng, Zhu Irzh found that Jhai Tserai was unavailable. The young man behind the reception desk seemed entirely unfazed by the demon's presence. He smiled warmly at Zhu Irzh. The subtext said: We're so happy to see you. What a welcome visitor you are. It made Zhu Irzh smile. They all got it from Jhai Tserai, who was apparently picky about details, especially those regarding quality management. Top down.

The young receptionist told Zhu Irzh that he was most welcome to stay and wait. Perhaps he would like to wait in the guest suite? There was a pool (green, cool, a length of water submerged between the fronds of ferns; you could swim with the soothing carp in the pond). The demon's mouth watered at the thought, a surprising physiological reaction, but some perversity made him decline.

"No thanks. I think I'll go and explore the port."

The receptionist managed to convey to Zhu Irzh that this was absolutely fine. If the demon had announced his intention to immolate himself on the front steps he would, he presumed, have evoked a similar response. He smiled and left.

Outside, a wall of sticky heat hit him. At the edge of the port, a battered tin sign announced the presence of a café. The demon hesitated for a moment, then went down some steps and was disorientingly out in the open again, in a small and dusty side street. Two boys were cooking something in a large, flat pan over an open fire. Both of them looked up and wary recognition flickered across their faces. They could see him, then. That betokened some evidence of magical training—Paugeng and the police precinct could afford expensive wards to bring visibility to supernatural intruders; out here in the slums, you were on your own. But there was a vacancy to the boys' faces that suggested they were simple. Under a corrugated iron awning, an old woman dozed, her seamed, beige face nodding above a stiff, black collar.

"It's all right," the demon said. "I'm not here to hurt you." The boys grinned up at him. He estimated they had about six teeth between them.

"Tschai?" a boy said without preamble. After a moment, this made sense.

"Thanks. I'd love some tea." The demon squatted on his heels beside them, fastidiously flicking the skirts of his silk coat out of the dust with his tail. The older child pottered to the back of the shop and produced a vast iron kettle, from which a thick, chocolate-colored liquid emerged. He handed the warm glass to Zhu Irzh, who thought of ice: ice and mint and pale green drinks. Actually, the tea was refreshing, although there was a peculiar aftertaste which he couldn't quite get hold of. He smiled and nodded at the boys; they smiled and nodded back; the grandmother woke up and everyone smiled and nodded at everyone else. It was all very friendly. He sipped the tea and consulted his watch. One of the boys came to with a start. He spoke to the old woman. The grandmother retreated into the depths of the shop and staggered out again with a large box. The demon watched curiously. She set the box in a niche, where some of the plaster had been gouged out of the wall, gave a bouncing bow and opened the hinged doors of the box. Inside, a portrait gazed out at Zhu Irzh: dark, upturned eyes beneath elegant brows, an aquiline nose, a smiling mouth. The earlobes were stained red. Grandmother picked up the stub of a scarlet candle and lit it. Fake flowers surrounded the icon, along with a greeting card featuring violets, a chocolate bar and a small blue bottle. The grandmother noticed Zhu Irzh's transfixed stare.

"Yes!" she croaked at him. "You know her! Everyone does." She pointed to the Paugeng tower, the home of the object of her reverence. Imperial Majesty! thought the demon. The corporate executive as religious icon. He must remember not to underestimate Jhai Tserai.

On returning to Paugeng, he was told that Jhai was now available, and would see him shortly. Zhu Irzh was whisked into the upper reaches of the tower in a mirrored lift, which gave him the opportunity to correct any minor details of his person that failed to pass muster. It was fortunate, the demon reflected with a trace of distaste, that his particular brand of Hellkind did not sweat. Humans were really quite unfortunate in that respect. He plucked a stray hair from his silk collar, and the lift came imperceptibly to a halt. Zhu Irzh stepped out into a leafy atrium, almost as large as the hallway below. A demure, smiling secretary, his hair fashionably long, greeted him. Zhu Irzh glanced at the young man with approval; it seemed Tserai had excellent taste.

"She'll be right with you," the young man said.

"Excellent." Zhu Irzh was ushered into a pleasant lounge overlooking the port. A hazy afternoon sun shimmered through tinted glass and there was a clean smell, partly antiseptic, partly floral. A bank of orchids stood along one wall, engineered into fantastic creations. At the far end of the room, a voice said, "Seneschal Zhu Irzh, I understand?"

The demon turned to see a young woman stepping through the double doors. He recognized her immediately; he had, after all, just seen her face in iconic representation. In person, however, Jhai Tserai seemed to glow. She wore a saffron sari; gold sparked at her wrists and throat. She glided, smiling, down the length of the room and extended a languid hand in the Western manner. Zhu Irzh took her long, cool fingers and immediately felt as though someone had slipped a soft, gentle hand against his groin. The sensation was unexpected, wonderful, and entirely inappropriate. Jhai Tserai's hand closed briefly around his own fingers, but the touch was experienced somewhere else entirely. How did she do that? Zhu Irzh wondered through the red mist in his head. Some kind of pheromonal enhancement perhaps. Still, he wasn't about to complain.

To his intense relief, Jhai released his hand and stepped back. Desire receded to a part of Zhu Irzh's mind where it could be unpacked later and examined in detail. He took a deep, shaky breath. The industrialist was regarding him with some amusement; he realized, with dim horror, that Jhai Tserai was well aware of the effect that she had just achieved. Flustered, the demon said quickly, "I've come with regard to a sad matter, I'm afraid. Do you know a young lady named Deveth Sardai?"

Jhai's eyebrows rose. "I do indeed. We were in school together. I've known her for years. In fact," she added in a murmur, "I'm pleased you're here." She leaned forward confidentially to meet the demon's eyes and Zhu Irzh was astounded to find himself blushing.

"Are you?"

"I was beginning to worry," Jhai said, suddenly earnest. "I couldn't help feeling that something might have happened to her. Deveth and I keep in irregular touch—sometimes we see a lot of each other; sometimes our social lives take us in different orbits; you know how it is . . . We're all so busy these days and it's hard to catch up with old friends, no matter how much one might want to. But a young girlfriend of hers told me that she hadn't seen Deveth for days, and naturally, I was becoming rather concerned." She reached out and put her hand briefly over Zhu Irzh's own, as if readying herself to be brave. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid she's dead," the demon said, watching Jhai narrowly. It was hard to concentrate. His hand was still warm where she had touched him.

Jhai stared at him. "Dead? How? Oh Goddess, don't tell me she overdosed." She put a hand to her mouth in dismay.

"Was she in the habit of using drugs?" Zhu Irzh asked, evading the question.

Jhai frowned. "I don't like to speak ill of a friend, but I must be honest. I knew it would get her into trouble one day. She took a lot of opium, sometimes coke, sometimes the new, more experimental stuff . . ." She sat down on one of the overstuffed leather couches and patted it, inviting the demon to sit by her side. "Can I be honest with you?"

"I'd rather you were," Zhu Irzh replied dryly.

"The girlfriend. Robin Yuan. You see, Seneschal, I believe in giving the more disadvantaged members of our community a chance, and Robin's been a good, solid worker. But I do keep a very close eye on my personnel, and lately, well, she's been behaving a little erratically. I made a few discreet enquiries, and there have been suggestions—nothing more than rumors, mind—that Robin has a history of dealing. Nothing on the police books, she's never been charged, but there are—rumors. Now if this has led to poor Deveth's death—"

"Is Robin here today?"

"I'm afraid she's off sick at the moment," Jhai said firmly. "Seneschal, please—don't think that I'm casting suspicion on Robin. It's just that it's better to be open about these things, even if it casts doubt on myself as an employer."

Her beautiful eyes were guileless, but Zhu Irzh was left in no doubt that suspicion was exactly what Jhai had intended to cast. His admiration rose. The girl would do well in Hell, no doubt about it. And she was still having this unfortunate effect upon him . . . desire was washing over him in waves, making it difficult to think. If the interview got protracted, he'd have to make an excuse to visit the bathroom and do something about it, undignified though this might be. Any notions he might have had of dominating this particular interview were well past their sell-by date.

The secretary glided in with tea. Zhu Irzh sipped it, wondering absently what variety it might be; it had a faint sweetness, like decay, but it was not unpleasant and it helped to clear his head a little.

"I'm terribly sorry," he heard himself saying. "But in fact, it wasn't an overdose. I'm afraid your friend was murdered."

Jhai went cold and still. "Tell me what you know," she whispered. Zhu Irzh gave her an edited version of events, omitting the missing body. Despite the ache in his groin, he managed to extract from her a reasonable summary of her recent movements, but it was a formality and they both knew it. The woman who owned Paugeng would have little trouble in buying an alibi. The demon wound the interview to a close, and rose to leave.

"I'm very grateful to you," Jhai said softly. She reached out and touched his arm. He looked down into her eyes, and saw a dark golden glitter in their depths. She leaned forward again. His mouth brushed the air, and she stepped back. "I know you'll find the person responsible for this," she said, as the secretary appeared to show him to the door, and even through the haze of need and desire, Zhu Irzh thought he glimpsed the unmistakable odor of a threat.

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Framed