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SIX

Chen sat toward 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 decline in the crime rate, what a success the previous 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 recognized that some acknowledgement of his services needed to be made.

And 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 the existence 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 humorless as Chen had always thought, however, the governor had already made two quite amusing jokes. Chen wondered if they'd been scripted.

" . . .and our outreach liaison has been immensely successful," Sung was saying. "Isn't that so, Detective 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. He had a mountain of paperwork, 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. And anyhow, 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.

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 plowing 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, I'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 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 wander 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. He 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 has been really very helpful, extending 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 Harbor by 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 Chen 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? Again, 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. I 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, civilized 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."

"What concerns 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."

The demon narrowed golden eyes. "It isn't. But I know what you mean. I had a dream last night in which we were wandering through Hell, looking for her, but she wasn't there."

"It reminds me of Pearl Tang," Chen said. He smiled, remembering the first case that he and Zhu Irzh had worked on together. "There must be something about young female spirits that leads to trouble."

"Of course there is," the demon said gloomily. "They're women, aren't they?"

"Well, there is that," Chen admitted, thinking of Inari and feeling just a little treacherous. Goddess knew that Inari had caused trouble enough, poor love. But she hadn't meant to.

"I think we need to talk to that boy again," Zhu Irzh remarked. "I called the Opera, by the way. The girl hasn't shown up."

"We're next door," Chen said. "And there's no time like the present. In fact, there really isn't, because I've no idea how long Sung expects us to remain in Hell on this bloody fact-finding thing."

"As long as it takes, I suppose." The demon downed the last of his beer and stood up. "Okay, let's do it."

Chen was not a lover of opera per se but he had always been rather fascinated by the life of the Opera House. Backstage was another world, of giant chrysanthemums, huge cardboard clouds, twirling parasols. It smelled of face powder and cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. Zhu Irzh was smiling.

"This is fun!"

"It's got a certain charm," Chen said. He addressed a passing stagehand. "Excuse me. I'm looking for a young man named Pin."

"Oh. The flute player. You're looking for him." The stagehand gave what could only be described as a smirk. "Very popular, he is."

"We're with the police department," Chen said.

"Done something, has he? Doesn't surprise me. Always thought he was up to no good. I—"

"Actually, he hasn't done anything," Chen said. "It's about a witness statement. Now, is he here or not?"

"Don't ask me. You'd need to speak to his chorus director."

"Then we'll do that," Chen said, with a faint degree of froideur.

"Why, no," the chorus director said, once they'd tracked her down. "I'm afraid he hasn't been in for the last couple of days. I was really becoming quite concerned." She perched on the edge of her chair, blinking behind large spectacles, her legs demurely crossed at the ankles.

Chen frowned. Miss Jhin's protestation of concern seemed genuine—a nice woman, in his professional assessment, probably born into respectability but fallen on hard times. There was something a little faded about her.

"Where does Pin live?" Chen asked her.

"Why, here, at the Opera. A lot of them do, if they've been orphaned—Pin's mother died, you see, a few years ago. She'd been one of our chorus girls, and Pin knew all the traditional songs, so it seemed natural for us to take him on. But—you see, there are so many people here, it's so busy—I should have realized sooner he was missing." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm making excuses for myself, aren't I?"

"I'm sure you did your best," Chen said. "I don't mean to alarm you, but when was Pin last seen?"

"When he went to the party."

"What party was this? Do you mean the one at Paugeng?"

To Chen's surprise, Miss Jhin blushed a deep, rusty red. "No. You see, the young people are very popular, and they get asked out a lot. Of course, we're careful, but if they are over age, then—"

Chen was beginning to get the picture. "I see. Who was it who held the party?"

"It was at a club. Called Cloudland, I believe. The manageress phoned me to arrange it."

Zhu Irzh leaned forward in his seat. "Cloudland? That's a demon lounge."

"Is it, now?" Chen asked, intrigued and appalled. He'd visited a demon lounge on a number of occasions in his career and none of them had turned out particularly well.

"Yes, and quite a famous one, too. I've heard mention of it in Hell—" At this point Miss Jhin gave a little squeak, although she must have been aware of the demon's origins, since she was evidently able to see him clearly enough.

"And Pin didn't come back?"

Miss Jhin blinked again. "Well—I don't know that he didn't. I'm afraid I wasn't here when the party was due to end—he was only booked for a couple of hours. But he wasn't here the next day. I thought that perhaps he'd taken the day off . . ." Her voice trailed away.

Taken the day off in order to recover, Chen thought. He supposed that he ought to caution Miss Jhin for what was, essentially, pimping, but he doubted whether she had any real control over the process, and anyway, he didn't have the heart. Perhaps Zhu Irzh's way of doing things was contaminating the world around him.

"If he does come back," Chen said, "Or the girl—Ming?—then perhaps you'd like to call me? Here's my number."

Miss Jhin took the business card from Chen's hand as though she thought it might bite. "Thank you," she said, uncertainly. "I'll call you the moment I hear anything." Her expression became a little firmer. "Detective—I should make something plain. Pin is a good boy. He's only a—I mean, he does what he does because they're all so badly paid here at the Opera." She lowered an already breathy voice. "I'm speaking out of turn, but—it's different if you get one of the big roles, of course, but down in the chorus . . . Pin is a nice boy, really. I try to do what I can, but—if anything's happened to him . . ." Chen had the terrible feeling that she was about to burst into tears. He patted her hand.

"I know you've done your best," he said. Over Miss Jhin's shoulder, he discerned a gleam in the demon's eye, which suggested that Zhu Irzh might be about to disagree, just for the sake of it, so he added hastily, "You'll let us know, won't you?" and got to his feet.

Outside, it was still light, but only just: a deep crimson seam above the great dome of the Opera House. Chen was anxious to get back home to Inari, and Zhu Irzh, too, seemed fidgety.

"What did you think?" Chen asked.

The demon surprised him. "She's lying," he said.

"Are you sure? I didn't get that impression. I thought she was rather a nice woman, although she's working in a fairly sordid environment."

"She is a nice woman." Zhu Irzh made it sound like some kind of moral failing. "But she's still lying and I don't know what about, and I don't know why."

"Well, you might be right," Chen said. The demon's instincts were often spot on, and Goddess knew that he was sensitive to deceit, having perpetrated so much of it. "Do you think—" But what he had been about to say was to remain unuttered. There was a sudden whirlwind flurry in the oleander bushes alongside the Opera House. A thousand needles stung Chen's skin; instinctively, he threw an arm across his eyes. Then there came the billow of silk as Zhu Irzh flung his coat over the pair of them. A huge, hot wind ripped at Chen's hair and a roaring voice cried, "Not! Shall not!" Through tearing eyes Chen looked up, snatching at his rosary. Something enormous towered over them, something with insect joints and a head like a hammer. A red pinwheel eye whirled, sending out hot sparks. The image was sustained only for a moment; the creature collapsed, into a more human shape. Chen snapped his rosary at the thing but it was too late, it was charging forward and—there was the overwhelming smell of peach blossom, a lush, fruity aroma that was so strong it made Chen gag. Something blurred the air between himself and the creature, a spinning pale being, from which ribbons of pastel color were streaming outward, like silk unwinding from a cocoon.

The insect-thing toppled and fell, mummified in the pastel streamers, which swiftly collapsed inward until there were only a few faint stains of color on the sidewalk.

"Well, that was impressive," Chen heard the demon say. Zhu Irzh sounded flabbergasted.

"I am truly sorry," Miss Qi, lately of Heaven, said. She dipped her white face toward her wringing hands. "I was almost too late. I have been most remiss. If you choose to submit a complaint report, I shall admit to it at once."

"Hang on," Zhu Irzh said. "Aren't we supposed to be looking after you?"

THE END

 

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