DAC 3 Precious Dragon (13 page)

"I might be able to find out for you," Mai said, "but to be honest, our records are in such a state—it's very hard to track people down and I'm only a minor clerk." She hesitated. "I've had associations with the Ministry for most of my life here, but it takes a very long time to work yourself up to any kind of position of power. I died of a disease, too, you see. I was three."

"Only three? Why are you here? Surely you can't have done anything bad enough to warrant being sent to Hell?"

"I'm not sure," Mai said. She sighed. "There was some kind of mix-up, my mother says. But anyway, Pin, you shouldn't be here. You're not dead yet; you got here by accident, from the sound of it. And you're so fragile. There are things here that eat ghosts."

"I don't even know what happened to my body," Pin said. Presumably it was still back in the demon lounge and he did not like to think about what might be happening to it.

"My mother is on Earth," Mai said. "I told you that. She's looking after my son. But she's elderly now—she wasn't young when she had me. She's very brave, but I don't want to ask her to go to a demon lounge. I'm sorry, Pin, but I don't want to put my family in danger."

"I understand," Pin said. "But if you could give me some advice—I can't stay here with you forever, can I?"

"I'll see what I can do," Mai said with sudden resolve. "I want to help. No one should be stuck here. It's different with me—I grew up here. I don't remember Earth very well."

"How did you grow up?" Pin asked. He didn't mean to pry, but it seemed unimaginably difficult to him, that such a small child might be sent on her own to Hell, and survive—yet how could she do otherwise, when already dead? The horror of it struck him then, that this was a life that one could not even escape through death. If he himself died—assuming he ever made it back to his life—then certainly he would escape the Opera, but to what?

Mai sighed. "It wasn't easy. I didn't understand what had happened to me at first—one minute I was with my mother and crying because I felt ill, and then the next thing I knew I was on a boat with all these dead people, and then I was here in Hell. They just put us out on the shore and left us. I ran away and I hid for days, and then I just lived on the streets. My dad came down with me—I glimpsed him on the boat but they wouldn't let me talk to him and I couldn't find him when we got to shore. That was the worst thing. But my mother prayed and eventually one of my ancestors came and found me and took me home to his family. I lived with them until my marriage. It wasn't so bad. But they reincarnated shortly after the wedding, and their shadow-personalities have faded, so I won't see them again."

There was a short silence. "I'm sorry," Pin said.

"I'm happy now, Pin. Ahn and I love each other. And we love our son. I just wish—well, that's not your problem. Pin—are you hungry, or thirsty? I don't even know if you can feel things?"

"I'm not," Pin said. "But I am tired." As he said it, in his ghost's whisper, he realized that it was true: he was exhausted.

"Then rest," Mai said, and Pin's last memory of that night was of sinking down into the couch and sleep, as Mai spread a blanket like a cobweb across him.

Up close, the Ministry of War was loud. The air around it snapped and whirred, humming with machinery and lightning. If Chen listened carefully, he could hear more distant sounds in between the mechanical noise: the clash of arms and the shouts of dying warriors, explosions and the whine of falling shells, as if the very building of the Ministry was some kind of recording device, set to grasp the noises of war and play them back in incessant and horrifying turmoil. Looking up to the summit of the Ministry made him feel dizzy and disoriented; Chen concentrated upon its iron flanks instead, the gun placements and missile cones that bristled from every angle. There were demonic guards at the doors, immense, hulking beings like monstrous bald bears, wearing antique metal armor.

"I always thought it was very macho, this Ministry," Zhu Irzh said with a sigh.

Miss Qi eyed him curiously. "Do you think that's a good thing?"

The demon shrugged.

"We are very proud of our Ministry," Underling No said, earnestly. "Let me tell you some facts."

It was clear that there was no escape. It reminded Chen of school visits in his youth, trips arranged to this steelworks or that manufacturing plant, all designed to maximize the notion of Chinese productivity and industriousness. Whatever the content of the trip had been, the young Chen had found them all slightly depressing and now they blurred in his mind into one huge all-encompassing visit. He had a feeling that this trip, too, was destined to take its place among them.

" . . .inaugurated over five thousand years ago by the then-Emperor of Hell, Jing-Li, and since then has had a long and illustrious history in establishing and maintaining conflict across the Oriental world . . ." No was saying.

Miss Qi, unsurprisingly, frowned. "Did you have any part to play in the last two world wars?"

"Of course," No assured her. "Although we must note that the seeds of those conflicts were begun in other Hells elsewhere, since the main wars began in the Western hemisphere. However, we are proud to say that we played our part in fomenting disruption across the East, too. And of course, since then, we have worked closely with the Hells of North Korea and Southeast Asia, since China has not directly been involved in conflict for some years." Underling No managed to look faintly embarrassed at this, as though the Ministry of War had been slacking.

"But you can't get a really clear picture from statistics," No went on, to Chen's secret relief. "You need to see the Ministry."

As they walked through the immense portal, decorated with gory scenes of combat and destruction from the ancient to the modern, Chen reflected that it was really quite open-minded of the Ministry to allow a human and a Celestial through its doors for a tour. Presumably there would be restricted areas, for Chen could not see the Ministry letting people wander in and out to observe its secrets. Or perhaps they were so well-established and confident that they simply didn't care . . . Either way, he intended to learn what he could and, if necessary, pass on the information to whichever authority seemed best able to deal with it. He was not deceived by No's pleasant manner and willingness to convey information. She was a mere lackey, after all, and her function as a liaison officer was purely to supply authorized material, the public face of the Ministry. But things were, perhaps, changing, for Chen had never known Hell's institutions to see the need for a public face before. Maybe recent events had convinced even the governing lords of the underworld that a degree of give-and-take might be required. And that, essentially, led to questions about just how much they feared the wrath of Heaven, of the Celestial powers.

An interesting question, Chen thought, strolling behind No through the colossal metal-paneled atrium, Brutalist Architecture at its most massively imposing. For it raised the issue in his own mind as to what kind of power Heaven and the Celestial Emperor wielded: one really saw it so rarely, or so it seemed. Yet Earth, though a bit of a disaster area environmentally, was improving, and there were millions of people who were not starving, disease-ridden, or murdering one another even in spite of Hell's machinations. So that suggested a more subtle balance was in play than one might otherwise consider. Either Heaven had an authority all its own, or it had none and the improvements were entirely due to human will and human ingenuity. The question remained: If Hell decided again to make a play for power across the three worlds, just how far might Heaven choose to go . . .?

Zhu Irzh was staring up at the panels. "Five thousand years of war," he murmured. "That's a lot of killing."

"Hell was repopulated many times through developments in this very Ministry," No assured him. "As I'm sure you know, we play an integral role in maintaining the infrastructure of Hell, and our research and development departments have proved most lucrative in forwarding ideas to Earth."

"I'm afraid the military-industrial complex is one of the foremost on the planet," Chen said. He could not approve, but No naturally took this as a compliment.

"That's so kind of you to say so," she said. "Now. One of the Lesser Lords has agreed to meet you. We'll go to his office."

She escorted them through a bewildering series of passageways, all lined with gleaming metal. Their footsteps resounded on stone and the interior of the Ministry was stiflingly hot, although Chen could hear a curious whirring sound throughout the place that reminded him of a large fan. Once away from the ornately decorated atrium, the Ministry was austere, with few decorations of any kind on the walls.

"Here we are," No said, in hushed tones. She knocked on a door, and after a moment, a voice barked, "Enter!" They were shown into a palatial office: If this was one of the Ministry's Lesser Lords, Chen thought, then the administrative quarters of its rulers must be opulent indeed. An armored figure was sitting behind a desk so huge and polished that it resembled a mirrored pool. Like No, his face was dark red, but he bristled with spines. Black and white porcupine quills bushed out from beneath a flared Samurai helmet and his hands were like the paws of a dog: bunched fingers terminating in short black claws. When he stood, Chen saw that he was around eight feet in height.

"Good afternoon! You may address me as Lesser Lord Nine. I am in charge of bowed weaponry and several subdivisions of the armed forces." He gestured to the opposite wall, on which rested an array of stringed weapons and arrows, from long bows to crossbows.

"Do you find much call for bows these days?" Chen asked. A usually reasonable capacity to make small talk was, he felt, deserting him somewhat during the course of this visit. With the obvious exceptions of Zhu Irzh and Inari, he was more accustomed to battling demons than making polite conversation with them. And battling was proving easier.

"Why, yes, you'd be surprised. Not just in the more—medieval—regions of Hell, but also in the inner cities of Earth. One might almost say that the weapon has been undergoing something of a renaissance recently. It's very heartening. After all, I feel that there's no real art in using a gun, no real skill."

"Glad to hear business is picking up," Chen said, with what he felt to be a palpable insincerity.

"You'll try one, of course," Lesser Lord Nine said. He charged around to the other side of the desk, clapping Chen on the back and nearly knocking him flat.

"Unfortunately an old elbow injury would prevent me from doing full justice to the weapon," Chen said hastily. He felt a bit guilty about this, even though it happened to be true. "But I'm sure Zhu Irzh will have a go."

Zhu Irzh did, in fact, appear commendably keen. "Certainly," he said. "Why not?"

"I should like to try, too," Miss Qi said, very firmly.

"I'm so sorry," Chen said. "I didn't mean to cast aspersions on you as a warrior. I merely thought you might not be all that interested."

"After all, Chen," Zhu Irzh remarked, "we are supposed to be studying equal opportunities."

Miss Qi shot him a baleful look. "The detective is telling the truth. I know."

The Lesser Lord reached up and plucked a bow from the wall, a long curving thing inlaid with gold. "First shot, then, goes to our Celestial guest!"

"All right," Miss Qi said. "Where is the shooting range?"

"Come with me," the Lesser Lord said. He led them back out into the corridor and, after a short walk, they reached another passageway, metal-lined and casting dull reflections into infinity, with an archery target set at the far end.

Miss Qi snapped up the bow, slipped an arrow into the notch, then fired, all in one smooth movement. She repeated this twice more, without apparent effort even though the bow looked heavy. On each occasion, the arrow struck the center of the target.

"Impressive," Lesser Lord Nine said.

Miss Qi bowed. "Thank you." She handed the bow to Zhu Irzh.

"I shall probably do very badly," the demon said, with what Chen felt to be a wholly feigned modesty. He raised the bow and fired, and again, sending another two arrows to join Miss Qi's in the center of the target.

"This equal opportunities thing of yours appears to be working," the Lesser Lord said. "Tell me, Miss Qi. In what other forms of weaponry do you excel?"

"I wouldn't say that I excelled at any of them," Miss Qi flustered. "But I am versed in the use of the long sword and the short sword, in knives, and of course, in defensive magic. However, I know very little about guns or more modern forms of weaponry."

The Lesser Lord waved a dismissive mailed fist. "Efficient, yes, but as I said a moment ago, there is no art to them. I am pleased to see that Heaven has kept to the more traditional weapons."

Miss Qi said nothing, but Chen, who was growing used to the moods that crossed the Celestial's pale face, thought he saw a shadow glide over her features.

"I hope to meet you on the battlefield someday," the Lesser Lord beamed. Chen was also becoming used to the zeitgeist of the Ministry of War and he read this not as a threat, but as a politely expressed hope.

Miss Qi, however, grew even paler. "Indeed, I trust we do not. Heaven seeks to promote harmony and good feeling between the three worlds, not bloodshed. We feel that there has been all too much of that already."

"There can never be too much!" Lesser Lord Nine declared. "Now, come and see where we make so many of our engines of destruction."

Other corridors, and many doors later, the Lesser Lord ushered them through a tall iron door, almost indistinguishable from the wall itself. Chen was expecting to find himself in yet another office, but instead, he stepped into a round, domed chamber, filled with neon-filtered light of a faintly glowing blue. Figures moved beyond a glass panel, clad in hazmat suits. One of these bustled toward the Lesser Lord and pushed up the visor of his helmet.

"Lord, I fear I must ask for documentation, for proof of permit, I am sorry, but—"