DAC 3 Precious Dragon (6 page)

"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?"

Embar Dea reached the upper Ghenret sluice just in time. She knew by the turbulent water ahead that they were opening the gate; it was much larger than she remembered, presumably they had extended it. She could sense something big before her, perhaps the hull of a ship sailing through. Her skin felt icy cold, even above the rolls of fat that protected her from the arctic waters, and she recognized this as fear. There was a sour taste in her mouth. She tried not to think about the propellers under the hydro's hull, beating the water, tearing into her. Don't be a fool, she sang to herself, you who danced with ships as a young thing, who led them on and siren called them into silence. Tenebrae.

The sluice was fully open. Her tail beat the water, and turning, she shot through, grazing her side against the wall of the sluice to miss the ship's hull with inches to spare. Why was something so big coming through the gate?—and then she understood that it was the safest mooring against what she felt was to come. Someone knew, at least.

She was now in the main harbor and the soupy filth of Ghenret. She angled her way beneath the creaking boats and with some difficulty managed to locate the runoff that cut through into the delta. It was a round hole, twenty feet or so beneath the harbor's lowest level. Embar Dea remembered when water gushed to and fro, bubbling out into river and harbor, depending on the tide, the freshness of the sweet grassy water of the delta and sharp saline exchanged, back and forth, every day. Now, the runoff was silted up, thick with mud and weed. She pushed frantically at the half-concealed entrance, hoping she would not have to travel round by the harbor mouth. Gradually, a column of mud spat out into the harbor. Embar Dea could no longer see; she belled out, listening for the diminished echoes that returned and then she went head first into the runoff.

It took her a long time to force through and Embar Dea fought terror all the way. When she had been slim and young, she had bounced through the runoff like a pea down a pipe. But she had put on weight over the last thirty years, and was heavy-bodied, barrel-chested, and with slimness remaining only at her tapering tail. She was afraid of getting stuck in the runoff, unable to back up or go forward, and she would never reach Tenebrae but remain here, held fast and choking in this underwater graveyard. Determined, she forced herself on, and at last, gasping with relief, a slide of greasy mud carried her all the way down the last gentle slope of the runoff and out into the relatively fragrant waters of the delta.

Her last glimpse of Ghenret had been a pink light, the color of water and blood, filtering down from the evening sky. Out in the silent waters of the delta, it was dark. She propelled up to the surface and broke out into the warm night air. Above her, swam the stars, which to the short-sighted dragon appeared only as a smudge of light across the greater dark. The water tasted of grass and mud, the sweetness of fresh water at low tide, with only a breath of the faint chemical taint of the harbor. Embar Dea, happy to be free from the foul runoff, swam downstream and then rolled and heaved in the swift current. The stars bounced above her and at last she tired of her exercise and, traveling fast, headed for the delta mouth and the open sea.

Shrieking soundlessly, the demon-host fled. As she flew, Pin could hear her thoughts rushing by him like banners on the storm. He learned more about the nature of Hell and its inhabitants in a few minutes than he had ever wanted to know. The kuei, for example: these were the Storm Lords, the security forces of Hell. The séance had been an illegal attempt to access the world of the living—why, Pin did not know. Tentatively, he tried to glimpse further into the demon's mind, but met a series of smooth, dark walls that he was unable to penetrate.

The demon, clearly, was aware of her passenger. Her initial fright had turned to irritation; now, she was thinking only of how to evade her pursuers and evict Pin from her head. Her erratic flight took them past vast cliffs streaming with torrents of molten metal. Castles rose high along their peaks; Pin tried not to wonder what manner of people lived in them. They reminded him of the rich enclaves of Singapore Three, built on the heights above the curve of the estuary . . .and there was a river here, too, wide and red and smoking. A wild suspicion began to form in the grain of consciousness that was Pin. The demon flew along the bend of the river, soaring out across the span of the estuary. There, along Shaopeng, rose the dome of the Opera House, but here it was horribly distorted, and as the demon dived, Pin could see with her magnified vision that it was made out of innumerable small bones. This is my city, Pin thought, aghast, but everything was twisted and wrong. Then the demon turned in the stormy air and he saw Sulai-Ba.