Shadow Pavilion (20 page)

44

I
nari put a faltering hand to her head. Still there, and that was strange enough in itself: she remembered the shock of the assassin's sword as it struck her, remembered her body, fountaining blood, toppling sideways like a felled tree. There had been no pain, and surprisingly little sensation. The memory that was most clear was, curiously, a moment of anxiety over the broken cup of tea, flying through the air and shattering as it hit the floor. Her eyes had watched, for a few seconds, the streams of tea and blood, mingling like little rivers on the stone floor. Then everything had gone dark, in more traditional fashion, and now she was here, lying facedown on ashy earth with the cloudy hillside rising above her.

Inari's initial sensation, once shock and dismay had made their presence felt, was one of relief. She did not know where she was, but she suspected that she was back in
between,
where at least she had a kind of ally. Bonerattle might help her, or he might not, now that she was of no further use to him, but even a doubtful ally was better than an uncaring family. She was not home in Hell and that was a great blessing, even under the circumstances. And, she could be assured that Chen would do everything in his power to get her back, reanimate her, and Inari had great faith in her husband's abilities. Chen, a modest man, never claimed to be a particularly inspired thinker, but he was persistent, calm, and above all, constant. She could trust him, and so she would.

Also, being decapitated was oddly liberating. Inari had never been slain before, although she knew plenty of people to whom it had happened, and who better than a denizen of Hell to know that this was no kind of end at all, just an interruption in the continuity of being. Seijin, that smiling serenity of a killer, had done his or her utmost, and this was the result.

Could be worse,
Inari thought.
Could be a lot worse.
Aloud, she said, “Is that the best you can do, O assassin?” And laughed, because it made her feel better.

But that was all very well and good. She couldn't just lie here, eating ash. The presence of the light, fluffy grayness that covered the ground made her wonder if she was near the place where the forge had been: Had it really disappeared for good, or did it move from place to place? While Chen was working out how to rescue her, Inari knew she must take steps to rescue herself. With this in mind, she clambered to her feet—she might be a spirit now, but she had a very real sore throat, all the same—and started walking, hampered by her long skirts. When she had died, she had been wearing a bed-robe and a nightdress; somehow, these had metamorphosed into a full set of funeral robes, the red of a dying sun, embroidered with black. Long sleeves trailed down past her wrists, and her midriff was supported by a stiff, folded sash. She had the feeling that, if she'd had a mirror in which to look, she would find that her face was fully painted: she put a tentative finger to her lips and rubbed. The fingertip came away reddened, so yes, this was indeed the case, and her hair had also been piled up and pinned. She must look like a geisha doll. Was this what she now looked like on Earth? Had her funeral already taken place? No use wondering about that.

After some time, the landscape had changed very little, although it was true that Inari was making slow progress. The rocks that protruded through the ashy surface were sharp, and she did not want to slow herself down any further by injuring a foot or an ankle. There was no sign of the forge, or of Bone­rattle—although when she reached a patch of more open ground, where the mist was less oppressive, she risked calling out. She did not use his name, hoping that he might recognize her voice. But nothing emerged from the cloud and so Inari walked on, reminding herself that she had been in worse places than this: the lower levels of Hell, for example, in which one's very form might change, become more bestial. She did not seem to be changing now. And there was no sign of the brooding pagoda that Bone­rattle had called the Shadow Pavilion. Inari was just thinking that, if forced to enter this strange limbo, she had at least ended up in a relatively innocuous bit of it, when she stepped around a rock and before her rose the pagoda.

It seemed even larger than she had remembered from that last turbulent visit, towering on its rock, so high that it almost appeared to lean out across the valley. At least she knew where to avoid
…
And then found she could not.

The Shadow Pavilion was like a magnet. Inari's suddenly faltering footsteps dragged her down the valley: she tried to resist, to pull away, but was unable to do so. The Pavilion had her now and it wasn't just the tug it exerted on her feet, but a compulsion that made her incapable of looking anywhere else. Inari, a sudden puppet, was dragged toward the pagoda.

The compulsion lasted until she had climbed the steps. She stood looking up at the ancient wooden doors, carved with symbols so old that they had long since lost any meaning, at least any that was known to Inari. Now that she had reached the pagoda, the protective calm that had enfolded her on the slopes had dissi­pated as completely as mist; she was afraid, of Seijin, of further vengeance. Sometimes even a spirit could be killed—such a fate had befallen Mhara's own father, the late and corrupt Celestial Emperor. The assassin struck her as someone who would not flinch at full measures.

Then someone said, “Ah. You must be the person we are expecting.”

Inari stumbled against the doorframe. The person who had addressed her was slight and ghostly, the same gray as the wood of the doors.

“I am the Gatekeeper. I'm afraid we weren't given your name
…
?”

Inari had no intention of telling him this, for names had power and she did not know what authority the laws of
between
might give him over her. But then the words were dragged out of her mouth as efficiently as she herself had been hauled to the doors of the pagoda. The Gatekeeper fished in a sleeve and consulted a list.

“Ah, yes. I see I was correct. And you came here on your own two feet? Impressive.”

“I didn't have much choice!”

The Gatekeeper said, “Usually, Seijin brings them here in a bag.”

“I think I am too small a fry for the assassin,” Inari said.

“How charmingly modest. And yet, the Lord Lady slew you. That is a very great honor, normally reserved for elite warriors.”

“I suppose I should be grateful,” Inari said, not without sarcasm.

“Well,” the Gatekeeper remarked, unhappily, “you
are
still dead. Let me open the doors for you, so that you may see your new home.”

“New home?”

“Why yes,” the Gatekeeper explained. “Once you are here, you won't be leaving us again.”

But Inari, as she stepped through the old wooden doorway into the Shadow Pavilion, thought,
We'll see about that.

As she wandered through the Pavilion's labyrinth of chambers, Inari unaccountably felt her spirits rise. Seijin was not here, and who, in truth, might say whether the Lord Lady would even return at all? The assassin had gone after Mhara once before, and been defeated. Inari hoped against hope that the Celestial Emperor would once more be successful. Perhaps Seijin would even be slain!

And end up back here again, two raging ghosts, confined in this echoing prison.

The more she saw of the Pavilion, the greater her awareness of other presences grew. She could not see these beings directly, but if she stood in the corner of a room, or by a windowsill, and glanced out of the corners of her eyes, figures appeared: a woman with streaming hair, ringing her hands in the stiff folds of her old-fashioned robes. A tall, armored man, snarling in fury, clasping a shattered sword. A child, weeping, but when it turned, Inari saw that it had gaping holes where its eyes had once been, and a mouth full of teeth like pins.

None of them tried to speak to her and she wondered whether she seemed the same to them, a half-glimpsed ghost lost in her own pain.

But I don't feel dead, particularly
. And whereas the other spirits mourned or raged, Inari planned to push her own woes aside, and find out more.

This was not a simple matter. When she tried to count the number of stories possessed by the Pavilion, running lightly up and down the many stairs and taking note of landings, Inari found that she could not get a grip on it. At first she counted four, and then nine, and then only three. At each ascent and descent, the Pavilion looked the same: the musty, paneled walls; the moth-eaten hangings, decked with spiders' webs; the thick, hand-stitched carpets. A luxurious place, once, a palace. Had the Pavilion ever been somewhere real, the home of some Chinese emperor, the summerhouse of a spoiled princess? Inari had known of buildings being stolen before, and the Shadow Pavilion held resonances. At some time, someone had been happy here; she could feel it, a summer current running through the dust. But those sensations were very faint, long overlain by rage and pain.

Inari had no way of knowing when she had arrived, and she began to lose track of time. She did not think that
between
followed the same time zone as Singapore Three; there was no reason to expect it to do so. But when she next looked through a window, out across the long lands, she saw that the light was fading and a blue twilight was falling. Shapes moved with purpose through the dusk and Inari, however foolishly, felt glad that she was inside.

She turned to find the Gatekeeper standing at her elbow.

“I thought you would want to know,” the old spirit said. “The Lord Lady is coming home.”

45

Z
hu Irzh and the badger fell out of the air, from some height, and hit a grimy stretch of ground in a parking lot. Winded, it took some time for the badger to say, “Are we back?” He smelled the air. “Yes, I see that we are.”

Zhu Irzh clambered to his feet, dusting off his coat. “That was quite a drop. I should have asked if we could have been put down gently. Are you all right? Nothing broken?”

“I am intact,” the badger admitted. He was surprised at how relieved he was to be home: all his animal senses had come alive again at this reversion to his own territory. He had not realized just how firmly he had become attached to this bit of the human realm, but that was the element of earth for you: it claimed and clung. “And you?”

“Also fine, I think. Badger, before we're sucked into yet another maelstrom, I just wanted to say that it has been—well, okay, not a pleasure, but I have valued your presence recently. You are a resourceful creature.”

“Thank you,” the badger said. It would have been wrong to say that he was touched, but as they left the parking lot, he was aware that the demon had become slightly more incorporated into the list of those he was obliged to protect: not of the same status as Mistress or Husband, obviously, but
still
. At the thought of seeing Mistress once more, he was filled with a distinct satisfaction. He and Zhu Irzh had survived and things were returning to the way they should be.

“I need to find a phone,” the demon said. “I lost my cell somewhere along the way—I think one of those bitches took it. I'll have to reverse the charges. I haven't got any money, either. I wonder where we are?” He squinted into the smog. It felt like early morning, and the sea was not far away.

“I recognize this place,” the badger said. “Look, there is Men Ling Street. Lord Vishnu has returned us almost to the point at which we left.”

“You're right,” Zhu Irzh said. His footsteps quickened. “Hey, the crime scene people are there. I can see Lao and Ma.”

Exorcist Lao's jaw dropped when he saw Zhu Irzh and the badger coming toward him. Ma, on the other hand, greeted the demon like a long-lost brother. Zhu Irzh appeared faintly surprised.

“Ma? What's happening?”

“We've been investigating a series of murders,” Ma explained. “Chen and I found bodies here, lots of them, under that house we sent you to. Where did you go?”

“Bodies,” the demon echoed, without answering Ma's question. “What sort of bodies?”

“Human ones. It looked like a sort of meat locker. And where have you
been?”

“Did it, now?”

“What happened, Seneschal?” That was Lao, rather more demanding.

“We got snatched into a dimension of Indian Hell and hunted by tigress demons.”

Lao appeared impressed. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah. What do you think I've been doing? Taking the badger on a bar crawl? What's the date?”

“The twenty-third. You've been missing for three days.”

Ma snorted. “Been an interesting three days.”

“Where's Chen?”

“At home, I presume. Hasn't come on shift yet. I got a message from him last night to say that he and Inari were visiting the temple­—you know, the one belonging to the Celestial Emperor.” Ma spoke as casually as someone referring to a bar owned by a friend. “I'd better call him, let him know you're back. He'll be so relieved.”

Lao was looking narrowly into the middle distance. “Tigress demons, eh?”

“Several of them. And a demigod prince. It's a whole other world down there, Lao—they've got a lodge, hunting grounds, everything. It's like a fucking safari park. Only the other way round.”

“What's the prey? You?”

“Yes, and the badger. But it's a whole setup—they had
guests
. I don't imagine the party was laid on just for us. I got the impression it was a regular thing.”

“I'm wondering about this,” Lao said, gesturing to the crime scene behind him. His long, gray face twitched.

“What, you think the bodies are connected?”

“Did you go directly to this hunting ground?”

“More or less. As far as I could tell, anyway. There was a bit of a journey.”

“But you didn't stop off anywhere?”

“No. You said:
meat locker.”

“I wonder how long this hunting ground has been in operation?” Lao mused. “Whether they started off on human spirits, the kind of people who wouldn't be missed?”

“But why here?” Zhu Irzh said, although given Krishna's theorizing, the badger thought he already knew. “This isn't a Chinese Hell. There's plenty in India who wouldn't be missed.”

But the badger was watching Ma. The big sergeant was staring into his phone as though it had just bitten him, and when his attention turned back to his companions, it was not Lao or Zhu Irzh to whom he said, “Oh god. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't worry,” the demon kept saying, all the way through the city. “Don't worry. We'll get her back, we'll find a way. This is a temporary thing.”

Why did humans—or their cousins—always feel the need to
talk
so incessantly, when something terrible had happened? Why did they babble on? Pain was to be endured, not discussed. The badger ignored Zhu Irzh's attempts at reassurance and stared out of the window of Ma's police car, watching the morning world pass by. Useless to wish that they were once more waking up on the houseboat, with Husband about to go to work, the badger, teakettled, humming on the stove, Mistress padding about, alive.

Mistress, alive. Alive. Not anymore
. And in that case,
Where was she?

Ma said, over his shoulder, “You know, I heard what you were saying to Lao. There have been reports coming in all night about tigers on the loose.”

“Oh, shit,” Zhu Irzh said.

“One has to assume that it's connected.”

“You'd think so, wouldn't you? There can't be two lots. Has anyone been hurt?”

“Rather a large number of people.”

“Great. You can run, but you can't hide. They probably followed us up—or maybe they didn't bother, just decided to extend the hunting grounds. Kri—someone we met suggested that might be the case.”

The demon continued to discuss the situation with Ma, but the badger had stopped listening. It was as though the last few days had been nothing more than an unpleasant dream; to be vaguely recalled, but no importance attached to it. Now, his focus had narrowed down, condensing all of reality into a single sharp fact.
Mistress, gone.

It was a relief to reach the temple and see Husband standing on the steps, talking into his phone. When he saw Zhu Irzh and the badger getting out of the car, he ran down the steps to the vehicle. He clapped Zhu Irzh briefly on the shoulder. “Glad you're back, Seneschal.”

“Glad to be back,” the demon said. “You can't imagine how much.”

The badger spoke for the first time. “Where is she?”

“We think she's in
between.”
Husband spoke calmly, but the badger could sense how greatly this had affected him: a crimson jangling around the man's spirit, and the badger felt a great affinity with him. Husband was the only person who knew how the badger felt and this was an unexpected comfort.

“Where is that?”

“It's a kind of—land of gaps, neither Heaven nor Hell, where things go if they are neither one thing nor the other.”

“But Mistress is Hellkind.”

“The person who killed her is not, however. Half-Celestial and half-demon, born on Earth.” Husband sat down on the little step of the temple, to address the badger more directly. “I've called Inari's brother, in Hell. The one who works in the Blood Emporium. I didn't tell him why I was phoning—let him think we've had a row or something. Anyway, she might feasibly be down in Hell but she didn't go straight home.”

“That is a blessing,” the badger said.

“Yes, it is. I don't fancy trying to get further information from Inari's family.”

“Could the brother have been lying?” Zhu Irzh asked.

“He could, but on this occasion, I don't think so. He's got no particular reason to lie unless the rest of the family are leaning on him, and—would probably take some delight in going behind their backs, given the indignities that he's undergone over the years. Anyway, I also checked with the Night Harbor and she didn't pass through there. She won't be in Heaven—they don't let demons in, at least, not under those circumstances. That leaves the possibility that her spirit is wandering around Earth somewhere, but why should she leave the temple, in that case?”

“People can get very confused when they die,” the demon pointed out.

“True, but I don't think Inari is one of them. She's a demon, after all, not a human new to the Wheel. I think, from what Mhara and I have put together, that she has gone to
between
. It's Seijin's—the assassin's—home.”

Zhu Irzh said, “The Lord Lady killed her?” He looked astounded.

“You know about this person?”

“When I was a little boy, I was obsessed with warriors. Like most kids, I suppose. I did a lot of reading about them and sometimes my tutors indulged me. One of them told me about Seijin, where he/she comes from. Impressive individual. Eats people's souls. When I grew up a bit I discovered that becoming a warrior meant discipline, austerity, not drinking, that kind of thing. So I joined the vice squad instead.”

Husband did not seem too interested in Zhu Irzh's career choices. “Do you know anything about Seijin? Any weak points?”

“Hasn't got any. At least, unless one counts the whole package. Can't be too stable, being male and female, mixed-species like that.”

“There are those,” Husband remarked, “who would say that this provided an ideal balance.”

“Seijin kills people for fun. How balanced does that sound to you?”

Husband sighed. “You may have a point. Seijin's after Mhara. Inari got in the Lord Lady's way.”

“I want to see her,” the badger said. Husband looked at him.

“All right.”

She did not look dead, but then, the death of demonkind was not like the death of things that had truly lived. The badger said as much.

“I know,” Husband murmured. “And she's under a spell, remember. It'll preserve her until we can get her back.”

To the badger, the matter was simple. “Then we will go to
between,
you and I, and we will bring her home.”