The Demon and the City (7 page)

"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.

Robin was wondering, vaguely, why she felt so dreadful. She had started feeling ill some time ago, the morning after her visit to Deveth's family. It was an actual, physical pain lodged in her muscles: a burning, flulike ache. Her head pounded, and there was a tight constriction in her chest, which made breathing painful. She sat up and was seized by a fit of coughing, which rattled alarmingly in her chest. Heaving her reluctant body out of bed, she rooted in the bag for Malian Sardai's headache pills, and took one. There were several left. It seemed to abate the pain in her head a little, but she felt so tired, yet she must have slept for a good nine hours. An appalled glance at the dial of the clock showed her that it was much longer than that: she was already an hour late for work. If she took the day off, she was sure she'd be fined. One afternoon, with Jhai Tserai's permission, was all very well, but calling in sick immediately afterward was not a good idea. The fines were comparatively minimal—Paugeng was a caring company—but Robin couldn't afford it anyway. She took a shower and felt marginally better.

She left the flat early, wrapped in a parka against the day, which was already becoming hot. She couldn't seem to get warm, in spite of the weather and the thick coat, yet she was sweating. She forced herself past the Shaopeng stop, and walked on to Embaya Street, where the herbalists were opening. The man wanted to do a full analysis, but Robin did not have time.

"What's good for everything?" she asked.

"What's your constitution?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. I think it's water."

He grumbled, but Robin forced him to give her a twist of flat, white pills. He told her that they would cure fever and aches. Robin studied the ingredients, which seemed to represent a diverse range, paid him and left. She swallowed two of the pills at the downtown stop. There was no discernible difference; she still felt awful. She would see the resident doctor when she got to work, money or no money. They might be talked into giving her an installment plan, if her luck held. This did not, however, seem to be her lucky week.

Mercifully, the downtown was not excessively crowded. Robin fought her way to a seat and stayed there, leaning her hurting head against the dirty pane. The city rattled by: Phikhat, Battery Road, Semmerang Anka and at last the Ghenret platform for Paugeng. Robin got off and stood on the platform, trying to clear her head. It was a pearly, damp day, a sudden return to spring after the summer was almost over. A light mist from the sea wreathed the harbor, and the heights of Paugeng were lost as though in cloud. Looking up made Robin dizzy. She walked carefully to the Paugeng steps and as she climbed up into the perfect atrium, she thought she heard something laughing, faint and far away.

She crept in through the Paugeng atrium, hoping no one would see her. For once, the place seemed quiet, and she went straight down to Y lab. George Su would know she was late, because of the log-in readings, but hopefully he had enough to do without worrying about her timekeeping. Robin was flooded with guilt. It was such an important experiment, even though this was a routine phase. For the previous few weeks, Jhai had put her top crew on it, only handing off the testing to Robin for follow-up once they'd finished the main runs.

Nonetheless, the experiment was her responsibility and now here she was, deserting Mhara again and again. She went through the checklist on the main screen, even though it blurred before her vision. She felt as though someone was watching her, sensing an implacable gaze on her back, but when she turned to look at the experiment he was lying serenely still in the bunk. There was no sign that he had moved.

Robin sat down beside Mhara and checked the readouts on the monitor. The experiment was as close to normal as he'd been for some time. He was lying on his side, the pointed face half-buried in the pillow. His skin seemed even paler. The illness was making Robin maudlin, in need of comfort. She stroked the soft, indigo hair behind Mhara's neck. It just showed how little Jhai Tserai really understood people, for Robin's neutrality had been hopelessly compromised on the day that she had first had to administer a half-developed drug to a bound and helpless otherworldly captive. She tried to stifle her feelings: this was her job, the one she'd worked so hard to get, and that was that. She didn't have the luxury of moral choices, she told herself. So she had compromised, made the experiment's limited life as comfortable as possible, and did as she was told.

Mhara's eyes looked dark in sleep, but at her touch he stirred and the eyes flooded with light, like the sun over the sea. Robin felt the cough begin in her throat, and hastily turned her head away to avoid choking over him.

"Robin? You're ill?"

"It's the flu, or something," Robin told him hoarsely. "It came on a little while ago."

"And you still had to come to work?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Are we going to do more tests today?"

Robin coughed again. "No . . .just your shots." She fumbled in the drawer and got the sterile packets, then went through the range of jabs. He submitted placidly. She seemed all thumbs today; her fingers would not obey her.

"You might as well try and sleep," she told him. It was what Robin herself wanted to do. She tried to go through the test checklist but nothing seemed to make much sense. She could make coffee though, and drank cup after cup, stumbling back and forth from the machine. The heat was comforting, and she could wash down the hourly painkillers, which still did not seem very effective. She could not face lunch when at last her breaktime dragged around. The coughing fits were becoming more frequent, and by midafternoon, she took refuge in the lavatory and gave way to a bout of choking which seemed to go on for hours, stifling it in a wad of tissue. When she took the paper away from her mouth it was bloody. Robin stared at it in disbelief. She should not go near the experiment in this state, but the thought of going off work scared her. It would cost too much: she might be fined, and now it looked like she had something serious and that would mean more expense. She could not afford medical insurance either.
Come on,
she thought furiously.
You drag yourself in there and give the poor thing the four o'clock jabs, and then you go home
.

She stood up and the tiled room spun. Somehow, she got back to the office, took the right jabs out of the canister and went in to the experiment.

"Just me again," she muttered. She sat on her usual place by the bunk, and took out the little syringes. Nothing seemed to make sense. She stared at the labels, hoping they would become clearer. Everything was very dim and furry around the edges. She looked up and saw that the experiment was watching her, raised on his elbows. The blue eyes were very clear, and very bright.

"Mhara," she said.

"Yes?"

"That's your name," Robin whispered. "You have a name."

Mhara said softly. "But you knew that."

"No," Robin said. "I didn't understand it, not until now. Not really. Mhara, I think I'm really sick."

"Sick?" His eyes seemed to fill the world. She began to fumble with the activation unit for the bonds that held him to the cot. "Robin? What are you doing?"

"Setting you free. Doing something good. Before I die," Robin said, and then she felt the cough beginning deep in her throat. It took hold of her and she bent over double, spluttering. She felt a gentle hand on her back, stroking and soothing, and oddly it stopped the cough.

"You're in pain, aren't you?" the experiment said, gently.

Gratefully, Robin turned to him.

"Yes, I—" and then she realized what she had done. Her head swam with panic and elation.
But he wouldn't hurt me, not after I've helped him!
was her first confused thought, and then:
Why not? You're his torturer
. She tried to get up from the bed, but her legs would not obey her.

"Please—" she started to say.

"Goodbye, Robin," Mhara whispered. His hand gripped her wrist, keeping her pinned to the bunk. He was much stronger than she would have expected, after all the testing. The frail patient in the bed was not so fragile, it seemed. Robin stared at him without understanding and tried to pull her feeble hand away. Her experiment gave her his sweet, vague smile and kissed her on the forehead, and then she felt his fingers close gently around her sore throat.