by Liz Williams
“Oh, don’t worry,” Zhu Irzh said. “She’s probably swanning around the Night Harbor as we speak, awaiting her departure to the peach orchards of Heaven and unutterably grateful to be temporarily relieved of the shackles of her mortal flesh.”
“Suppose she’s destined for Hell?”
“I hope you’re not implying that this unfortunate young lady deserved to die?” Zhu Irzh remarked satirically, adding under his breath, “And if she did, then lucky her.”
“It’s always a shock,” Ma said defensively. “I don’t suppose she thought that this would be the day of her death, poor girl.”
Zhu Irzh laughed. “Few people ever do.”
2
Dowser Paravang Roche, kneeling before the statue of the goddess Senditreya, was not thinking of death—at least, not of his own. Senditreya’s temple was dark, shrouded in shadow and wreaths of incense. A complex sequence of patterns was outlined in silver on the floor, showing the energy lines which lay beneath the city; the energy wells of ch’i and sha. Among the hazy coils of smoke sat the statue, holding out her divining rods and her compass, and smiling down at her supplicants.
Bitch, thought Paravang Roche. He had an ambivalent relationship with his deity. He looked sourly up at the statue; studying the gilded loops of hair, the three bands tied around each wrist to signify the founding member of the dowsers’ guild, elevated into goddess-hood seven hundred and twenty years ago.
To the left of Paravang, a man swayed forward on his mat, moaning and muttering. Paravang regarded him with distaste. Surely it wasn’t necessary to make so much noise about one’s worship. His neighbor rattled a hollow canister and shook out the yarrow sticks. Hastily arranging them into a pattern on the woven mats, he stared for a moment and then began to chuckle.
Well, good for you, Paravang thought sourly. I’m glad someone is having good fortune, because I’m not. He glared at his hilarious companion, who caught the enraged look on Paravang’s face and subsided. Paravang arranged himself into a more decorous position and stared up at Senditreya. Sometimes he thought she winked at him. Sometimes he was right.
Underneath the carpet, and the stone floor, and the earth itself, Paravang could feel the energy line of the Great Meridian, running to the confluence of energy, the lake of ch’i which lays beneath Senditreya’s temple. With such ch’i, how could there fail to be good fortune? Paravang asked himself. One would have thought that some of it, at least, might have rubbed off on a poor feng shui dowser. Paravang’s lips pursed in resentment. He had worked hard all his life to win first this coveted place here in the temple, and then his contract with Paugeng Mining, and now it was all going to be taken away.
Above him, Senditreya’s cow-eyed gaze blurred and faded, to be replaced by another face: the color of a shadow, golden-eyed. It was the face of a demon, named Seneschal Zhu Irzh. It was the face of his most recent enemy, and to Paravang’s feverish gaze it seemed quite real, as though the demon himself were standing before him. As, indeed, Zhu Irzh had been, a week ago today.
Paravang had opened the door to find him standing on the step, a most unwelcome visitor. The scene replayed itself through Paravang’s mind, as it had done so many times over the past few days.
“Who are you?” Paravang had quavered. “What do you want?” He’d always taken care to limit his dealings with Hell, but it seemed he hadn’t been careful enough.
“I’m here about an irregularity in your feng shui dowsing license,” the demon said. “My name’s Seneschal Zhu Irzh. Want to see my badge?” At this point he had produced a piece of paper which, to Paravang’s horrified gaze, had proclaimed him to be not only a citizen of Hell, but also a member of Singapore Three’s police department. To Paravang’s mind, this was a truly nightmarish combination. “Mind if I come in?” the demon asked, and without waiting for a reply, had brushed past Paravang into the narrow apartment and taken a seat on the sofa. It had all gone downhill from there.
It seemed that Paravang had actually forfeited his dowsing license some time before, the result of a small matter of unpaid taxes and undelivered bribes. Unlicensed, he was therefore practicing feng shui illegally, and must apply for a new license as well as pay the requisite fine to the authorities.
“Never mind,” Zhu Irzh had remarked cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll get it all straightened out. Shouldn’t take more than a few months.” With this less than reassuring remark, he had left Paravang Roche to grind his teeth with helpless fury and hurl curses at the demon’s unresponsive back. He had contacted the authorities, hoping that this might merely be some malignant joke on the part of Hell, only to find that Zhu Irzh was a fully paid-up member of the police department, assisting a Detective Inspector Chen, and completely entitled to act as he had done. Given the city’s formidably ponderous bureaucracy, it would indeed take months for Paravang to retrieve his license, and a correspondingly huge drop in revenue.
Why do you despise me, Goddess? Paravang thought now, helplessly. The endless perfidy of the divine never ceased to amaze him. You gave your all, you turned up four times a year for the festivals and twice every week for your devotions; spent your hard-earned capital on presents and offerings; wasted nine minutes morning, noon and night in the requisite prayers, and for what? Only to be scorned. Rising abruptly, Paravang threw a handful of rice at the feet of his capricious deity and walked out into the evening dusk.
3
The city was baking in the morning heat, and Robin Yuan was late for work. The downtown tram rattled by her, dangling like a child’s toy from its pylons, as she turned the corner of the block. She started to run, but it was too late. The downtown slowed for the next stop, saw no one waiting and picked up speed, vanishing around the curve of Shaopeng Street as Robin reached the platform. She swore. An ochre-clad nun swung around to stare at her reprovingly.
Screw you, Robin thought. I’m late. She was already sweating in the morning heat. Here at the junction of Shaopeng and Jhara, the restaurant backs emitted clouds of fragrant steam: ghambang and chowder for breakfast today. Robin had eaten prawn crackers, left over from the night before, stiff and cold in their greasy folds of paper. She watched the high-collared, shawl-suited men and women vanishing into the dark interior of the Pellucid Island Hotel and envied them.
The hot rails sang and the next downtown hurtled out of the Jhara embankment tunnel. It’s not going to stop! Too many people! Robin thought, panicking, but the tram slowed to a halt and she squashed herself inside; leaning back from the bulging doorway and forward again as the doors closed. The downtown took off, lurching. The woman beside her directed a venomous glance at Robin.
“Can’t you move?” she snapped. “I can’t stand up properly.”
“I don’t think I can,” Robin said. This was true; there was no room at all in the carriage and Robin couldn’t reach the strap. It wouldn’t matter if the downtown suddenly had to stop: she was too tightly constrained to fall.
“But I’m standing on my toes!” her neighbor wailed.
Grumbling faintly, the carriage rearranged itself in some minute fashion. Robin’s neighbor lost height, sighing in relief. Robin stifled a yawn. Trying to keep her balance on the swaying, roaring tram, she wondered whether Deveth would call today. She had wondered the same thing for the last week, her spirits rising every morning, then sinking toward midnight as the day grew old, and still Dev did not call or come by. Where are you, Deveth Sardai? Was I just your bit of rough trade? If she’d had the nerve, Robin reflected, she would have called Deveth’s parents, but the thought of contacting the aristocratic Sardais and interrogating them as to the whereabouts of their daughter made Robin’s mouth go dry. She was fairly sure that this was one relationship which Dev would have taken care to keep quiet.
The downtown ground to a halt at Phikhat Square, spilling its cargo onto the crowded street. Wearing dark blue, ochre and gold, the money-workers made for the temples and Robin was able to sit down at last. She collapsed onto a slatted bench and watche
d the tops of the city whirl by in the steaming air. There were seven more stops to Semmerang and the laboratories. At last the downtown rang in triumph for the final stop, ready now to turn around and go back. Robin got out, her rubber-soled slippers padding on the platform, and headed for Paugeng Corporation and another day at work.
Inside the labs surrounding the Paugeng tower, there was a stirring atmosphere of activity and anticipation. People gathered in little knots, chattering. Robin was not part of the elite team, the chosen core, but the excitement infected her like a contagion as she hastened through the double doors of Y Lab. She passed her flustered colleagues and went straight through to the lift, heading for the basements. There, in the warren of rooms and corridors, the experiment was waiting for her, sitting up in his cot, arms around his knees, blinking blue eyes.
“How did you sleep?” Robin asked, a little anxious. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
The experiment smiled at her, vaguely. “It doesn’t matter. I slept well, thank you. I dreamed.”
Robin and her experiment had a number of choices about the playing of their particular game. So often it could take the form of doctor and patient, like the games you play in childhood, with the frisson of the forbidden. Sometimes, Robin was well aware, it could degenerate into torturer and tortured, if the controller had insufficient authority elsewhere. People take power where they can get it. Without really thinking about it, Robin knew exactly to which of her colleagues this description applied, but she did not find that axis seductive. She sympathized too much with her experiment, though she was well aware that she was not supposed to think of him as a person. He had no name, only a number. Robin, in a brief flouting of regulations, had asked him what he was called, but the experiment had only smiled and uttered a long string of syllables in a language like water. Robin, after some effort, had managed to break them down into something vaguely recognizable, and now she called him Mhara, but only under her breath, or in the privacy of her own head.
The experiment seemed too gentle to be demonkind, which made Robin’s job even more difficult. But if he was a demon, then experimenting on him was necessary, wasn’t it? Last year, the denizens of Hell had almost succeeded in vanquishing the city with a terrible engineered plague, and after that a number of research programs had been started up to combat the menace via scientific means. Paugeng had been given an enormous grant and the city’s blessing; shortly after this, the experiment had appeared.
Robin had asked Mhara which level of Hell he came from, of course, but he had merely given her a vague smile. Robin was desperate to find out more, but the experiment was classified and she was unwilling to risk her good job by asking awkward questions. Yet despite their situation, Robin still got the feeling that Mhara trusted her, and at a time when she had little enough satisfaction, this was a source of comfort. He needs me, she thought now, vaguely aware of the abyss that was opening beneath her feet. Now, Mhara sat up straighter, and Robin plumped the pillows.
“Could I get up today?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said again. “Not today. One more day, and then we’ll see how you’re doing.”
Mhara said nothing. Robin hated herself. She looked at the downcast experiment and the blue gaze turned to her as he smiled. They were marvelous eyes, and the contrast with his pale face and crow-blue hair was strikingly attractive. He looked nothing like the demons she had seen in the research files.
“It’s not your fault, Robin. I know that.”
It didn’t make Robin feel any better. Stifling guilt, she went through the various tasks of her day in peace, until late afternoon when there was a sudden hubbub in the lift landing.
“Excuse me,” Robin said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back in a moment.”
The experiment nodded. Robin went out and found her employer striding down the corridor. Jhai Tserai, wreathed in an amethyst silk sari, was surrounded by an adoring crowd, the young turks of Y Lab. Tserai’s trademark cascade of dark hair was drawn back from the elegant curves of her face. She appeared delighted to see Robin standing drably in the office doorway.
“Robin!” She kissed Robin’s cheek. “What a week, eh?” She gave Robin that eye-to-eye look which meant: We’ve really been through it, haven’t we? But we’re still one hell of a team.
She really isn’t much taller than me, Robin thought, and yet somehow Jhai always seemed to be looking down on her. Robin deeply distrusted Jhai’s attempts at friendliness, but when bathed in Jhai’s famous charm, she couldn’t help but respond. How did Jhai always manage to catch you off your guard? Robin wondered. She supposed it was some kind of charisma, but whatever it was, Jhai had it in spades. The subtle, provocative smell of Jhai’s perfume followed her into the lab.
The morning medication had taken effect. Mhara was sleeping, lying curled on his side and breathing peacefully. He always slept neatly, like a cat: no drooling or snoring.
Jhai peered at the winking lights on the monitor. “Seems fine to me. Good work, Robin. It’s never easy.” She gave Robin a dark, concerned glance.
“He’s so—accepting,” Robin said guiltily.
Jhai reached down and turned the experiment’s shoulder gently. The blue eyes were a dark well, open yet dreaming. The oval face was shadowed beneath a fall of hair.
“Where do we go from here?” Robin asked. Her boss shook her head.
“We just keep going until we figure out whatever neurological configuration it is that gives him his predictive abilities.” Catching sight of Robin’s unhappy expression, she added, “We need him, Robin. He can glimpse the future and we need to make sure that we’re one step ahead of Hell.”
Regular scientists were horrified by Jhai, Robin reflected. She was unmethodical, subjective, running on half-expressed intuitions, heretical and unrepentant. But because she was running the show she could work any way she pleased, and in the past the results had been impressive. Her disciple technicians trusted her, even when she outraged them. She rode the dragon and they ran along behind, imploring hands outstretched, pleading for her to slow down. She rewarded people who enjoyed being outraged: Robin was not one of them. Jhai, so forceful and vivid a presence in the dingy little lab, made her uneasy.
The experiment stirred and whimpered. Robin started fiddling with the hookups on the monitor. Another few minutes and then she would go home, and maybe Deveth would have rung. Better yet, perhaps she would find Deveth waiting on the step, her arms full of groceries, smiling up at Robin. Dream on, Robin thought. She glanced up to find that Jhai was staring at her, the gaze full of that assumed concern.
“Are you okay, Robin? You look a little tired.”
“I’m fine,” Robin lied.
“Good. Well, let me know if anything happens.”
Robin nodded, willing Jhai to leave, and at last, after a final data inspection, Jhai did so. Robin turned back to the bed. The experiment was awake. The blue eyes burned into her own.
“Mhara? What’s wrong?”
“The world,” the experiment said, almost conversationally, “is going to end. Very soon.”
“What?” Robin faltered. The experiment’s gaze blurred; his voice murmured in the vaults of her skull.
“I can see everything,” the experiment whispered. “Everything that will happen: blood and darkness and fire, demons devouring the city, ghosts running hungry through the streets. The end of everything.”—and suddenly Robin could see it too, a vision of apocalypse conferred without grace. A tower crumbled and fell, crashing down into the street. The ground split and splintered under her feet and above her, the sky, too, cracked like a fractured eggshell. Robin’s vision receded into a tunnel of night. She reeled back, her hand painfully striking the metal edge of the couch, and the lab was as before.
“What’s going to cause the end of the world?” The question was no more than a thought, but the answer hissed in her head.
Jhai Tserai …
Robin blinked, and the vision was suddenly gone. The exper
iment sank back against the pillows.
“Mhara?” Robin whispered. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and gripped his shoulders. “Mhara? What was that? What did we see?” but he was already back in the tranquilized trance that passed for sleep.
Her mind racing, Robin tidied up the desk in the lab, made a final check of the monitor and settled the experiment down for the night, attaching the linkmote that would alert her if anything went wrong. She smoothed the dark hair over the experiment’s brow. He smiled vaguely in his sleep. He looked so innocent, but the memories of what she had glimpsed were still vivid as nightmare.
“Goodnight,” Robin whispered. She locked the door and took the lift up to the atrium. She walked through it in a daze, automatically checking her employee card at the door, barely hearing the doorman’s farewell. Above her, the tower hummed with life; Paugeng worked round the clock. Robin stared numbly up at it as though she had never seen it before, and finally got herself sufficiently together to head for the tram. There was some hitch in the Shaopeng service, announced on the departure board, and the downtown was late, eventually arriving after seven. Robin’s journey passed swiftly, lost in a haze of speculation.
She had been instructed to report anything Mhara said, directly to Jhai, but she did not want to anger her employer, and informing Jhai that she was apparently the cause of wholesale destruction seemed a good way to go about this. Robin herself was not even sure that she believed in Mhara’s predictive abilities, but Jhai believed, and that was the important thing. Robin tossed questions to and fro in her head until she was too tired to think.
By the time she got home, the sky had darkened to rose. Deveth was not waiting on the doorstep. Robin tried to stifle the hope as she stepped into the hallway, but found to her own disgust that she was holding her breath. No one was waiting for her. I told you so, Robin said to herself. She climbed the interminable flight of stairs and opened the front door.
