by Liz Williams
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.
10
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 rumbled 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 kne
w 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.
11
“They’ve found another body,” Ma said, sounding almost cheerful.
“Have they indeed?” Zhu Irzh murmured. He put down the copy of the Hell Morning News, which was delivered promptly to the station house every day, took a sip of blood tea, and gave Ma his full attention. “Who and where?”
“It isn’t a woman this time, but it’s in pretty much the same condition. Looks as though something tore it apart, and it’s a few days old, probably about the same time of death as the first. They found it up on a mining site, dumped in a landfill crater. It was sheer luck that the foreman spotted it; they were about to fill in the hole when he noticed the foot.”
“The foot?”
“They found the rest of the body nearby.”
“And have they figured out who it was?” Zhu Irzh rubbed gritty eyes.
“As a matter of fact, yes, they have. It’s the body of a local feng shui man, named Hsu Ko. Seems he was undertaking some dowsing on the site, to check for minerals. He’s one of a number of feng shui experts on contract to the mining companies.”
“Any obvious suspects?”
“No, apparently he was liked well enough, kept to himself. He was brought in to replace someone who was having problems with their license—” Ma frowned. “A man called Paravang Roche. Didn’t you have a run-in with someone of that name?”
“Yes, I was the one who got his license revoked. He hadn’t paid his bribes. It was a trivial affair.”
“Maybe not to Roche. These people can get very jealous with one another. My cousin used to work for the Feng Shui Practitioners’ Guild but he packed it in, said there was too much backstabbing. Anyway, the foreman said that Ko was the last person he’d expect to turn up murdered.”
“And we’re expecting the DNA results on the last body this morning, right? Perhaps there’ll be a connection,” Zhu Irzh murmured, though he could not bring himself to be too hopeful. Things just didn’t work out like that. But to his surprise, Ma nodded.
“Yes, there is. The mining company’s owned by Paugeng.”
“Paugeng?” Zhu Irzh glanced up with renewed interest. “Jhai Tserai’s company. Well, well. Paravang Roche worked for Paugeng before his disgrace. And Tserai was a friend of the murdered girl.” He sipped his tea, lost in momentary contemplation. Jhai was starting to feature heavily in this investigation, not to mention Zhu Irzh’s dreams. The previous night had been restless and disturbing, filled with images of Jhai in his arms and the sweetness of orgasm running through him like water. Demons were renowned for their sexual stamina, but everyone had their limits and morning had seen Zhu Irzh exhausted. It would have been worth it if Jhai had actually been present in the bed, but Zhu Irzh rather resented so strong an attraction being placed upon him from afar. It put him at a disadvantage, and wounded his pride.
“I think we’d better take a look at the site,” he said now. “And the body.”
But Captain Sung, it seemed, had other ideas.
“I told you, Zhu Irzh. I don’t want you too involved with this investigation.” Zhu Irzh held his breath, but Sung made no mention of his trip to see Tserai. “However, there is something you can do. I’d like you to check the feng shui of the site itself. See if there’s anything peculiar about it. Sometimes meridians can attract elemental spirits, and they’re often dangerous. We should take another look at the place where Sardai’s body was found, too.”
“All right,” the demon said. “I think I can handle that.”
When told of the plan, Sergeant Ma frowned. “Do you know much about feng shui? Because I don’t.”
“I don’t either,” the demon said thoughtfully. “Only what I learned from my tutor. But I know someone who does.”
“Who, Paravang Roche? You can’t involve a potential suspect in the investigation of a murder!”
“Why not? It’ll be interesting to see how he reacts. And there’s no question about his skills, just his finances.”
“I really don’t think—I mean, Captain Sung told me what he said to you and—”
“I know what Sung said. Look, Chen left me in charge of you, didn’t he? I’ll take the blame if anything goes wrong.”
He was expecting further protests, but Ma merely muttered.
Fortunately, it was still early, even by the time they had collected a protesting Paravang Roche from his little apartment and driven up to the site. The scars and tears in the earth were shrouded in the clouds that boiled down from the top of Wuan Chih. The damp air was refreshing after the humid heat of the last few days, but Zhu Irzh knew that it wouldn’t last. Before noon the sun would swim up and burn out the mist in a burst of heat, and by midafternoon the humans would all be sweltering and sweating.
“Nice morning,” Zhu Irzh said to Paravang, who just grunted. The dowser’s face was sourness itself. Paravang had gasped when he saw the demon once more standing on his doorstep, and Zhu Irzh’s sensitive nose had caught the unmistakable odor of guilt. Interesting, the demon thought now. What had the dowser been up to, then, apart from unpaid license fees? Murder, perhaps? But he couldn’t see what Roche thought he might achieve by murdering the man who had replaced him: it wouldn’t get his license back, after all. Well, there was plenty of time to find out. It was always useful to have a dowser on board, given the ever-shifting feng shui of Singapore Three. Paravang would be working for him, now. Without pay.
They surveyed the squares along the eastern margin, Paravang’s dowsing rods twitching infinitesimally. At least he appeared to be taking his professional responsibilities seriously. Zhu Irzh, hands in his pockets, strolled around the segmented edges of the square, then stood, a shadow in the morning mist, and looked enquiringly at Paravang.
“The meridian’s running through here,” Paravang at last volunteered, grudgingly.
Zhu Irzh swung around, staring. “So the body was found on the same meridian, is that correct?” He glanced down the hill to where police tape marked off an orange square. A sheet concealed what remained of Paravang’s luckless successor. Irritably, Paravang nodded.
“And you’re quite sure about that, are you?” The demon frowned, thinking back to an early lesson in the precepts of feng shui. That had been over a hundred years ago now. It was a long time to keep anything in your head, and Zhu Irzh believed in remembering only the essentials.
“What do you mean, am I ‘quite sure’?” Paravang asked, with some belligerence.
“Well, I thought we might be getting confused with the lesser land lines.” Zhu Irzh frowned at the ground. The ch’i meridians glo
wed with a very faint light, only dimly discernible even to a demon’s enhanced gaze. “It’s not wholly clear …”
“What isn’t?” The dowser glared at him.
“The meridian goes down here and then up under this boulder, yes?” The demon’s long fingers made undulating motions, like someone emulating the flight of birds.
“I suppose so.” Paravang conceded.
“Here, where the thing starts to descend again, is where I thought there might be a join. There’s a meridian coming in from the southwest. There’s a lot of water under here, too.”
“There’s no join.” Paravang Roche spoke with absolute finality.
“I see,” Zhu Irzh said.
“I suppose you can sense a sort of knot?” Paravang lectured.
“Actually, as far as I can see, it’s more like a seam.”
“The knot is produced by the presence of the mountain line to the northwest, which pulls the meridian out of shape. Anyway, what of it? What am I even doing here?”
“The mountain line is muted by water, surely? Look, Paravang, we don’t know whether the site’s feng shui actually does have anything to do with the murder, but since the dead man was a dowser, and since dangerous elementals can sometimes be conjured by disturbances to the earth, and since those same elementals are forced to travel along ch’i meridians, it’s worth investigating, surely?” Did Paravang’s manner suggest guilt, or only irritation? Zhu Irzh wished he had paid a little more attention to studies of human body language, but it was not an area that greatly interested most of Hellkind. He turned back to the site without waiting for a reply. “There’s a substantial spring down there.” He pointed.
Paravang said loftily, “I doubt that very much. It’s entirely the wrong sort of terrain.”
Zhu Irzh made a universal both-hands-in-the-air gesture.
“I can’t help that. I can see it! There it is. Go and get your little stick and take a look.”
“It is not a little stick! It is a dowsing wand!”
