by Liz Williams
“It’s an Imperial statue,” Mhara whispered. “It must have recognized me.”
“Mhara, we have to find a way out of here. Deveth’s spirit is roaming around and it obviously doesn’t wish you well. We have to get back to Earth, or—”
“Not Earth, Robin. I have to return to Heaven. I told you. Someone must tell them what’s happening.”
“But you said that they won’t let you back into Heaven … Mhara, if you explained to them—no one could blame you for what you did.”
“You think so? Heaven is merciful to human souls, but very hard on its own. We are supposed to know better. And there was—an earlier transgression on my part.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tserai was only able to capture me because I was already on Earth, Robin. She did not summon me from Heaven. I should not have come here, I was denied permission, but I wanted—” Mhara stopped.
“Wanted what?”
“Wanted to see for myself. I don’t think you understand how remote Heaven has become over the last century. As fewer and fewer people believe in it, so it withdraws itself. Celestials are starting to ask themselves why they bother with the affairs of the Human Realms, when they get so little thanks for it. If it wasn’t for a bureaucracy that was set up aeons ago, to bring souls to Heaven and reward them for their efforts, then I am not even sure whether the Celestials would bother.”
“But what would happen to all the souls?”
“They’d go to the only place that would have them. Hell is always hungry, Robin.”
“But that isn’t fair,” Robin said, aware that she was sounding like a child.
“Heaven thinks that it is taking too long for your kind to learn anything. It thinks that it has given you thousands of years’ worth of grace, and that still does not seem to be enough.”
“But the woes of the world, the pestilences and the wars and so forth, are so often engineered by Hell.”
“The Celestials say that you have a choice, and they’re right, aren’t they? You do.”
And to that, Robin could only be silent.
“If we are to enter Heaven,” Mhara said, and she glanced up sharply at his use of the plural, “then we will have to do so by stealth alone.”
28
The Temple of Celestial Goddess Kuan Yin held unfortunate memories for Zhu Irzh. He was not fond of meeting the Celestial beings: partly because they were always so smug, and partly because they produced an unpleasant reaction in him—a kind of burning, itching sensation, combined with dizziness. Chen had explained once that it was rather similar to negative and positive particles, but Zhu Irzh had so little interest in science that he tuned out the rest of the conversation and had only started paying attention again when Chen had suggested getting something to eat. And this particular goddess kept treating him not as a powerful and terrifying demon from Hell, but more like a small child in need of a smack. It was with reluctance, therefore, that the demon accompanied Chen through the portals of the goddess’ temple and into the courtyard within.
Even granted that it was midafternoon, the courtyard was quiet. Someone had obviously been here recently because a tall, red stick of incense was smoldering in its holder, and Zhu Irzh could detect a faint cold trace of unhappiness on the air, like snowmelt on the tongue. Prayers for the sick, perhaps. To any normal demon, such emotional residue would have been as sweet as candy, but Zhu Irzh found his spirits sinking. He told himself to get a grip. It was definitely time for a therapist when he finally got back home.
“Even though she’s not my patron anymore,” Chen was saying, “I should think she’d listen.”
“Of course,” Zhu Irzh agreed. “She’ll want to know what’s going on.”
Chen gave him a narrow look. “And you. Where do you stand on this?”
“Right, well. I think Heaven’s boring. A civil war and an invasion by Hell would certainly liven things up a bit, but on the other hand, we’d have to do something with the place when we took it over and it’s so bland. We’d have to redecorate. And there’s another thing, Chen. Without Heaven, we could do what we want, and I think that might get rather dull as well.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you capable of such theological profundity,” Chen said, expressionless. Zhu Irzh tried to decide if he was being sarcastic, and failed.
“I’m full of surprises,” he said.
Chen pushed the double doors of the temple aside and stepped through. It felt empty to Zhu Irzh—true, there was no one around, but usually the Earthly homes of the Celestials felt full of presence, as though the gods were keeping an eye on the place, no matter what else they might be doing. This place felt dead. Chen was frowning.
“Wait here.” Zhu Irzh watched as Chen walked up to the statue of the goddess and closed his eyes. The demon could see Chen’s lips moving in the supplicatory prayer, and braced himself for that unnerving moment when the goddess swam into liquid life. But despite Chen’s obviously heartfelt plea, nothing happened. Kuan Yin remained as cool, impervious marble.
“What’s wrong?” Zhu Irzh called.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s out.”
“Out? Gods can’t be out. They’re everywhere.”
“Well, she isn’t answering.”
“Maybe she’s busy. Hearing the cries of the world must take up more and more time these days, not to mention doling out doses of compassion here, there and everywhere.”
“I would remind you,” Chen said rather coldly, “that this is the goddess’ temple we’re in.”
“What’s the problem? She isn’t listening, is she?”
“Zhu Irzh, could you wait outside for a minute?” The demon was good at judging when Chen was reaching the limits of his tolerance. He complied without demur.
It was more than a minute. Zhu Irzh cooled his heels in the courtyard for just under an hour by the time that Chen re-emerged.
“Any luck?”
“None. And the temple feels—”
“Dead?”
“Yes, as though any deific life that was in it has departed. Something is obviously wrong.”
“Perhaps she just doesn’t want to talk to you?” Zhu Irzh said hesitantly.
“Perhaps not.” Chen looked so unhappy that the demon’s heart went out to him.
“There’s no way of sending her a message?”
Chen sighed. “I’d just rather speak to her directly. I don’t want to take the risk of a message being somehow intercepted, that’s all.”
“Look, let’s go back to the precinct,” Zhu Irzh suggested. “We can still try the Night Harbor. Then, if you like, we can come back via the temple, or one closer to the Harbor, and you can see if your lady is receiving guests again.”
“If I can’t get through to Kuan Yin,” Chen said. “I’ll try one of the other gods. The Emperor has got to know about this.”
“Do you think He’ll take it seriously without evidence?”
“By then,” Chen said, “I would hope that some evidence, at least, will be in our possession.”
29
Robin and Mhara moved as swiftly as they could through the Night Harbor, but the chilly air seemed to sap Robin’s strength. She should not be here, it was not her time—and the knowledge that she had been here before, passing from one life to the next, in perhaps many different incarnations, was unsettling. Who had she been, in all those past lives? Had Deveth been there, and what had Deveth been to her then? Sister, perhaps, or lover, or mother, or murderer? All lives are connected, Robin knew, the economical universe weaving patterns from the same cloth, unpicking it again, unmaking … But Mhara could not have been there, if he was a Celestial being. Mhara must be immortal, constant, not subject to the forces of life and death.
“Mhara?” she said now. “Where are we going?”
“To find a boat.”
“What boat?”
“The boat that takes souls to Heaven. We will have to stow away, Robin, and I do not know if that will be possible. I c
an mask myself, perhaps, but the wards on the boat are set to sniff out a human soul. I can’t expect you to risk that.”
“I want to go with you,” Robin said. “Even if we get kicked out of Heaven immediately. And besides, it’s probably my only chance of ever getting to see the place.”
Mhara gave a soft laugh. “Are you so sure, then, that you have not and will not?”
“I’m not a good enough person, I think.”
“You see, this is why I left. Whatever Heaven might say, it does not understand what it’s like to be human. It doesn’t understand the stresses that you live under.”
“You said we had a choice,” Robin pointed out, “and we do.”
“But sometimes it isn’t possible to see that. Life and living obscures it, makes it disappear. Don’t underestimate how hard it is to be alive. I did not understand that before I came here. Heaven entombs itself in perfection; Heaven has forgotten. Perhaps, Robin, it is that Heaven is not good enough for you.”
“That sounds like heresy,” Robin said, with unease. “Whatever religion one might practice.”
“Then maybe the heretics are right.”
Robin looked about her. This area of the Night Harbor was nothing like the city they had left. Great shadowy buildings rose on either side, but as Robin watched, they shifted, altering into mere facades, some crumbling into ruin before her eyes. Mhara tugged at her arm.
“Robin …”
“I know. I’m coming. Do you know where we’re going? Can you tell?”
Mhara’s face fell. “I thought I knew. But now I’m not so sure.”
Robin looked about her, frustrated. “I don’t know the typography of the Night Harbor. Only the superstitions about the journey of the soul—across the razor bridge, through Bad Dog Village, then to the port …”
“We are not near the razor bridge,” Mhara said. “That lies close to the entrance to the port, and in any case, we would not be drawn to it—you are a living soul, and I am a Celestial.”
“What about Bad Dog Village, then?”
“We will probably have to pass through that.” Mhara’s eyes were wide in the dim light. “Or around it, which would be wiser.”
“Bad Dog Village is not supposed to be a nice place,” Robin said, shivering. “The souls of the lost, caught between Heaven and Hell.”
“Like Deveth,” Mhara murmured. “Talking of dogs.”
Robin grimaced. “Or bitches.”
The area through which they were now walking was no longer so built up. She could see ahead to what looked like fields, filled with shadow-colored corn. When she looked back, the buildings had melted away and all she could see were the fields, stretching into the distance. The air smelled moist, filled with growing things. It was, Robin felt, the healthiest place they had come to since entering the Night Harbor. The crops, however, varied. Sometimes the fields seemed to contain corn, tall and fringed. Sometimes, the ghostly leaves of pak choi rose stumpily from the earth, and when Robin glanced again, she saw nothing but rice paddies. Then the crops were once more corn. Mhara paused and touched one of the tall, nodding heads.
“It’s not supposed to be a good thing to eat when you are in the Night Harbor.”
“I’m not hungry anyway,” Robin said. The idea of eating any of these shadowed plants was off-putting—then Mhara’s hand whipped back. The fringed ear of corn was writhing. Moments later, it split to release a huge moth, which unfurled sticky wings and sailed off into the darkness. The remains of the ear of corn shriveled and withered, and the long stem sank silently back into the ground. A minute later, a sullen potato plant emerged.
“Let’s go,” Robin said, appalled by this strange fertility. But they did not get far. The corn rustled as if a wind was rushing across it. Mhara drew Robin back, further into the roadway, but figures were already leaping from the corn, waving long pikes. Robin clapped a hand to her mouth. The figures were squat, moving springlike on legs that bent backward from the knee. They wore leather armor, and long fingers tipped with black nails clasped, their weaponry. Their faces reminded her horribly of Deveth’s new form: snarling doglike masks, mouths gaping behind short tusks. They stank of old meat and piss. They formed a ring around Robin and Mhara, and moved in closer, jostling and yipping at one another.
“So,” one of them said in a strangely musical voice, “you’re the missing boy.”
30
“Good news?” Paravang Roche asked hopefully.
The broker shook his head.
“No news?” Again, the broker shook his head.
“I thought it was to be last night!” Roche said in an urgent undertone. Several people, their prayers disturbed, glanced at him and frowned. The broker was obviously choosing his words carefully.
“So did I. But evidently matters have gone awry. The appointed gentleman did not return to the hiring place, nor was he at his abode this morning. There is beginning to be some concern.”
Paravang felt someone draw a long, cold finger up his backbone. He was on the ground again and an expressionless killer’s face was gazing down at him.
“What is to be done?”
“Give it another day,” the broker said. He rose stiffly to his feet, wincing.
He is not a young man, and neither am I, Paravang thought. His jaw still hurt where the demon had cuffed him to the floor. He was reaching an age where his feet hurt him if he stood for too long, whereas his enemy paced the ground with predator’s grace, the walk of a man who dispatched trained assassins without even thinking about it, and now he might be hunting me. Why did I do this? The dowser panicked. He should have done what that bitch Tserai had suggested and risen above it, let it rest. Hate had blinded him to consequence. In fright, he clutched at the old broker’s arm.
“Can I stay here tonight in the temple? Will that be permitted?”
The broker detached himself with distaste.
“I imagine that for an appropriate consideration …”
“Of course!”
Paravang rummaged in his pockets. He gave the broker a handful of notes. The old man looked at the money as though Roche had handed him something old and dead.
“I suppose this will have to do. But what will you do after tonight? You can’t stay here forever, you know.”
Paravang nodded mutely. Senditreya save me … He turned a pleading gaze to his goddess, bowed his head to the floor and spent the first and only night of his life in prayer.
31
It took some time for the permit to enter the Night Harbor to come through, during which Zhu Irzh fretted and chafed. Chen remained closeted in Sung’s office for almost an hour, leaving the demon in the company of the precinct’s indifferent coffee and the badger, which stared unblinkingly at Zhu Irzh with a gaze like a winter’s night.
“What’s the matter with you?” the demon asked.
“I watch, only. You are a creature of Hell,” the badger said in its thick, slow voice.
“What of it? You hardly hail from the Celestial Realms yourself.”
“I am a creature of Earth,” the badger said.
Zhu Irzh frowned at it. “You really care what happens to Earth? To the human world? They haven’t treated you very well, have they? You have to stay as a teakettle half your life.”
“It is my nature,” the badger said. “Earth and metal. I was forged from the elements of human world. It is as it is. I do not complain.”
“You don’t normally talk so much,” the demon said.
“There is not normally much that I wish to say,” the badger replied.
A moment later, to Zhu Irzh’s relief, Chen returned.
“Well, the captain’s taken care of,” Chen remarked. “He was all set to send you straight back to Hell.”
“Sung is always set to send me straight back to Hell.” The demon grimaced.
“This time more than usual. You’re not proving to be the model cop, Zhu Irzh.”
“I had numerous citations in my previous job!” Zhu Irz
h said, stung.
“Quite so. And now you and I are going to the Night Harbor. The permit’s arrived.”
Zhu Irzh had no feelings either way about the Night Harbor. He neither liked it nor disliked it. He saw its necessity, whilst considering it something of a nuisance. Everything to do with it seemed so drawn out and tedious, compared with the comparative ease of shifting between Hell and Earth. However, he was compelled to admit that the majority of humans and, indeed, entities did not enjoy his own family connections and thus there was some need for a kind of clearing house for the majority of the world’s population. And the Night Harbor did have its charms. You saw some interesting sights—particularly those unfortunates who had recently departed their bodies and retained the semblance of their last moments of life. Zhu Irzh had once glimpsed someone who had been entirely flat: some kind of industrial accident, no doubt. But he could never get to grips with the place; it shifted about even more elusively than Hell itself.
“At least we know what Deveth looked like,” Chen said, as they entered the long, low building that housed the entrance to the Harbor.
“Not if she’s still got her final appearance in the body. Still, as I think I said to Ma, all we’ll have to do then is to look for someone who’s minus their face.”
“There can’t be that many people in such a condition,” Chen remarked.
“Who is to say? The Night Harbor is an odd place.”
The young man at the reception desk of the Night Harbor had the air of one who is convinced that he is meant for better things. The sulky, handsome face congealed with disdain as he set eyes on Chen and the badger, mixed with wariness when he saw Zhu Irzh.
“We have a permit,” Chen said, and handed it over. The young man stared at it grudgingly, as though hoping to find something wrong with it. But the paperwork was in order. At last the young man gave a martyred sigh and said, “You’d better go through, then.”
Zhu Irzh could feel the young man’s stare as they stepped through the double doors into a kind of airlock that led to the Night Harbor itself. “What’s his problem?” he muttered to Chen.
