Snake Agent

by Liz Williams

  “That’s your wife?” Zhu Irzh asked in dismay.

  It was then that Chen’s suspicions were confirmed. Over Inari’s quivering shoulder, he said, “Yes, she is. Zhu Irzh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—how could I?”

  “Just my luck,” the demon muttered.

  The First Lord of Banking stepped forwards. “Where is he?” he hissed at Zhu Irzh.

  The demon stared at him, blankly. “Where’s who?”

  “The Minister of Epidemics, who else? I suppose you’ve been mooning over some strumpet while I, I, have been suffering in dire extremity in the depths of Hell.” His face was suffused with rage.

  Hastily, Chen detached his quivering wife and bowed, saying quickly, “Eminence. We were both witness to the woeful destruction wreaked upon your house by unscrupulous persons. Seneschal Zhu Irzh has been working tirelessly ever since to seek those responsible and bring them to justice.”

  “Very well,” the First Lord of Banking said, somewhat mollified. “Then where are these self-same culprits?”

  Chen pointed at the wreckage of the alchemist.

  “Well, there’s one. Slain by Seneschal Zhu, unless I am greatly mistaken. The Imperial troops appear to be confined behind these doors. I don’t know what happened to the Minister of Epidemics.”

  “I know,” someone said in a still, quiet voice, stepping forwards. Chen felt his knees turn inexplicably to water.

  “You do not know me,” the scarred woman said, preempting him. “I am Fan. And I know where the Minister of Epidemics has gone.”

  “Where, then?”

  “To seek sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?” the First Lord of Banking asked, brow furrowed.

  “This game has become too public. It has attracted the attention of Heaven, of the world above, and of the Lords of Hell, such as yourself, and I am sure you would be the first to agree that the Ministry of Epidemics has overstepped the mark.”

  The First Lord of Banking snorted. “That’s one way of putting it. I do not expect inter-departmental backstabbing to be taken to such extremes. But if the Ministry has the backing of the Imperial Court, what can one do?”

  “The Lords of Hell can do little. But Hell alone does not have a say in what happens in the world. The endeavors of the Ministry of Epidemics have attracted Heaven’s attention, too. And that is where the Minister has gone.”

  “To Heaven?” Zhu Irzh asked, amazed. Fan smiled.

  “Not quite. To the nearest incarnation of it, to seek asylum from the wrath of his Imperial Majesty. To the temple of Kuan Yin. And that is where we must go, too.”

  “All very well,” the First Lord of Banking said. “But first we’ve got to get out of the Ministry.” He glanced uneasily at the Records Office, where a persistent banging had replaced ominous silence. The troops were trying to get out.

  Fan nodded. “Then let’s go.”

  They hastened through the hallways and passages of the Ministry of Epidemics, and as they went, Chen saw that changes were taking place. The drapes had become moldered, and stank of damp. Some of these had fallen away from the walls, revealing scabrous patches upon the bilious green plasterwork. The gaps between carpet and wall had begun to ooze a thick, slimy fluid which seeped into the carpets and made them sticky, causing both Inari and the First Lord to slip. Behind them, the banging was growing louder, reaching a rhythmic intensity that suggested the release of the Imperial troops was imminent.

  “What’s happening?” Zhu Irzh asked, puzzled, but it was Chen who first realized what was taking place.

  “It’s the Ministry,” he said. “I think it’s sick.”

  Zhu Irzh stared at him blankly.

  “Sick?” Inari echoed doubtfully.

  Chen nodded. “For once, that’s a good sign. In a way.”

  The First Lord frowned. “I don’t see how.”

  Patiently, Chen explained. “The Minister of Epidemics has fled; the Imperial Court has withdrawn its favor due to the Minister’s bungling. Without the Minister to oversee it, and with the destruction of the Imperial alchemist, the building itself has become infected with its own bio-organisms. It’s breaking down.”

  “That could be possible, you know,” the First Lord admitted, glancing back. “The building itself may seem to be made of metal and stone, but it’s impregnated with the essences of all the plagued spirits who have ever passed through its portals.”

  “That’s a lot of spirits,” Zhu Irzh murmured, after a pause.

  “Indeed.”

  A thunderous bang came from the direction of the Records Office, and the pounding of many inhuman feet. By now, Chen was almost dragging Inari along, and even Zhu Irzh’s breath was coming fast and ragged. They turned a corner into an immense antechamber, with a neat placard at one end that indicated a flight of stairs.

  “Over there!” Chen panted, pointing. They bolted for the stairs, but the doors were locked.

  With a glance at one another, Chen and Zhu Irzh kicked them in. The party tumbled down into a shadowy stairwell, which opened out onto a space so vast that at first Chen had a hard time taking it in. He could see all the way up to the uppermost stories of the Ministry, and all the way down. The stairwell ran around a great column of dark air; it was a very long way to the bottom. Holding fast to Inari’s hand, and followed by his companions, Chen started the descent.

  It became immediately evident that the stairs were not designed for human feet, nor even for their analog. Some steps were exceedingly wide, some very narrow, as though the architect had tried to please everyone via the dubious method of insane and haphazard compromise. They had gone no more than two flights when the doors by which they had entered were blown back on their hinges. One of the doors came loose and hurtled past the startled party, only to drift as softly as a leaf down into the depths of the stairwell. Above, the Imperial troops were coming through. Their talons grated on the stone; they emitted a high, sibilant whispering. Chen and the others speeded up, half-falling down the uneven stairs in their haste, but the Imperial troops moved too quickly, bounding down the steps like dogs. In the next moment, the troops were nearly upon them, so close that Chen could see their crimson throats between their long, sharp mandibles. Desperately, Chen prepared to fight. Zhu Irzh followed his lead, drawing the sword with a hiss. The Imperial troop leader bounded through, and past them. The first line of troops followed, flowing around Chen and Zhu Irzh, and down the stairwell. As the rest of the battalion of Imperial soldiers scrambled after them, Chen and the others were left standing, open-mouthed, in disbelief.

  “I thought they were after us,” Inari said; and the First Lord of Banking replied, “Which makes me wonder what they’re running from.” As one, they all glanced up toward the shattered doors, but Chen felt it long before he saw it. It was like sickness, like the first clammy onset of plague. It was absolute wrongness. Chen grasped Inari around the waist and hoisted her up.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “No time!” Chen shouted. “Follow me!” Then he threw himself and Inari over the banisters and into the void of the stairwell.

  They fell so far and so fast that for a moment, Chen blacked out. He came round in a panic to see Inari’s face pressed into his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut and her face screwed as tight as an unfurled lotus bud. Over the top of her head, he saw Fan floating downwards. Her arms were crossed upon her breast; her robes were wrapped tightly around her and she was spinning slowly, like a giant top. There was no sign of either Zhu Irzh or the First Lord of Banking, but then Chen was spun around and he saw them falling far below. The two demons had joined hands, and they rode the air like birds: Zhu Irzh’s shirt and the First Lord’s robes swirling around them in dark wings. There was a soundless, percussive blast from high above. Bits of banister, shards of wood and stone and metal, and a tangled mass of something that had once been alive surrounded them. Chen’s face was gashed by a piece of flying glass and the blood flew out in droplets. Seeing the blood, Inari tri
ed to speak but velocity ripped the words out of her mouth. Chen was trying not to think about what would happen when they hit the bottom, which, if the patch of solid darkness below was anything to go by, was not far away.

  There came another soundless explosion and a rent half a mile wide was ripped in the walls of the Ministry. Chen saw a patch of stormy daylight ahead, and then he and Inari were flying, not down but outwards, carried through the rip in the Ministry like specks of dust on a whirlwind. Chen had a sudden view of Hell unfolding below, as they were cast out over the port area. He wondered, through the roaring in his ears, if he were screaming. Ahead, the immense darkness of the sea was coming up fast. Inari was clutching him so tightly he was beginning to choke, and then they were once more plunging down.

  Chen did not have time to think about dying. They hit the sea like diving gulls, but instead of unconsciousness or the sudden burst of water into their lungs, all was suddenly calm. It was then that Chen realized that the Sea of Night was as literal as its name implied: made not of water, but of darkness. Inari released her grip and they floated apart, hand in hand, drifting on a cool current of night. A very long way below—or perhaps the word had no meaning here—Chen could see something that looked like a great watery star, hovering in the depths. A glittering skein of lights spiraled up from the deep: Chen had no idea what it might be, but it was so beautiful that he could only stare in wonder. Catching sight of Inari, he saw that same dreaming sense reflected in her face. His vision was growing dim, and a warmth was expanding in his chest; they could just stay here, he thought dimly, and sail all the way back to the world itself … Inari tugged urgently at his hand. He glanced at her, and saw that the dreaminess in her face had been replaced by panic. She cried, “Chen Wei! We’re drowning!”

  Her voice sounded quite clear, but very far away. Chen smiled benignly.

  “Don’t be silly. We’re floating in air, not water,” he thought he heard himself say.

  “I don’t care! We’re still drowning! We have to get out!”—and without waiting for an answer, Inari kicked up strongly, taking Chen with her. Blood pounded in his head, and his chest felt tight. He did not want to go back up to the surface, back into Hell; he wanted to stay here, in this drifting, dreaming, under-air world, and he tried to pull away from Inari’s hand. But her long talons cut cruelly into his flesh, bringing with the pain a measure of sanity. He struck upwards, matching her strokes, and after what seemed like a spinning eternity they shot out into the fumes of Hell.

  It was still light. The surface below them was glassy and serene, and Chen saw that they were not far from a jetty, on which a number of figures were standing.

  “There!” Inari cried. They swam towards shore, and as they neared the jetty they saw that someone was leaning down to help them up: Zhu Irzh, with the First Lord of Banking at his shoulder.

  “Thought you’d gone,” Zhu Irzh said, wide-eyed. He began to wring out the perfectly dry hem of his shirt. “Feels odd,” he added, in response to Chen’s raised eyebrows. He was, Chen could not help noting, careful not to look at Inari at all.

  “Where’s the scarred woman?” Chen said. The First Lord gave a boneless shrug.

  “No idea. Somewhere out there, perhaps.” They gazed soberly out across the heaving surface of night.

  “No use looking,” Zhu Irzh remarked pragmatically. Inari’s face was troubled.

  “She was good to me,” she whispered.

  The First Lord said grimly, “Never mind her. Look at that.”

  Chen turned. They were standing across from the port area of Hell, with an unimpeded view over to the main administrative square, which he and Zhu Irzh had crossed so little time ago. Where the Ministry of Epidemics had stood was a twisted framework, covered by a dark, crawling mass. A humming, buzzing note was distantly audible, and the smell of decay fought for pre-eminence with the usual odors of Hell.

  “The Imperial Court must have been really pissed off,” Zhu Irzh said, with some awe.

  “What is that?” Chen murmured, and the demon said simply, “Flies. They’ve turned it into a hive.”

  “One of the Seventh Seasonal Curses,” the First Lord amplified. “Usually applied to individuals, however, not governmental departments. I would echo the Seneschal’s succinct comments.”

  “Fan said that the Minister had fled to the temple of Kuan Yin,” Chen said. “Let’s go.” Reaching out a hand to Inari, he strode down the wharf, followed by the others.

  56

  Since the temple lay in an analogous position to the ones in the worlds above, Chen and the demons were obliged to traverse the port area of Hell in order to reach it. For once, Chen was grateful to be in the company of so many of Hell-kind. The city was in chaos. Most of the dingy shops and emporiums were closed, and as they passed the doorway to a nearby demon lounge, the shutters went down with a bang, closing off the establishment from the street beyond. Small groups of demons clustered everywhere, casting unsettled glances in the direction of the former Ministry of Epidemics, the rank, diseased odor of which permeated the city like a urine-soaked sponge. Chen was wondering how the demise of the Ministry would affect his own world: Would the incidence of plagues and viruses decrease until the Ministry—or whatever might be left of its personnel—crawled back into Imperial favor? Would suffering be reapportioned so that war, say, would suddenly break out? A higher incidence of lust might be no bad thing, but Heaven wouldn’t like that. As if he had read Chen’s mind, Zhu Irzh remarked, “It’s only temporary, you realize. The Ministry will have to rebuild. It’s too valuable an asset.”

  “Tell me,” Chen said, directing the question towards the First Lord of Banking. “Has this sort of thing happened before?”

  The First Lord nodded. “Several times, throughout the long history of our eminent region. The Ministry of Civil Strife copped it last time—a matter of the Maoist revolution. That wasn’t supposed to be quite so successful, I understand.”

  “It brought its own woes. I’m surprised there doesn’t seem to be a Ministry designated for oppression.”

  “I believe it’s a subdivision of War,” the First Lord said absently, gazing around at the empty street. “And talking of government departments, where did all those Imperial troops go?”

  Zhu Irzh shrugged. “Out to sea with the rest of us.”

  “The Imperial Court wouldn’t have put all its demons in one basket,” said Chen. “I think we should go more carefully.”

  Mindful of this, the little group ducked down an alleyway and Zhu Irzh led them through a familiarly confusing warren of streets. After some time, during which they met no one save ordinary citizens, the red roofs of the temple rose above its surrounding wall.

  “Looks pretty quiet,” said Zhu Irzh.

  “I don’t find that reassuring.” Motioning the rest to silence, Chen crept around the wall to the main gate and peered cautiously through a crack in the door.

  “Can you see anything?”

  “No, it all looks quiet enough.” Warily, he touched the lock, gave the door a slight push, and stepped back to where the others were standing in the shelter of a dark grove of spine-trees. The door swung open. Nothing happened.

  “I hope you won’t take this for rank cowardice,” the First Lord of Banking said with unaccustomed diffidence, “and I am mindful of my own loss of face, but I would prefer not to enter the domain of one of the Immortals.”

  Chen smiled. “You don’t get on with gods, then?” But I’m not sure I do either, anymore, he thought.

  The First Lord said, “They are in a sense my counterparts, but frankly, I find their presence gives me a headache.”

  “I suspect it’s mutual,” Chen said. To his surprise, the First Lord gave a rather thin smile in return. It was then that memory returned to Chen.

  “You said you don’t get on with gods,” he said. “Would you know one if you met one?”

  “Of course I’d know,” the First Lord said, bridling. “Do you take me for an idiot? W
hy do you ask?”

  “I have a reason,” Chen said, thinking back to the Records Office and of Fan standing serenely amid incipient chaos. “I’d rather not elaborate just yet, though.”

  “Up to you,” the First Lord said, not without suspicion. Chen turned to Zhu Irzh.

  “What about you?”

  The demon shrugged. “I’ve been in there before, in your world.” He shivered, once, and a shadow crossed his face.

  “Are you all right?” Chen asked, concerned. Zhu Irzh nodded.

  “Yes. Just remembered something, that’s all. I’m coming with you.”

  “So am I,” said Inari with conviction. “I’m not staying out here with him.”

  “I believe, madam,” the First Lord said with some hauteur, “that I could offer adequate protection against most eventualities. Even in these uncertain times.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Chen said. “Very well, then. You keep watch here, we’ll go inside. But Inari’s coming with me.”

  Together, they stepped through the gates and made their way across the temple courtyard, which was silent and still, heavy with incense. The door of the temple itself stood open. Chen looked through. No one was there. Zhu Irzh, Inari and Chen stepped inside.

  The statue of the goddess stood upon the altar, and though the interior of the temple seemed meaner and shoddier than its counterpart on Earth, the statue was unchanged: flawless, green and cold. Zhu Irzh glanced around.

  “That woman said the Minister was here. Seems she was wrong.”

  Chen was about to reply when his ears were assailed with the scrape of metal upon metal. The doors were closing. Zhu Irzh ran forward, but he was too late. The doors abruptly clanged shut. Zhu Irzh pulled at the huge bronze handle which served to open them, but nothing happened. The doors were tightly closed, and as Zhu Irzh and Chen tugged at them, they heard the bolt strike home. Chen looked wildly around. The temple had no windows, and only the single set of doors. They were trapped.