by Liz Williams
“Good afternoon! You may address me as Lesser Lord Nine. I am in charge of bowed weaponry and several subdivisions of the armed forces.” He gestured to the opposite wall, on which rested an array of bows and arrows, from long bows to crossbows.
“Do you find much call for bows, these days?” Chen asked. A usually reasonable capacity to make small talk was, he felt, deserting him somewhat during the course of this visit. With the obvious exceptions of Zhu Irzh and Inari, he was more accustomed to battling demons than making polite conversation with them. And battling was proving easier.
“Why, yes, you’d be surprised. Not just in the more—medieval—regions of Hell, but also in the inner cities of Earth. One might almost say that the weapon has been undergoing something of a renaissance recently. It’s very heartening. After all, I feel that there’s no real art in using a gun, no real skill.”
“Glad to hear business is picking up,” Chen said, with what he felt to be a palpable insincerity.
“You’ll try one, of course,” Lesser Lord Nine said. He charged around to the other side of the desk, clapping Chen on the back and nearly knocking him flat.
“Unfortunately an old elbow injury would prevent me from doing full justice to the weapon,” Chen said hastily. He felt a bit guilty about this, even though it happened to be true. “But I’m sure Zhu Irzh will have a go.”
Zhu Irzh did, in fact, appear commendably keen. “Certainly,” he said. “Why not?”
“I should like to try, too,” Miss Qi said, very firmly.
“I’m so sorry,” Chen said. “I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on you as a warrior. I merely thought you might not be all that interested.”
“After all,” Zhu Irzh remarked, “We are supposed to be studying equal opportunities, Chen.”
Miss Qi shot him a baleful look. “The inspector is telling the truth. I know.”
The Lesser Lord reached up and plucked a bow from the wall, a long, curving thing inlaid with gold. “First shot, then, goes to our Celestial guest!”
“All right,” Miss Qi said. “Where is the shooting range?”
“Come with me,” the Lesser Lord said. He led them back out into the corridor and after a short walk, they reached another passageway, metal-lined and casting dull reflections into infinity, with an archery target set at the far end.
Miss Qi snapped up the bow, slipped an arrow into the notch, then fired, all in one smooth movement. She repeated this twice more, without apparent effort even though the bow looked heavy. On each occasion, the arrows struck the centre of the target.
“Impressive,” Lesser Lord Nine said.
Miss Qi bowed. “Thank you.” She handed the bow to Zhu Irzh.
“I shall probably do very badly,” the demon said, with what Chen felt to be a wholly feigned modesty. He raised the bow and fired, sending another two arrows to join Miss Qi’s in the centre of the target.
“This equal opportunities thing of yours appears to be working,” the Lesser Lord said. “Tell me, Miss Qi. In what other forms of weaponry do you excel?”
“I wouldn’t say that I excelled at any of them,” Miss Qi flustered. “But I am versed in the use of the long sword and the short sword, in knives, and of course, in defensive magic. However, I know very little about guns or more modern forms of weaponry.”
The Lesser Lord waved a dismissive mailed fist. “Efficient, yes, but as I said a moment ago, there is no art to them. I am pleased to see that Heaven has kept to the more traditional weapons.”
Miss Qi said nothing but Chen, who was growing used to the moods that crossed the Celestial’s pale face, thought he saw a shadow glide over her features.
“I hope to meet you on the battlefield someday,” the Lesser Lord beamed. Chen was also becoming used to the zeitgeist of the Ministry of War and he read this not as a threat, but as a politely expressed hope. Miss Qi, however, grew even paler. “Indeed, I trust we do not. Heaven seeks to promote harmony and good feeling between the three worlds, not bloodshed. We feel that there has been all too much of that already.”
“There can never be too much!” Lesser Lord Nine declared. “Now, come and see where we make so many of our engines of destruction.”
Other corridors, and many doors later, the Lesser Lord ushered Chen through a tall iron door, almost indistinguishable from the wall itself. Chen was expecting to find himself in yet another office, but instead, he stepped into a round, domed chamber, filled with neon filtered light of a faintly glowing blue. Figures moved beyond a glass panel, clad in hazmat suits. One of these bustled up towards the Lesser Lord and pushed up the visor of his helmet.
“Lord, I fear I must ask for documentation, for proof of permit, I am sorry, but—”
“Quite all right,” Lesser Lord Nine said. “Underling No?”
“I have all the papers here.” No stepped smartly forwards. “I trust everything is in order?”
The demon in the hazmat suit produced a phial of gleaming blue light from an inner pocket and poured it over the papers. It foamed as it fell, like acid, and left the papers glowing in its wake.
“All is quite acceptable,” the demon said. He sounded relieved. Chen could appreciate that Lesser Lord Nine was not someone whom one would wish to fall foul of.
“Good, good,” the Lesser Lord remarked. “Then follow me.”
Again, Chen was expecting a room and again, he was surprised. The next door through which the Lesser Lord led them took them outside: not onto the steamy square of the central city, but out onto a vast bleak plain. Chen stood in grey grass up to his knees, it blew in a breeze he could not otherwise feel. Above him, the sky was molten silver, racing with rags of cloud in the high upper winds of Hell, a cold and empty sky. But the plain itself was not empty. It was filled with a slow parade of moving vehicles: enormous juggernauts bristling with armaments, warships on great trolleys, sailing like black galleons across the plain, tanks that were twice the size of any Chen had seen on Earth, even during the military parades through Beijing in his youth. All of the machines were dark, some bearing the blood-red insignia of Imperial Hell, others with the symbols of the lesser Houses.
He turned to Lesser Lord Nine. “It is our turn to be impressed.”
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” The Lesser Lord looked gratified, though why he should be so pleased by an accolade from a human, Chen did not know. But the being was clearly proud of his establishment.
“What is it all for?” Miss Qi stepped a little closer to Chen.
“Why,” Lesser Lord Nine said, rather blankly, “It is for war, of course.”
“But I have never seen machines like this used on Earth. Where is it to be, this war?”
“We’re engaged in constant conflict with the lower levels,” the Lesser Lord explained. “Incursions from below mean that we need to maintain a strong military presence here. And also, such incursions provide us with a practice ground. We are able to test our military capabilities.”
“I see,” Miss Qi said, after a pause. Chen could tell what she was thinking, however: that the military might before them, the great machines thundering across this barren plain, might someday be turned against Heaven. He wondered if even Heaven could withstand it, and he wondered whether this might be the real reason that the Ministry had been so open to their Celestial visitor, whether Qi would be expected to return and report on what she had seen to the heavenly authorities. Or was there another game at play? The Lesser Lord did not strike Chen as a particularly subtle being—a typical career soldier, in fact—but there was no doubt that subtlety was one of the hallmarks of his masters.
The wind rose, stirring the grass still further, and this time Chen could feel it. It lifted his hair, whipping it around his collar. Zhu Irzh hunched his black silk shoulders against the sudden wind and Miss Qi’s pale mane snapped free of its braid and fluttered out like a banner.
“Ah,” Lesser Lord Nine said. “You’ll find this interesting.” He pointed beyond Chen’s shoulder. Chen looked up to se
e a thing like a multiple-bladed helicopter, but the size of a battleship, soaring over the horizon. The Lesser Lord said something but his words were lost in the roar from the sky as the flying machine came overhead. Its sides were black and pitted as though it had been struck by meteors: just where, Chen wondered, had this thing seen active service? The lower levels? In space? It looked used. Within minutes, it was directly over their heads and then gone, roaring off across the plain and sending waves through the grey grass in its wake.
“Perhaps,” the Lesser Lord said, into the sudden silence, “We should return to my office? It’s a little chilly, don’t you think?”
Just as they reached the Lesser Lord’s chamber, however, returning via the decontamination unit, an old fashioned phone shrilled. Lesser Lord Nine picked it up and listened, a frown creasing his inhuman features.
“Sorry about this,” he remarked, putting the receiver down. “Seems I have to go downstairs for a few minutes. Some crisis, no doubt. There’s always something. Don’t you find that?”
“Almost continually,” Chen said. It was possible to find some sympathy for the Lesser Lord, after all.
“Wait here. I’ll have some tea sent up to you. Underling No, would you see to it?”
“Of course, Sir.” No scurried away and the Lesser Lord strode through the door, closing it gently behind him. Chen listened for the click of a key in the lock, but there was no other sound.
They all looked at one another. Chen knew that everyone had too much sense to start a conversation about what they had just seen in an office that was almost certainly bugged.
“I should love some tea,” Miss Qi said. “I hope they serve green tea. I should like to try some down here.”
“I wouldn’t mind some myself,” Chen told her. Zhu Irzh’s mind, however, was clearly far from thoughts of refreshment. He was standing by the door, with his ear to it. Next moment, to Chen’s horror, he reached out, turned the handle, and disappeared into the corridor.
Miss Qi’s grey eyes were wide with alarm. “What—?” she started to say.
Chen motioned for her to stay put and followed the demon out. Zhu Irzh was already at the end of the corridor, almost running. Cursing beneath his breath, Chen went after him.
When he got to the end, he realised that the demon’s hearing, so much keener than his own, had picked up the conversation that was now evident to Chen. He did not have to put his ear to the door at which Zhu Irzh had halted, however. The conversation was being conducted at full volume.
“Absolute fucking disaster!” someone was bellowing. This was said at such a roar that it was hard to tell who was speaking, but Chen did not think it was Lesser Lord Nine. Perhaps he was on the receiving end of it, though Chen, who had come almost to like the Lesser Lord, hoped not.
“What do you mean, a disaster?” An older voice, full of sibilant hissing. “The mission was an unmitigated success. We have quelled the lung. There will be no more incursions from that quarter, you may rest assured.”
“Yes, but you haven’t quelled all of them, have you? At least one remains. On Earth! It has been seen.”
“If any remain, which I doubt, then they will be ancient and as such, close to disintegration,” the hissing voice said, testily. “Besides, many of them have already fled from Earth.”
“You cannot underestimate them! Age brings cunning.” A pause. “You should know that.”
“I fail entirely to see—” the second voice said, but at that point Zhu Irzh clasped Chen by the arm and hauled him back around the corner.
“Zhu Irzh, what are you doing?”
“The Lesser Lord’s coming back. I heard footsteps.”
They made it back into the office, where an agitated Qi was waiting, moments before the door opened and both the Lesser Lord and Underling No appeared, the latter bearing a tray on which there was a teapot and several cups.
“Now,” the Lesser Lord said, all geniality and smiles. “I’ve arranged for a private supper to be held at your hotel. I thought you’d probably be tired. I also understand that you—” this was directed at Zhu Irzh “—have an important function to attend tomorrow night, so we will of course accommodate this. On the following evening—”
“Wait a moment,” Zhu Irzh interrupted. “Might I ask how you know about that?”
“We were informed,” the Lesser Lord said. “Anyway, on the following evening, there is to be a banquet here in honour of our guests.” His brow furrowed. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves.”
“Sounds fantastic,” Zhu Irzh said.
Chen’s experience of Hell’s cuisine had not, to date, been encouraging, but the supper back at the hotel was exemplary: fresh stir-fried vegetables with rice and fish in broth. Zhu Irzh was given a plate of some vile red stew with tentacles, which he consumed with every appearance of enjoyment, and Miss Qi had a bowl of something fluffily white and highly scented. Mindful of listeners, the conversation revolved mainly around food and the weather, and no one wanted a late night. Miss Qi retired shortly after the meal. Zhu Irzh and Chen wandered into the hotel bar, which was deserted, and had a Scotch each as a nightcap. The demon seemed preoccupied with his mother’s party, and it was at least a safe topic. At last Chen said, “Well, this is pleasant, Zhu Irzh, but I’m afraid I’m starting to fall asleep. I think I’ll go up.”
“I’ll do the same,” the demon said. “I’d forgotten how tired this place makes me.”
“Have you heard from your family yet?”
“No. But I will. The Ministry of War evidently has.”
They parted company on the landing. Back in his room, Chen found that someone, probably the maid, had opened a window. He didn’t know what kind of insects might frequent the night airs of Hell, so he went over to close it. The towering summit of the Ministry of War was lit by floodlights, sweeping across the building’s innumerable armaments and casting a glow into the stormy skies. The Ministry of Lust, on the other hand, was a shadowy russet bulge at the other side of the square.
Just as Chen was about to close the drapes again, movement caught his attention in the bushes below. Something was gliding swiftly through the hotel garden, pausing briefly beneath the branches of a flowering tree and looking up. Chen stared down into a triangular face. It struck him that there was something familiar about this person, but it was too dark to see properly. Then the figure was gone, melting back into the garden gloom. Chen pulled the drapes shut, suddenly chilled. He had the impression of something predatory, moving through the night of Hell. It made him glad to be inside.
Despite his location, he did not take long to fall asleep. Images drifted before his drowsing sight: the suburbs of Hell in endless progression, its turrets and towers. Miss Qi’s alarmed face and the bristling countenances of the Lesser Lord and Underling No. Long metal corridors and an arrow striking a target, sending ripples through reality like a stone thrown into a pond. Raised voices—and just as Chen fell asleep, he heard someone say something about a lung.
And everyone in China knew what a lung was.
It was a dragon.
18
Embar Dea, released from the prison of sluices and cities, swam through warm seas and cold seas, scenting ice and occasionally, when a dark bloom fell across the surface of the water, rising to see the chilly secret of the North Star, which is sacred to some dragons and is said, on certain days, to speak. It was said, too, that it was from the stars that the dragons had come, making their way to the sanctuary of Cloud Kingdom, but Embar Dea did not know whether this was true or not. Whatever the case, the North Star did not speak to her, but remained in glittering silence at the height of the sky. Embar Dea saw it as a friend, nonetheless, and took inspiration from it before she once more dived, and sang.
There were other voices, but they were very faint and far away. Sometimes she could not be sure whether she was hearing them at all, or whether what she was hearing was the past, swimming back through her ancient memory just as she herself swam through the waters o
f Earth, when the seas were alive with whales and dragons, singing to one another. She heard whalesong now, but much less than before, and it saddened her. But some of the voices—if they existed at all—were not whales, and Embar Dea headed towards them, hardly daring to hope. She swam up straits, aware of the bulk of land on either side, once quiet and harmonious earth but now humming with technology and a sour and bitter magic. The world had changed too much, while Embar Dea dreamed in Sulai-Ba. It was better when she was out into the Sea of Japan, veering away from the land and curving past Hokkaido and then out into the open ocean. She called on her own, half-forgotten, magic as she swam, willing invisibility and causing it to wrap itself around her, keeping her warm just as it kept her unseen. Shoals of fish accompanied her, bream and mackerel, the group minds of the shoals engaging her in slow and careful conversation about currents and tides. Embar Dea drew on knowledge that might no longer be applicable and shared what she could.
It was the fish that told her about the wreck.
They did not know where it had come from, but Embar Dea knew what it was as soon as it was mentioned. It had glided over the sea for a great distance before it had struck something—not an iceberg itself, but the ghost of one, lingering in the northern ocean since the end of the Great Ice itself, and the damage it had sustained had caused it to sink.
It was a ship called the Veil of Day, and it had set sail from Heaven many years before, but never reached its destination—which had been Hell, but Embar Dea did not know why. It carried a treasure, which had never been found and Embar Dea was amazed that this was still the case, for surely someone must have searched for it? But then she reasoned that few things could come this far and this deep: not even Hellkind.
