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Seventeen

Up close, the Ministry of War was loud. The air around it snapped and whirred, humming with machinery and lightning. If Chen listened carefully, he could hear more distant sounds in between the mechanical noise: the clash of arms and the shouts of dying warriors, explosions and the whine of falling shells, as if the very building of the Ministry was some kind of recording device, set to grasp the noises of war and play them back in incessant and horrifying turmoil. Looking up to the summit of the Ministry made him feel dizzy and disoriented; Chen concentrated upon its iron flanks instead, the gun placements and missile cones that bristled from every angle. There were demonic guards at the doors, immense, hulking beings like monstrous bald bears, wearing antique metal armor.

"I always thought it was very macho, this Ministry," Zhu Irzh said with a sigh.

Miss Qi eyed him curiously. "Do you think that's a good thing?"

The demon shrugged.

"We are very proud of our Ministry," Underling No said, earnestly. "Let me tell you some facts."

It was clear that there was no escape. It reminded Chen of school visits in his youth, trips arranged to this steelworks or that manufacturing plant, all designed to maximize the notion of Chinese productivity and industriousness. Whatever the content of the trip had been, the young Chen had found them all slightly depressing and now they blurred in his mind into one huge all-encompassing visit. He had a feeling that this trip, too, was destined to take its place among them.

" . . .inaugurated over five thousand years ago by the then-Emperor of Hell, Jing-Li, and since then has had a long and illustrious history in establishing and maintaining conflict across the Oriental world . . ." No was saying.

Miss Qi, unsurprisingly, frowned. "Did you have any part to play in the last two world wars?"

"Of course," No assured her. "Although we must note that the seeds of those conflicts were begun in other Hells elsewhere, since the main wars began in the Western hemisphere. However, we are proud to say that we played our part in fomenting disruption across the East, too. And of course, since then, we have worked closely with the Hells of North Korea and Southeast Asia, since China has not directly been involved in conflict for some years." Underling No managed to look faintly embarrassed at this, as though the Ministry of War had been slacking.

"But you can't get a really clear picture from statistics," No went on, to Chen's secret relief. "You need to see the Ministry."

As they walked through the immense portal, decorated with gory scenes of combat and destruction from the ancient to the modern, Chen reflected that it was really quite open-minded of the Ministry to allow a human and a Celestial through its doors for a tour. Presumably there would be restricted areas, for Chen could not see the Ministry letting people wander in and out to observe its secrets. Or perhaps they were so well-established and confident that they simply didn't care . . . Either way, he intended to learn what he could and, if necessary, pass on the information to whichever authority seemed best able to deal with it. He was not deceived by No's pleasant manner and willingness to convey information. She was a mere lackey, after all, and her function as a liaison officer was purely to supply authorized material, the public face of the Ministry. But things were, perhaps, changing, for Chen had never known Hell's institutions to see the need for a public face before. Maybe recent events had convinced even the governing lords of the underworld that a degree of give-and-take might be required. And that, essentially, led to questions about just how much they feared the wrath of Heaven, of the Celestial powers.

An interesting question, Chen thought, strolling behind No through the colossal metal-paneled atrium, Brutalist Architecture at its most massively imposing. For it raised the issue in his own mind as to what kind of power Heaven and the Celestial Emperor wielded: one really saw it so rarely, or so it seemed. Yet Earth, though a bit of a disaster area environmentally, was improving, and there were millions of people who were not starving, disease-ridden, or murdering one another even in spite of Hell's machinations. So that suggested a more subtle balance was in play than one might otherwise consider. Either Heaven had an authority all its own, or it had none and the improvements were entirely due to human will and human ingenuity. The question remained: If Hell decided again to make a play for power across the three worlds, just how far might Heaven choose to go . . .?

Zhu Irzh was staring up at the panels. "Five thousand years of war," he murmured. "That's a lot of killing."

"Hell was repopulated many times through developments in this very Ministry," No assured him. "As I'm sure you know, we play an integral role in maintaining the infrastructure of Hell, and our research and development departments have proved most lucrative in forwarding ideas to Earth."

"I'm afraid the military-industrial complex is one of the foremost on the planet," Chen said. He could not approve, but No naturally took this as a compliment.

"That's so kind of you to say so," she said. "Now. One of the Lesser Lords has agreed to meet you. We'll go to his office."

She escorted them through a bewildering series of passageways, all lined with gleaming metal. Their footsteps resounded on stone and the interior of the Ministry was stiflingly hot, although Chen could hear a curious whirring sound throughout the place that reminded him of a large fan. Once away from the ornately decorated atrium, the Ministry was austere, with few decorations of any kind on the walls.

"Here we are," No said, in hushed tones. She knocked on a door, and after a moment, a voice barked, "Enter!" They were shown into a palatial office: If this was one of the Ministry's Lesser Lords, Chen thought, then the administrative quarters of its rulers must be opulent indeed. An armored figure was sitting behind a desk so huge and polished that it resembled a mirrored pool. Like No, his face was dark red, but he bristled with spines. Black and white porcupine quills bushed out from beneath a flared Samurai helmet and his hands were like the paws of a dog: bunched fingers terminating in short black claws. When he stood, Chen saw that he was around eight feet in height.

"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 stringed weapons 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, Chen," Zhu Irzh remarked, "we are supposed to be studying equal opportunities."

Miss Qi shot him a baleful look. "The detective 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 arrow struck the center 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, and again, sending another two arrows to join Miss Qi's in the center 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 them 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 toward 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 forward. "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 afoul of.

"Good, good," the Lesser Lord remarked. Then, to his guests: "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 gray 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: the military muscle before them, the great machines thundering across this barren plain, might someday be turned against Heaven. He wondered if even Heaven could withstand the onslaught, and he wondered whether this might be the real reason that the Ministry had been so open to their Celestial visitor: Would Qi 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 see an object like a multi-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 gray 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 gray eyes widened 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 reached the end of the corridor, he realized 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 was set 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 honor 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, 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.

 

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