Next day, Chen, Zhu Irzh, and Miss Qi were taken on a lengthy and exhausting tour of Hell's primary industries, as related to the Ministry of War. This, too, was just as Chen remembered it from his Chinese childhood: one factory after another, endless rows of workers laboring under sweatshop conditions. Except that in Hell, all the workers were dead and there was no pretence that anyone was doing this for the greater glory of the state, or out of some zealous notion of civic duty. On the contrary, the first factory foreman to whom Chen spoke, a flickering green person in a musty suit, seemed proud of the dire conditions and appalling hours.
"They must learn, you see, if they are to progress in their next life up-planet. All of these souls are those who, on Earth, perpetrated some injustice against their fellow workers. And now, they are learning."
"Hmm," Chen said. "I'm not quite sure how this ties in with our mission statement of learning about equal opportunity policies."
Zhu Irzh snorted. "I am. Everyone's equally miserable here."
"They're here to learn," the foreman insisted. Listening to him, Chen realized that he had been wrong: civic duty was evident, but applied to the wider sphere of karma. In either manifestation, it wasn't encouraging.
"What do you actually produce here?" he asked. The vapid rows of workers were clearly making something, feeding pieces of metal into a series of machines, but he couldn't tell what they were really doing.
"Why, they are performing a valuable contribution to the war effort," the foreman explained earnestly.
"I see," Chen lied. Miss Qi shifted uncomfortably at this further mention of war, but Chen, although these undercurrents of ill-concealed rumor were worrisome, was more concerned with the immediate problems of the person he had spotted on the previous night, and the question of the lung, the dragon. He kept telling himself that what he had seen slinking through the bushes was just one of the many hungry ghosts or itinerant spirits of Hell, but it nagged at him all the same. And the conversation they had overheard bothered him even more, especially when combined with the draconian rumors that Zhu Irzh had been investigating just before he left. Then there was the thing that had attacked them outside the Opera House and the being they had intercepted at the old lady's place. All of these things, relatively minor incidents in themselves, kept adding up, and Chen did not like it.
Plus, they had a demon's birthday party to attend later on. Chen might have agreed on going, but now—considering all that had happened so far—he liked that prospect even less.
Several hours later, after yet more factories—hives of military industry, all grim and all depressing—Chen and Zhu Irzh sat in the hotel bar, thankful that this part of their day, at least, was over. A present for Zhu Irzh's mother, purchased in the market earlier, sat on the table in front of them: a glass vase, hastily wrapped. Chen's contribution to the celebrations was a bottle of wine.
Miss Qi had retired to her room, saying that she would ask for supper to be sent up: she had not been invited to the birthday party, and Chen did not think he was imagining the distinct relief with which she had greeted this news.
"Lucky her," Zhu Irzh said, when Miss Qi's form had drifted up the stairs. "I wouldn't mind a nice quiet night in myself."
"I doubt you've ever had a nice quiet night in Hell in your life," Chen said.
"My childhood was fairly peaceable," the demon said. "Well, relatively. Well, maybe not all that quiet, looking back. But you don't have anything else to compare it to at the time, do you?"
"I don't know much about childhoods in Hell," Chen remarked. "Did you go to school?"
"No. The family's quite well off. I had tutors, so did my brother. I got on with most of them and they managed to teach me something, though sometimes I'm not sure quite what. My sister learned the usual domestic tasks—blood processing for the home, needlepoint, that sort of thing. Preparation for marriage, basically."
"How bourgeois."
"My sister actually has a job. Mother and I never got on all that well," the demon mused. "Not sure why. She never approved of my going into the police department. I think she wanted me to take up some more respectable job in one of the Ministries."
"Why did you join the police?"
"I admired my uncle—my father's brother. He was one of the heads of the city's police department. He seemed to lead an exciting life. And being a civil servant always struck me as rather dull. So the police it was."
"How did your father take it?"
"He was fine. But Dad and I have always got along. It's the only reason I'm going to this party, to be honest, to catch up with him. And the fact that my mother would kill me if I didn't." Zhu Irzh glanced up at the large clock on the wall of the bar. "She said she'd send a car. No sign of it yet."
"Maybe she's forgotten," Chen said hopefully.
"No such luck." The demon stood up. "Look, there's the coach now."
Chen looked through the window and saw a squat black coach like a night-colored pumpkin making its way down the avenue that led to the hotel. It was drawn by a horse, or, at least, by something that looked like one. As it drew closer, Chen saw that the beast had long curling teeth. Zhu Irzh went out the door and down the steps with the air of someone heading for their own execution. Chen followed him into the coach, in a silence that lasted well beyond the Ministries and which was broken only when the coach reached the beginning of the mansion suburbs of Hell.
"This is where I grew up," the demon said. Chen gazed out at the passing mansions; it reminded him of parts of Singapore Three, not too hellish at all, really, once one discounted the black and crimson grass and the oppressive overhanging trees.
"Some elegant houses," Chen said politely.
"No they're not. They're overblown Gothic monstrosities."
"If you say so," Chen replied. He had rarely seen Zhu Irzh in such a gloomy mood.
"Oh fuck," was the next thing out of the demon's mouth. "We're here."
Chen craned his neck to see. There was little to distinguish the Zhu family mansion from all the rest, apart from the strings of red lanterns that hung from eaves and branches, creating bloodied eyes of light across the black lawns. Turrets and towers, a small pagoda set slightly aside and overlooking a pond. The whole place looked top-heavy, as if at any moment it might topple over, and the pagoda was listing rather like the Tower of Pisa. The perspectives and angles were distressing to a human eye.
There were other vehicles standing outside the house, spilling guests.
"Great," Zhu Irzh said under his breath as the coach came to a halt. "My sister."
Chen stepped down onto the rough roadway and watched a young female demon march up the drive in front of them, toward the mansion. This was the sister, Chen realized, who had been referred to as having a job. Even as a human, he could probably have discerned some family resemblance: Zhu Irzh's sister had the same height, the same pointed features and sleek black hair, which fell as far as her waist in a long braid. The end of the braid twitched, seemingly of its own accord, like the tail of an angry cat as she walked.
"How do you get on with your sister?" Chen asked.
"I don't."
Chen walked with him up the drive, following the sister's back, which seemed to radiate aggression. Chen wondered what the matter was. It did not help that the only female demon he knew well was the entirely atypical Inari.
In through an elegant set of metal lattice doors, then along a paneled hallway decorated with scenes of torture. Chen winced. It was all too reminiscent of the Ministry of War. They had almost caught up with Zhu Irzh's sister now and Chen kept expecting the demon to say something, but he did not. Then the sister stopped, so abruptly that Chen nearly cannoned into her.
"Mother! I demand an explanation!"
So much for "Happy Birthday."
"Well, you're not getting one," a voice hissed, so coldly that Chen imagined icicles forming around the doorframe.
"Mother, you are mad," the sister said, with equal hauteur. Next moment, she reeled back—a series of scratches blossoming across her face. A stiletto heel almost pierced Chen's foot and he gave a cry of pain. The sister turned, snarling, one clawed hand pressed to her bleeding cheek, and saw her brother.
"You!"
"Hi," said Zhu Irzh.
"What are you doing here?"
"It's Mother's birthday. Remember?" Zhu Irzh held out the present, a move that turned out to be unwise. His sister struck it from his hand with such force that it spun away into the room. There was the sound of shattering glass.
"Oh thanks, Daisy," said Zhu Irzh. Chen barely had time to think "Daisy?" before a female demon in late middle age appeared, wrapped in layers and layers of silk and furs, with a face so desiccated that it looked more like a mummified skull. One hand was clutching her fur collar and she had blood on her claws. Daisy turned on her heel and stalked off down the hall.
"Hallo, Mother," Zhu Irzh said.
"Oh. You came, then."
"Happy birthday. I brought you a present, but it's in the parlor, in pieces. I'll have it mended."
"Don't bother," his mother said. She cast a disparaging yellow glance over Chen. "Who's that?"
"This is Detective Chen. We work together on Earth."
Chen proffered the bottle of wine. Zhu Irzh's mother looked at it as though he were trying to poison her.
"He's a human."
"Yes, Earth people generally are."
"And you brought him to my party?"
"If it's inconvenient, madam, I'll leave," Chen said. This appeared to go some distance toward mollifying Mrs Zhu.
"You might as well stay, now you're here," she said.
"Mother," Zhu Irzh's voice came from inside the parlor, into which he had stepped. "Where is Dad?"
"He's not here."
The demon reappeared. "What, he's not at your party?"
"Certainly not. I threw him out of the house six months ago."
"You did what? Why? Where is he now?"
"I don't know where he is! At his whore's, probably. I don't want to talk about him, Irzh. I've moved on." She gave an expression remarkably, and repellently, close to a simper. "I've met someone new."
"Are you getting divorced, or what?"
"It's in process. Naturally, there are financial issues to work out. I said, I don't want to talk about it. There's someone I want you to meet. He's not here yet; he's coming for dinner." She swept through into the parlor, leaving a stupefied Zhu Irzh in her wake.
"Oh dear," Chen said.
"I can't believe I wasn't told. Even with this family."
"I'm sorry, Zhu Irzh."
"I don't suppose it'll make any great difference in the long run. Except to my inheritance, but I wasn't counting much on that anyway, the way Mother fritters her way through money. Although there's the question of the house . . ." Zhu Irzh appeared momentarily lost in thought.
"Your mother said something about dinner."
"Yes, it's a birthday tradition with her. She throws a big dinner party and then we all have a celebration after that." As he spoke, the reverberations of a gong sounded through the house. "And that will be dinner," the demon said.
Chen and Zhu Irzh traipsed through into an enormous dining room, dim-lit sconces along the wall. The room was opulently decorated with tapestries, but as Chen drew closer he saw that they had started to fray and molder, and the room itself smelled strongly of damp. It had an air of neglect and, beneath that, something much worse.
"Something happened in here," Chen murmured to Zhu Irzh, his psychic senses twitching.
"My grandfather was murdered in here by my uncle. Dispatched to the lower levels and confined there. We don't talk about it much. A nasty business."
"Quite." Chen paused and looked around, at a table groaning beneath the weight of silverware and gleaming glass goblets. "I wasn't expecting a banquet. To be honest, Zhu Irzh, I'm not sure how much of it I'll be able to eat. As a human, I mean. I don't mean the quality of the food."
"Mother has always run a very—traditional—household," the demon said, apologetically. "And her idea of a nice dinner is usually blood soup followed by a series of main courses. Boiled trotters and that sort of thing."
"Please don't worry on my account," Chen said. "I'm only mentioning it in case you think I'm being rude—I can eat when we get back to the hotel."
"I might join you," Zhu Irzh said. "I'm not fond of home cooking. At least, not at this home."
He motioned Chen to a seat near the head of the table. There did not seem to be any names attached to the place, so Chen sat where he was told and reasoned that Zhu Irzh could have it out with his mother if the need arose. Other people were filing in now. To Chen's dismay, the sullen, angular Daisy sat immediately opposite him and was joined by a squat escort, who favored Chen and Zhu Irzh with an oily smile.
"So pleased to meet you," this person said, unctuously.
"This is my brother-in-law, Sip Lu." Zhu Irzh tended introductions.
"And what do you do?" Chen asked.
"He works for one of the Ministries," Daisy said. She leaned aggressively over the table. "Lust, you know. He's very successful."
Chen could not imagine sharing a bedroom with anyone as needlelike as Daisy, let alone an actual bed. Perhaps Sip Lu gave at the office.
"What's your actual role at the Ministry?" Chen asked, more from a slightly desperate desire to make conversation than from any real wish to know.
"I am Thirteenth Under-Clerk to Lesser Lord Twelve. We issue licenses to demon lounges, collect fees, that sort of thing."
"Interesting," Chen said, feeling feeble.
"And yourself?"
"Lu, you know perfectly well what he does," Daisy hissed. "He's a policeman. On Earth. He works with my brother."
"Ah! Are you in vice?"
Suppressing the impulse to answer Frequently, Chen explained that the role of the police in Singapore Three was somewhat different to that which they played in Hell. Sip Lu nodded politely, but Chen was left with the feeling that he might not have made himself fully understood. There was something oddly stunted about Sip Lu, as though he could be drugged. He smiled and beamed, seemingly without reason. Perhaps Daisy kept him under some form of control. Looking at Daisy's long, twitching fingers, scratching nervously at the tabletop, Chen thought she was the kind of woman who would take whatever steps were necessary in order to establish her own agenda, and from the wary way that Zhu Irzh was staring at his sister, the demon thought so, too. Then Zhu Irzh glanced up and Chen saw his face freeze.
The demon's mother had entered the room, swathed in her preposterous furs, on the arm of a demon so large that he had to bend slightly to avoid brushing his crest against the ceiling. A lizardlike person, with enormously bulky limbs, a long, sinuous tail, a scaled rust-colored face with curving tusks. He, too, was wearing armor and carried with him a strong scent of gunpowder. When he turned, Chen could see that the insignia on his shoulder was that of the Ministry of War. Unsurprising.
"What the—? That's Erdzhe Shen," Zhu Irzh whispered.
"Who?" Chen had never managed to fix in his mind the various principal personages of Hell, largely because there was so much backstabbing and so many palace revolutions that personnel turnover was exceptionally high. But Zhu Irzh had spoken as if Chen should know, which suggested that this Erdzhe Shen was a major player.
"He's only the Minister of War," Zhu Irzh said. Chen glanced across at Sip Lu and saw that the Lust demon's face had grown watchful, overriding the expression of greasy vacancy. Zhu Irzh spoke urgently to Daisy.
"Did you know about this? Mum's new boyfriend?"
"Of course I did," Daisy hissed. "Why do you think she threw Dad out? She's been putting up with his girlfriends for years, but she didn't care—she had her own life, and you know as well as I do that they didn't share a room for years. It wasn't until Erdzhe came along that she decided to make the break. Erdzhe is more powerful than Dad ever dreamed of being." Erdzhe. Daisy spoke the name with a kind of complacency, a smug twitch of the lip, clearly pleased that despite her own ministerial connections, she was permitted to use the name of the Minister of War. But since her mother was now nearing the head of the table, with her vast escort in tow, Daisy fell silent. The couple took their places—Zhu Irzh's mother with a glance like a simpering skull, and everyone rose.
"A toast to the birthday girl!" the Minister of War boomed, in a voice that set glassware rattling. "To my beloved!" From the look that he bestowed upon her, it might even be true, thought Chen. How odd, though Zhu Irzh had proved susceptible to love in the past so perhaps it was a family weakness. But allegiances in Hell were notoriously unstable. Perhaps the real wonder was that Zhu Irzh's parents' marriage had apparently survived for so long.
"I don't think I can handle this," Zhu Irzh muttered.
"I don't think you've got much choice," Chen whispered back. The first course was already arriving; it was, as predicted, blood broth. He pretended to take a sip when everyone else did, but beneath the table he inscribed a careful sigil on the underside of the polished wood, holding his breath as he did so. His own magic, being goddess-given, was erratic here in Hell. After a moment, however, he saw the blood broth evaporate. It would be embarrassing if noticed, but hopefully everyone else was concentrating too much on their own dinners.
The Minister of War was attacking his food with gusto; there was certainly nothing wrong with his appetite. He finished two bowls of soup and then went on to the main course, slabs of something greenly meaty in black bean sauce, fried locusts, adders' tongues, and a number of dishes that Chen was unable to identify.
"It's deer," Zhu Irzh said in an undertone. Thus encouraged, Chen took a careful mouthful and found that the meat was revolting.
"Sorry, Zhu Irzh. Can't eat it." At least it had the benefit of killing what little appetite he still possessed. He prepared himself for executing another spell when Zhu Irzh said, "I'll have yours, then. It's not as bad as usual, actually."
Chen transferred it swiftly onto the demon's plate. Glancing back, he saw that the Minister of War's gaze, as green and reptilian as a lizard's, was fixed upon him. Chen gave a blandly polite smile and, after a moment, the Minister looked away. Chen did not know what to make of this. The Minister's gaze had been impossible to interpret: not rage, even at finding a human (and the one-time servant of a goddess, something which was surely visible to the Minister) seated at his girlfriend's dining table, nor disquiet. There had been something remote and alien and calculating about the Minister's expression and it concerned Chen.
It wasn't until halfway through the main courses that the disruption happened. Chen became aware of sounds in the hallway, distant scuffling and muffled shouts.
"Zhu Irzh? What's happening?"
"I don't know." The demon frowned, just as the door burst open and two maidservants rushed in bearing an enormous cake. It was heavily iced in red and black, appearing almost lacquered. A small figure at its summit represented, perhaps, Mrs Zhu.
"Oh god," Zhu Irzh said under his breath. "Just what we need. A birthday surprise."
Chen gritted his teeth. He hated this kind of thing, ever since being obliged to attend other children's birthday parties. He put the polite smile back in place and kept it there. The women carried the cake ceremoniously to the head of the table and placed it on a hastily cleared space. It seemed an odd time to do this; shouldn't they wait until the dessert course, or after the meal? But perhaps things were done differently here; it was Hell, after all.
There was an expectant pause. Zhu Irzh's mother leaned forward with the rapacious look of a gannet. The Minister radiated smugness. The cake burst open in an explosion of black and red icing, which spattered those guests nearest the head of the table, and a demon leaped forth. Looking back, Chen did not know quite what he had been expecting: not a naked girl, given the nature of the gathering, but certainly not a heavily armed and armored being who uttered a roar and hurled himself through the air in the direction of Zhu Irzh's mother, a glittering sword in his hand.
Zhu Irzh was on his feet in a flurry of black silk. Daisy screamed like a whistling kettle and kept on screaming. The Minister gave a bellow that temporarily deafened Chen. Zhu Irzh's mother was scuttling backward with the speed of a spider. Chen, acting before he really had a chance to think, snatched the table knife from the side of his plate and cut a bloody rune into the palm of his hand. Then, with no time to worry about whether it would work, he threw it in the direction of the sword-bearing demon, who had by this time landed squarely on the floor in front of Zhu Irzh's mother.
The rune blazed through the air in an arc of fire and struck the demon in the midriff. A ragged, smoking hole appeared in his armor and the demon looked down in fleeting dismay, before exploding in a manner similar to that of the cake, only messier.
"Well," Zhu Irzh said, picking strips of charred flesh out of his hair. "That was novel."
Zhu Irzh's mother slapped Daisy across the face. "Be quiet!" Daisy's screams subsided to a whimper, but Chen caught sight of something in her face, a swift and secret expression that, again, he could not interpret. He filed it away for later consideration.
The Minister of War turned to him. "A good shot and a quick spell! Especially from a human."
"To be honest," Chen said, "I didn't know if it would work down here."
"But so it did, and if it had not, my beloved would have been sent to the lower levels, there to eke out an existence among the creeping things."
"No change there, then," Chen thought he heard Zhu Irzh say.
"Well, I'm just glad I was here to help," Chen said, feeling like someone in a television cop drama.
"He should be rewarded," Zhu Irzh's mother remarked. Her expression was beady.
"There's really no need for that," Chen said quickly.
Zhu Irzh nudged him. "No, go for it."
"I should like Zhu Irzh to have my reward instead," Chen explained. As he spoke, he saw a flicker of light in the air, moving between himself and Zhu Irzh: the mark of a destiny spell being cast. Chen himself had done nothing, it must be some function of the proffered reward itself. Oh dear.
"In that case, I accept," Zhu Irzh said before his mother could react. "I should like Grandfather's heart."
"What!" That was the demon's mother.
"What?" That was Chen.
"You heard me, Mother." The spell sparkled around him as he spoke.
"Zhu Irzh? What are you doing?" Chen hissed.
"You recall I told you he was murdered here? He's been nudging me. I can feel it."
Chen expected Mrs Zhu to refuse indignantly, but he could feel the spell still working: a cool, powerful tugging at his magical senses. This was something old and strong. Zhu Irzh's mother rose as if under compulsion, and began to totter out of the room, as jerkily as a puppet. Chen expected the Minister of War to intervene, at least to make some kind of protest, but he did not. Instead, he watched, with that same remote gaze with which he had favored Chen.
"Come with me," Zhu Irzh said to Chen. Everyone else at the table appeared turned to stone. Chen, his skin prickling, followed the demon out the door.
A narrow passage, decorated with the same unpleasantness as the main hallway, then a flight of stairs, then another. This part of the Zhu family mansion seemed very ancient to Chen, it had the musty atmosphere of great age and the house seemed to grow older as they ascended the stairs. He had the sudden, dizzying sensation that he was descending rather than going upward. He did not dare ask Zhu Irzh further, within his mother's hearing, just what this business of the grandfather's heart was about. No doubt, he thought, he would find out soon enough.
Mrs Zhu stopped in front of a twisted little door; the kind of door behind which you find secrets.
"In there," she said. Her voice sounded thick and sour, as if the words were being forced out of her throat.
"Good," Zhu Irzh said. "You can open it, Mother."
Mrs Zhu gave her son a curdled look but she did as she was told. As she touched the handle, Chen heard the sizzle of a spell and then there was an unpleasant, burned odor. Mrs Zhu stepped through, followed by her son and Chen.
The room was small, and completely empty except for a large box that resembled a lacquered refrigerator. When Mrs Zhu opened it, Chen realized that's exactly what it was: it hissed apart and a cloud of cold drifted out, into the room. Inside sat a stout pot, also lacquered with a crimson so thick that it might have been made of clotted blood. In fact, Chen wondered for a moment whether it actually was a container, or the heart itself. Then Mrs Zhu reached inside and removed it and Chen could see that it had a lid.
"Here you are, then," Mrs Zhu said, bitterly. "Take it, since you want it so badly. I wish you joy of it." But her fingers were curling around the sides of the pot.
"Is this given to me of your own free will?" Zhu Irzh said. Again, the prickle of spell-work made Chen's fingertips twitch.
"Yes," Mrs Zhu whispered, very reluctantly.
"Under what circumstances?"
"You have been granted it as a reward and I am giving it to you."
"Thanks, Mother," Zhu Irzh said. "I'll take it now." He reached out and took the pot from her hands, then wrapped it carefully in a fold of his silken coat. As he did so, the atmosphere in the room lightened and lifted; Chen felt as though a thunderstorm had passed. The crackle and sparkle of the spell dissipated, leaving behind an odd sense of solidity and firmness. A little piece of destiny, Chen thought, cemented into place.
They went back down the stairs and now even the staircase seemed to have changed, appearing less gloomy. It was so subtle that Chen wondered at first whether he was imagining things, but then they reached the hallway and he saw that it was no longer decorated with scenes of torment. He thought Zhu Irzh must have noticed the same thing, because the demon's face wore a small, smug cat-smile.
"Well, Mother," Zhu Irzh said, just as they reached the dining hall. "I won't stay for dessert, after all that. Hope you don't mind."
"Given the trouble you've caused, I couldn't care less." Mrs Zhu brushed past her son into the dining hall, where everyone sat or stood much as they had been left. A strong odor of decomposition hung in the air, the last trace of the vanquished cake assassin. Daisy still stood, with the palm print and scratches from her mother's hand red upon her pale face. Only the Minister of War remained unfrozen, and he was sitting where they had left him, sipping tea.
"Beloved! You're back." As though Mrs Zhu had been for a stroll in the garden.
"Get rid of these people, Erdzhe. I don't feel much like partying anymore," Mrs Zhu said.
"Anything for the birthday girl," the Minister said, jovially. He rose and clapped armored hands. Servants began drifting back into the dining room.
"Come on, Chen." Zhu Irzh was more cheerful than he'd been all day. "If we go back to the hotel now, the bar's probably still open. I could use a drink."
Nodding to Mrs Zhu—and feeling that any protestation that it had been a wonderful gathering would fall upon stony ears—Chen went outside. After the stifling atmosphere of the Zhu family mansion, even after the demon had been given the heart, the night air of Hell seemed almost refreshing. Zhu Irzh, ignoring the carriage in which they had arrived, walked rapidly to the end of the drive and flagged down a coach that, it appeared, was a taxi.
"Thank gods that's over," the demon said piously, as they sank back onto the worn leather seats. "I couldn't have coped with much more of that. Did you see the way she was simpering at him? All right, I can't really blame her for kicking Dad out. But to take up with the Minister of War . . .!"
"It seems a bit—coincidental," Chen mused. The demon shot him a sharp look. "You thought so, too?"
"It's just that we seem to have had an awful lot to do with the Ministry of War over the last forty-eight hours. One can't help wondering whether these things knit together." Chen paused, glancing out across the nightscape of Hell. "So, Zhu Irzh, what's all this business about your grandfather's heart?"
"Right. That. Well, the heart has been a bone of contention—or an organ of contention, anyway—ever since my grandfather went to the lower levels. As I told you, he was sent there by one of the family, and he can't get back, because his heart was removed and spell-guarded. As you saw. To be honest, even if he could get back up here, it probably wouldn't be a very good idea to summon him, because people tend to—deteriorate—when they've been in the lower levels for even a short while. Remember Inari, when she was trapped down there? So poor old Grand-dad almost certainly isn't the man he used to be."
"So why not leave his heart where it was?"
"It didn't even occur to me when we went to dinner. And I would have left it alone, quite honestly, except for two things. One is that the spell that guarded it links the family fortunes in with the fate of the heart, so whoever holds the heart, holds the luck of the family—and the house and every other bit of inheritance, such as it is. So when I saw a chance, I took it. I don't want the Minister of War getting his claws on any of that."
"No," Chen said thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you do."
"The other thing is that there's a rumor the heart can be used for magic—but I don't know what kind of magic."
"Why was your grandfather killed—well, sent down—in the first place?"
"For challenging the rule of the Emperor of Hell. He was trying to stage a coup, but my uncle was loyal to the Emperor. That's partly why the spell guarding the heart refers to the family fortunes—all that would be put in jeopardy if Grandfather came back, so it was made to be in our interests to keep him down there. Just in case. Ah, here we are."
The taxi stopped in front of the hotel, and Zhu Irzh slid a few coins into a waiting hand. The coach was so dark and enclosed that Chen had still not set eyes on the driver. Zhu Irzh, cradling the heart, walked up the steps and into the foyer.
"I could do with a drink—I wonder if Miss Qi would like one? I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but after this evening, a Celestial would almost be pleasant company."
"You can ask her," Chen said. "It's not that late."
But when they called Miss Qi's room, there was no reply.
"Surely she can't have gone out," Chen said. He went over to the desk and queried the clerk.
"I haven't seen her." The young female demon on the desk frowned. "Perhaps she's sleeping." This seemed to be the most likely explanation, but Chen's senses were prickling with a sensation he'd come to learn to recognize. It was that of impending disaster.
"Could you come with me?" he said to the clerk. Together, they went up to Miss Qi's room and banged on the door. No reply.
"Try the door, if you would," Chen said. He was thankful that this was Hell, with fewer conceptions of other people's privacy: here, it was regarded as entirely natural to want to burst into another guest's room late at night. The clerk inserted the spare key into the lock and opened the door.
The bed was neatly made. Miss Qi's modest bag sat on the floor. The window was open, the drapes floating in the night wind of Hell, and the whole room reeked of magic, with the faintest underlying trace of peach blossom. But there was no sign at all of Miss Qi.