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Eight

Shrieking soundlessly, the demon-host fled. As she flew, Pin could hear her thoughts rushing by him like banners on the storm. He learned more about the nature of Hell and its inhabitants in a few minutes than he had ever wanted to know. The kuei, for example: these were the Storm Lords, the security forces of Hell. The séance had been an illegal attempt to access the world of the living—why, Pin did not know. Tentatively, he tried to glimpse further into the demon's mind, but met a series of smooth, dark walls that he was unable to penetrate.

The demon, clearly, was aware of her passenger. Her initial fright had turned to irritation; now, she was thinking only of how to evade her pursuers and evict Pin from her head. Her erratic flight took them past vast cliffs streaming with torrents of molten metal. Castles rose high along their peaks; Pin tried not to wonder what manner of people lived in them. They reminded him of the rich enclaves of Singapore Three, built on the heights above the curve of the estuary . . .and there was a river here, too, wide and red and smoking. A wild suspicion began to form in the grain of consciousness that was Pin. The demon flew along the bend of the river, soaring out across the span of the estuary. There, along Shaopeng, rose the dome of the Opera House, but here it was horribly distorted, and as the demon dived, Pin could see with her magnified vision that it was made out of innumerable small bones. This is my city, Pin thought, aghast, but everything was twisted and wrong. Then the demon turned in the stormy air and he saw Sulai-Ba.

The temple was exactly the same: a huge block of metal and black stone. Its iron doors were firmly closed. One side led onto the road that was Shaopeng in Pin's own world; behind the temple, lay a reach of the canal. As they passed over it, heading for the slums of Saro Town, Pin caught the unmistakable odor of blood. The demon landed and ran, a hobbling flight, pausing only when she reached the shelter of a nearby alleyway. Then, she stopped and looked up. Nothing was following them. The demon's chest hurt, Pin noticed. She took a deep breath, drawing the filthy air into her lungs; a clawed hand faltered to her throat. She opened her mouth and hissed with exhaustion. Pin hoped fervently that she wasn't about to have a heart attack, or whatever passed for one in demonkind; there was a possibility that her demise might free him, but he had no desire either to be free in Hell or trapped in the corpse of one of its denizens. His paranoia was not, however, justified. The demon had merely stopped to draw breath, and soon she was striding purposefully down the alleyway.

Above, the storm clouds of Hell raced overhead, revealing tatters of crimson sky. Peering through the demon's eyes, Pin could see the characters of a remedy sign appearing out of the shadows, and there was the remedy shop itself: parchment walls upon a wooden frame. The demon stumbled through the door. Inside, it was hot and quiet. The remedy man was sitting at a table, eating a plate of something that Pin could not immediately identify. On the demon's sudden entrance, he looked up. He had bright, little eyes.

"Well," he said, dabbing at his lipless mouth with a napkin. "This is a surprise. To what do I owe the honor of your company, madam?" He craned his neck, trying to look past the demon. "No retainers, I see. Clearly, you are in want of discretion."

"Ghost," the demon whispered. "I need your help."

"What seems to be the problem?" asked the remedy man.

"Possession."

The remedy man gave her a beady look.

"Pardon me?"

"I am possessed," the demon said, with dignity, "by a mediocre human spirit."

The remedy man stared for a moment, then began to shake with laughter.

"Well," he said at last, patting his eyes with the napkin. "What a novelty. And how ironic. Can dish it out, but can't take it, eh? Oh no—" for the demon had taken a menacing step forward. "You can't touch me. You're not one of the Great Powers even if you are an aristocrat, and I have my rights, you know. I suppose you want an exorcism?"

"Obviously."

"Well, I don't know about that . . ." the remedy man said. Rising, he added, "Bend your head."

Obediently, the demon did so. Pin could see the remedy man looking in at him with eyes that were like two small, red sparks.

"Hmm. Tongue."

Obligingly, the demon unscrolled the organ in question, which reached almost to the floor.

"I don't like the look of that . . . All right. Sit down. I need to know a few things."

The remedy man proceeded to ask the demon a great many questions, concerning her diet, her habits, and her health in general. The demon's answers were illuminating if unpleasant, particularly over the matter of diet.

"Well," the remedy man said at last. "Let's see what we can do."

He put the suffering demon through a rapid and diverse range of treatment. Needles were placed beneath her eyelids, and herbs beneath her tongue. Small cups of smoldering incense were balanced on the pressure points of her sinewy wrists. Trapped inside, listening to the supernaturally slow beat of her demonic heart, Pin grew uncomfortable but remained intact. Eventually, the remedy man said, "I don't think there's anything more I can do. Sorry. You'll have to try the Ministry of Epidemics. Good thing they're up and running again, isn't it?"

"No!" the demon wailed. "You have to help me!"

But the remedy man clapped his hands and the walls of the shop began to disappear. The books, instruments, and furniture whirled up into the storm, and the remedy man himself transformed into a boneless batlike thing and soared away. Above, among the storm clouds, was an eye, red as a coal and scanning the city below.

 

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Framed