Snake Agent: A Detective Inspector Chen Novel (20 page)

"Please don't look at me," she said, embarrassed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the demon replied gallantly. She was sure he was lying, and she pulled herself up into the grimy shaft as quickly as she could. The demon swung up behind her.

"Now," he said. "We go this way. Try and be quiet."

Thinking of Dao Yi, and the magnification his fury would undergo when he found her gone, Inari did as she was told. It was not an easy clamber through the labyrinth of passageways, nor was it fragrant, and by the time they reached the base of the building and dropped cautiously through into the lavatory cubicle, Inari was as filthy as the demon himself. The dressing gown had also suffered further during the course of the climb; she was practically naked, she thought with angry shame. The demon glanced at her under the wan light of the lavatory, and Inari turned away, not wanting to see if his gaze remained upon her a little too long. Then he said, "I think you'd better take my coat. What's left of it, anyway." Removing the long length of grubby silk, he wrapped it around her, and Inari looked at him gratefully. "We'd better hurry," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"Don't worry. I know a place. Somewhere you'll be safe. Somewhere you can have a bath." He smiled down at her, and Inari smiled dutifully back, but inwardly, she could not help thinking:
It's always men. It's always men who rescue me, steal me, want to marry me. . . Why am I never in a position to help myself?
But then she remembered the man with the sword, the cold-eyed hunter, flying from the boat into the oily waters of the harbor, and of her tongue flicking fire into Dao Yi's groping hands, and of her initial refusal to marry him which was, after all, the primary cause of her standing here with some stranger in a stinking lavatory in the basement of the Ministry of Epidemics.
Not always men. I just need half a chance, that's all. And the first chance I get, I'll take it.
The demon was already halfway out the door, glancing warily around him, and with new determination in mind, Inari followed.

Predictably and reassuringly, No Ro Shi, the demon-hunter, believed every word that Chen said. He was immediately engaged with the task at hand, promising to get in touch with his vast range of contacts, and set the city on a war footing. Chen, sitting in the temple of Kuan Yin, was a little doubtful as to the success of this, but he directed No Ro Shi to his own desk (now carefully denuded of any reference to Inari) and gave him full use of the facilities. He had just finished running through the complex sequence of bioweb passwords when the voice of Captain Sung echoed over the phone. Evidently, he had been listening in.

"An engineered plague out of Hell, Chen. That's heavy duty stuff."

"I know. No Ro Shi's mobilizing the troops, so to speak. We'll need medical backing."

"It's not just a question of cleaning up after the fact, though, is it? What are we doing to make sure this doesn't happen at all?"

"I'm already on the case, sir."

"What does that mean?"

"Wait a moment," Chen said. He stepped through the door into the courtyard, away from the statue's accusing gaze. It wouldn't make any difference—the goddess had ears in the earth itself—but it seemed more polite, somehow. "I'm going to need a leave of absence."

"To do what?"

"Go to Hell, sir."

There was a short pregnant pause, then Sung said, "You nicked my line, Detective. All right. Leave of absence granted. Are you planning to take anyone with you?"

"No. I can't, anyway. That's not part of the deal between myself and the otherworlds. If I go, I go alone."

"All right. Can I ask what precautions you're taking?"

Chen had already given this matter some thought. He said, "I'll be adopting a basic disguise, as a laborer. Hell's full of them. I've got a cover story ready."

"So you'll be undercover? A
snake agent,
as the vice squad calls it?"

"That's right."

Sung considered this for a moment, then said, "Well, I wish you luck. But you should remember one thing. There have been a number of irregularities associated with this case, Chen. The disappearance of a prominent citizen, not to mention his house. The ghosts of girls going astray. Demons manifesting on the deck of your houseboat. Vice cops from Elsewhere. And now something that threatens everyone in the immediate vicinity of Singapore Three and presumably beyond, as well. We don't normally have this amount of activity, Chen, and I don't like it. I'll say here and now that there's no way you're going to be taken off this case, since no one else would touch it with a barge-pole. You have my full and total support, as long as I don't actually have to go any nearer to this supernatural shit than I can help, and as long as you sort it out. But if you don't, the city will be looking for a scapegoat. That scapegoat will be you, Chen."

"I rather assumed that would be the case." Chen tried not to sigh too loudly.

"Very well," Sung said, adding, "And be careful."

"I always am," murmured Chen, but he didn't sound too confident even to his own ears.

Inari had intended to make her escape from this charming, but suspect, stranger at the first possible opportunity, but that had been before the bath. They had made their way from the Ministry of Epidemics without incident. Inari, bundled up in the black silk coat with her face hidden, resembled just one more of the hordes of afflicted demonkind, and no one spared them a second glance.

By the time they stepped through the double iron doors of the Ministry, it was already close to dark. The band of sickly scarlet light that passed for sunset in Hell ringed the horizon like a migraine, and the storm clouds which continually raced across the skies were tinged with lightning. As they reached the bottom of the immense flight of steps that led down to the square in which the Ministry stood, Inari glanced back and saw a single electric crack of lightning illuminate the Ministry: an iron ziggurat, nine hundred and ninety-nine stories high, almost too vast to be encompassed by any eyes other than those of the
wu'ei
themselves. The blood-colored banners which flanked each corner of the ziggurat snapped in the rising wind, and Inari's hair was pulled free from the inadequate confines of the demon's coat and unfurled behind her. Far into the skies, at the very summit of the ziggurat, swirled lights the color of sickness, in eternal celebration of suffering.

"Come on," the demon said uneasily. "The further we're away from that place, the better."

"Where are we going?" Inari asked again, but he did not answer. Taking her firmly by the hand, he led her across the vast square and into the maze of streets. Soon they were out of the Old Quarter where all the Ministries lay. They hurried past shops selling poisons and lies and secrets: all the traditional wares of Hell, just as it had been for thousands of years, and Inari suppressed a pang. She had missed this world, in a way, and it hurt her to acknowledge that. At least she came from a place full of tradition, not like the mayfly civilizations of humankind. . . A rail crammed with dried scorpions rattled emptily as they passed, and someone threw slops out of a window. The demon cursed and dodged, pulling Inari off balance. She thought of making a run for it, but the hand that clasped her own was too strong. She wondered uneasily what he had in mind when they reached their destination. She thought she already knew.

They turned a corner and Inari realized with a sudden shock that she knew where she was. There in front of her was her brother Tso's Blood Emporium: its familiar gloomy facade hung with the black and red flags that advertised its wares. Menstrual fluid was on sale again, she noted absently, and the row of dusty marble jars that lined the window had not been touched since her last visit. The person who had taken over the shop after her brother Tso's disgrace—the scandal she herself had precipitated, Inari reminded herself unhappily—had kept the name, presumably for marketing reasons. She wondered what had happened to Tso: so conventional, so conservative, so devoted to respectability. She wondered, too, how he was managing with his reversed feet, and experienced a twinge of guilt so powerful that it made her gasp. The demon glanced at her.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Out of breath, that's all."

"Not so far now," the demon said reassuringly. He led her into the maze of streets, towards the Garden District, and then into an alley that she did not recognize. "We'll go in the back way," the demon said. "Don't want to have to explain you just yet."

"Explain me? To whom?"

"I live in a boarding house. The woman who runs the place allows guests, but she charges a fortune, and after tonight, for various reasons, I might be a bit strapped for cash. . . Here we are."

He opened the latch of a gate and drew Inari through into a wild, neglected garden. At one time, however, this had been cared for and tended: in the last of the light Inari could see lilies nodding their dark heads over the gleam of water, and she smelt the bitter fragrance of night-roses.

"It's nice," she said.

"Well, I like it. And one can't be too fussy, after all."

He led her up the steps onto a rickety verandah, its black lacquer peeling from the surface of the wood, and fumbled for a key. Opening a pair of French windows, he motioned Inari inside.

"Through here."

Inari stepped through into a large, quiet room. The demon lit a lamp with a touch of his hand, and light rippled across a surprisingly tasteful array of furniture. Inari could not fail to notice that a large, curtained bed stood in the corner of the room. She sat demurely down on a worn couch beside a rather untidy array of lilies stuffed into a vase.

"You have a lot of books," she said.

"Unfortunately I don't get the chance to read much—too busy. Still, I like to think I'll catch up when I have the time . . ." The demon moved to the French windows and drew the curtains, first locking the latch securely. "Now," he said. "There is a bath through here, which you may use. I'll find you some clothes."

"I don't think your clothes would fit me," Inari said uncertainly. "You're taller than me."

The demon gave an oblique, somewhat smug, smile, thus confirming several of Inari's worst fears.

"I've got some ladies' garments. Things visitors have left here." He ushered her into a small bathroom adjoining the main room. "Hope the water's not playing up again."

The water was, however, both hot and clean, which was impressive for Hell. Inari wondered how much the demon paid for this place. She supposed she should take an interest in him.

"What's your name?" she called through the closed door.

"Zhu Irzh," came the muffled reply. It meant nothing to Inari. While the bath was running, she stripped off the rags, then sank gratefully into the seething boil of the water and closed her eyes. She came close to falling asleep, and it was only the thought that she ought to get out of here before her benefactor started suggesting recompense for his kindness in rescuing her that made her slide out of the bath. When the demon was bathing, she'd find the chance to slip away. A nightdress was sitting on the nearby chair: all air and black lace. Inari frowned. She hadn't heard anyone come in, but there was nothing else to wear, so Inari put the nightgown on, tied a towel around her waist for additional modesty and stepped cautiously back into the main room. Zhu Irzh was sitting on the couch reading the paper. He was wearing a long, silk dressing gown, and he was surprisingly clean. He smiled when she came in and said, "You looked so comfortable—I just slipped in with your nightdress, you see, and I didn't want to disturb you, so I went next door and borrowed my neighbor's shower. Are you feeling refreshed?"

"Thank you, yes," Inari said, inwardly cursing. It didn't help that the room was warm and fragrant, she was tired and frightened, and Zhu Irzh, now denuded of his layer of filth, was revealed to be extremely attractive. Something inside her wailed for Chen, for the badger, for her own familiar houseboat. For Earth.
You'll be back there soon,
Inari told herself firmly.
Stop fretting.

"Come and sit here by me," Zhu Irzh said, patting the couch next to him. Inari came reluctantly across and sat down firmly on the opposite chair. The demon's smile widened. He gave a little nod. "All right," he said. "So tell me. How did such a pretty thing as you come to be shackled and groped by that repulsive person in the upper echelons of the Ministry of Epidemics?"

Inari had a story ready, but she didn't know if it sounded remotely convincing. She launched into a hesitant explanation of how she was the sister of a Third Degree Administrative Assistant at the Ministry, how she came in now and then to help her brother, how the demon from whom Zhu Irzh had rescued her had taken a fancy to her and assaulted her, chaining her up when she refused to submit to his advances and—Inari paused for breath and stole a glance at Zhu Irzh. He was gazing at the floor, still with a slight smile. His startlingly long eyelashes gave him a disturbingly demure and feminine appearance, but then he looked up and the impression was abruptly dispelled in a flash of fiery gold.

"What a terrible story," he said lightly, leaving Inari in some doubt as to whether he was sympathizing or calling her a liar. "Still, all too common, I'm afraid." He sighed with apparent sincerity. "Never mind. You're safe now."

"Thank you for rescuing me," Inari whispered, and winced at the memory. She had said a very similar thing to Chen, but then it had been impelled by real gratitude, and real relief. She might be grateful to Zhu Irzh, but relieved? Not until she had a clearer idea of his motives. That clarification was not long in coming. Zhu Irzh said, "I'm so sorry. I've been a terrible host—I haven't even offered you tea. Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," Inari said. "Oolong, if you have it."

"Indeed. A gift from my grandmother. She was given a canister from the Imperial Court itself, on the occasion of her 500th birthday. I only save it for special occasions," said Zhu Irzh. His taloned hands rested lightly on her shoulders for a moment and she could feel their heat, radiating out from his palms. It made her shiver, and Zhu Irzh withdrew. Anxiously, Inari turned her head and saw him busying himself with the tea bowls. He was still smiling.