The Iron Khan (13 page)

“Yes.”

“Very well,” the god said. “I know the spell you mention.”

“You do?”

“But of course,” the god said, and though he did not move, Omi somehow had the sense that the statue had leaned forward and was wagging an admonishing finger at him. “However, I cannot simply let you have it.”

Battling demons wasn’t enough? No, probably not. Omi inclined his head. “I understand.”

“Of course,” the god echoed. “You are a warrior. But I shall not ask you to fight anything else. That would, I think, be too easy. You have an hour to find the spell.”

“In here?” Omi faltered, looking around at the thousands upon thousands of books. Demons, now! Bring them on!

“Just so,” the god said.

“But — ” Omi began.

But the god was already starting to fade, becoming a bronze shimmer on the air. “Wait!”

The god was gone. And Omi was left in a library, with an hour’s chance of success.

The Khan was never going to stop reciting his damned spell, Zhu Irzh thought. He was starting to feel cramped inside the wall and there was a shooting pain along the calf of his left leg, wedged into the paneling. Foyle didn’t know how lucky he was, being a ghost. The spell went on and on and then, abruptly, someone screamed.

Zhu Irzh didn’t think it had been the Khan.

The spell stopped, so suddenly that the demon could almost see a void opening up in the air, into which words had fallen.

If you could describe the Khan’s recitation as “words.” “Raving” would be more appropriate.

“Ah!” The Khan’s voice was filled with satisfaction. Something had worked. Zhu Irzh dreaded to think what it might be. The Khan said something unintelligible and then there was a curious change in the atmosphere, almost like a decrease in pressure, and the slam of a door.

“He’s gone,” Foyle said, materializing beside the demon.

“At bloody last!” Zhu Irzh hauled himself back through the panel. He might not have been able to see what had happened in this room, but it hadn’t been pleasant. Someone had died. Blood spattered the walls and floor and was already beginning to attract flies. The whole place smelled sour, reeking of stale magic: as though the Khan had let all the spells that had ever been done in this room accumulate, building up like a residue.

Messy. “I’m taking these back with me,” Zhu Irzh said. He picked up a fragment of parchment which still lay on the table, and one of the jars containing the fetuslike thing. He wrenched open the window and stepped out onto the balcony. “Foyle, look — I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. For you, I mean. I can’t promise to help you.”

“Perfectly all right, old boy. I know you’ll do your best.” Somehow, this breezy confidence in his willingness to help lodged in what the demon was displeased to call his conscience. He would do his best, he knew, just as he would for Chen, or for Roerich. Was this how obligation worked? Snaring you in its threads like a web? But Zhu Irzh could not bring himself to resent it too deeply. He supposed it was known as maturity.

“I’ll — ” What? Be in touch? “Hopefully, we’ll meet again soon. In better circumstances.” He swung one leg over the balcony rail and dropped into the shrubbery. A feral shrieking came from the jar. Holding it up, the horrified demon saw the fetus’ mouth open wide and the scream bubbling up through the liquid in which it was contained. Zhu Irzh flung the jar into the bushes and ran. He had a last glimpse of Foyle’s forlorn figure fading out of sight above him and then the ghost was gone. Zhu Irzh sprinted down the path and into the night of Kashgar.

•

“I was starting to get worried,” Jhai said. She sat with her legs curled underneath her in one of the hotel’s armchairs.

“Frankly, so was I,” Roerich said. “You were gone a long time.”

“I got — stuck. He was doing some sort of spell. I had to hide. There was a ghost there.” Zhu Irzh told them about Foyle.

Roerich winced. “I doubt he’s the only spirit who’s trapped there.”

“I’d like to help him, if I can.”

“There are a great many people in need of help,” Roerich said. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. “What else did you discover?”

Zhu Irzh explained about the parchment and the jar. “It was probably stupid to try to take it.”

“That’s the trouble,” Roerich said. “The Khan uses ancient magic. It’s hard to tell what’s advisable and what’s not.”

“I did get this,” Zhu Irzh said and held out the parchment.

“It’s a reanimation spell,” Roerich said, after a moment. “I think it’s a translation. It doesn’t look like Chinese magic to me. Something Central Asian, maybe.”

“Wherever it comes from,” Zhu Irzh said, “I got the feeling it worked.”

•

Later that night, the demon found it impossible to sleep. He lay beside Jhai, staring into the dark and dreading more dreams. Roerich had departed, promising to return in the morning. Zhu Irzh wished he could talk this over with Chen, but all he could get hold of was the answering service, and Inari’s mobile seemed to be switched off as well, which was unusual. He had Jhai, but she was no wiser than he was, having access to the same set of information.

So he was left with the night and his own thoughts. Years ago, he’d have shrugged off the actions of the Khan as yet another supernatural power play. It happened. It was just what people did. But now, it seemed like a violation. The demon was aware of an unfamiliar sense of anger — on behalf of Foyle, on behalf of the unknown person whom the Khan had murdered that night.

Eventually, thinking he might wake Jhai, he got up and went over to the window. The streetlamp outside poured in a sulphurous orange glow. A flicker of movement caught his attention and Zhu Irzh turned. There was something in the corner of the room — a rat? Zhu Irzh raised a hand, started to summon up a spell. Not a rat, but a little crawling thing with a tapering tail, its mouth gaping, showing sharp teeth — as Zhu Irzh threw the bolt of the spell, the thing leaped and as it did so, it grew. Zhu Irzh went down under a mass of claws and teeth and leathery wings. Cursing, he struck up at it, knocking the long, fanged head to one side. Then there was a roar from the bed and a tiger form threw itself on top of Zhu Irzh’s assailant.

The creature screamed and black blood fountained from its slit throat. The tigress clouted it with a massive paw and it collapsed, shrinking into itself like a punctured balloon. Its blood hissed into steam. Soon, there was nothing left except a small, limp scrap on the smoldering carpet.

“What,” said Jhai, sliding back into human form, her stripes fading, “was that?”

“That,” Zhu Irzh replied, “was the contents of the Khan’s jar.”

Miss Qi, her bow notched and ready to fire, collapsed slowly onto the deck. Her eyes were quite blank as she fell face-down and lay still.

Inari stared. It took a moment before she saw what had stunned the Celestial warrior: a small silver sphere. It rolled to the side of the deck and lay against the railing. Inari looked wildly around, trying to trace where it had come from and who had fired it — for it was clearly a weapon. Nothing, and then there was a flutter of shadow high on the mast of the Empress’ vessel.

Inari stared. The shadow was definitely moving.

“Who’s there?” She ran across the deck to Miss Qi and hastily checked her. The warrior still retained her spirit and Inari felt a wash of relief that Miss Qi had not been sucked back to Heaven. Selfish, she thought, but at least Miss Qi did not appear permanently damaged. There was a flutter of night and someone descended to the deck.

“Who are you?” Inari asked.

“I might ask you the same,” the figure said. It was hard to tell what it was: crimson eyes peered out from beneath a long hood, and the remaining garments looked as though they had been cut out of black mist. It was difficult to see directly. But the voice, unless she was greatly mistaken, was female.

“My name is Inari,” Inari said.

“You’re a demon. But she isn’t — although she is possessed. She was trying to kill you. If I’d realized you were a demon, I might have let her.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Inari said. “I’ve been killed once already in the last few months. Who are you?”

“I am Shoth.” The figure shifted position and Inari saw that it was carrying a sling. “I am a guard of the Empress.”

“We don’t mean her any harm,” Inari said.

“I’m not guarding her from other people,” Shoth said. She pushed back the hood, revealing a face as black as her garments. She was like, and yet unlike, a demon. Long curving fangs extended over her lower lip and her red eyes had small black pupils. She was entirely hairless. “I’m protecting others from her.”

“I hope I’m not being rude,” Inari said, “but what are you?”

“The Emperor of Heaven called us in from elsewhere,” Shoth said. “We were held not to have local loyalties.”

“You’re a mercenary?” Inari said.

“In a manner of speaking. Our own Empress, the goddess Oshun, is being rewarded for our work here. So, little demon. What are you doing here?”

Inari told her. On the deck, Miss Qi gave a groan and stirred.

“Stand back,” Shoth commanded.

“Don’t hurt her. She’s my friend.”

Shoth gave her a curious look. “A strange alliance.”

“It’s a long story.”

“What — oh.” Miss Qi sat up and put a hand to her head. “I remember being below, and then — ”

“You were possessed,” said Shoth. “How do you feel now?”

“Groggy. Who are you?”

Shoth told her, while Inari cast an uneasy glance at the Empress’ vessel. “If you’re the Empress’ guardians,” she said, “where were you when we boarded?”

“We were summoned away. There were pirates.”

“There are pirates on the Sea of Night? I’ve heard of such a thing.”

“They come in from other systems,” Shoth said, as Inari helped Miss Qi to her feet. “They always make for the Empress’ boat, believing it to contain riches. It doesn’t, of course.”

“If you’re assigned to the Empress’ boat,” Inari said, “then maybe you could help us detach our own craft.”

Shoth nodded. “You can’t stay here. But equally, you won’t be able to travel over the Sea of Night under your own power. Only we are granted that ability, and the ships of the Sea itself that travel between Heaven and Hell, and the pirates from elsewhere. Anything stranded here stays stranded.”

“Then how are we to get out?” Miss Qi asked.

“The boat belonging to the goddess Kuan Yin is due shortly — it travels between the worlds, transporting souls. It might be able to tow you. You may end up going home the long way round, though.”

“I don’t really care,” Inari said. “As long as we get home. Besides, Kuan Yin has helped us in the past — she was my husband’s patron.”

“Was?” Shoth said.

“He is now independent, but with her blessing. You may ask her yourself, if you choose.”

“How long will the boat take to get here?” Miss Qi asked.

“Not long,” Shoth said. She turned her red gaze on Inari. “You are pregnant. With a warrior.”

Inari put a hand to her stomach.

“One of the warriors of the age,” Shoth said. “A fighter in the coming war.”

“Which war is that?” Inari faltered. Having recently emerged from a war between Heaven and Hell, she wasn’t sure that the three worlds would survive another conflict.

“The great war, with the star people.”

“Star people? Do you mean aliens?”

Shoth looked irritated. “I mean what I say. I’ll send a message to the goddess’ ship.” She turned on a spiny heel and was gone in a shuffle of shadow.

Miss Qi put a hand to her head. “An efficient weapon, that sling. I think I’d better sit down.”

Inari was relieved to know that they might soon be going home. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said.

•

Three cups of tea later, Miss Qi spotted a sail. By now almost fully recovered, she ran across the deck, followed by Inari.

“Let’s hope it’s Kuan Yin’s ship, not pirates.”

“It is the goddess’ boat,” Inari told her. “I recognize it.”

Even from this distance, the pale, shell-speckled shape of the goddess’ craft was unmistakable. Fearing misunderstandings, they did not hail it, but waited until Shoth had come back on board. Inari was pleased to see her. She could still feel the malign, arachnid presence of the Empress, squatting at the heart of her web, spinning out spells. Kuan Yin’s boat glided swiftly over the surface of the Sea of Night, trailing a phosphorescent wake behind it. Soon, it was rocking alongside the houseboat.

Shoth stepped onto the houseboat’s deck while behind her, on the Empress’ vessel, more shadows clustered and congregated. Red eyes glittered in the darkness. There was no sign of anyone on board the goddess’ boat, but Shoth flung a line from the houseboat over its side and the line held taut.