DAC 3 Precious Dragon (17 page)

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.

After the horrible visitor, Precious Dragon sank into such a sound sleep that he did not wake up until noon of the following day. Mrs Pa did not want to disturb her grandson, but she did shake his shoulder gently, just once, to make sure that he could be woken. He rolled over, breathing peacefully, a tousle of hair falling into his eyes, and she crept from the room. However, she need not have worried. Precious Dragon came into the kitchen of his own accord, just as she was making lunch.

"Grandmother? Hello."

"Hello, Grandson," Mrs Pa said. She did not want to tell him about her worries: the creature might come back, and even if she had been capable of dealing with it herself, that she might not be here. Mai—being dead—had left no provision for her son and sooner or later, given the state of the household finances, Mrs Pa would have to go back to her cleaning job. Her regular employers had been most understanding about this particular week, but she could not reasonably expect any more time off. But if she was to go back to work, who would look after Precious Dragon? And if she took him with her, she would have to warn her employers in advance—and how would they react to the presence of a small child in their homes? Badly, given the usual nature of employers.

But Precious Dragon seemed to have an uncanny understanding of her fears. He hoisted himself to the edge of the couch and sat down, swinging his legs.

"You'll have to go back to work soon, won't you?" he pronounced.

His apparent reading of her mind gave Mrs Pa such a start that she nearly dropped a plate. She was so surprised that she turned to face him and said, as if he were a grown-up, "Yes. And I don't know who I'm going to get to look after you, because I don't know whether or not I'll be able to take you with me. I think maybe your father's family is the best choice. I'm sure they'd like to see you, anyway." And she felt a pang of guilt because she had not yet contacted them with the news that their grandson had been so in danger—Precious Dragon was just as much theirs as he was hers, except that they had not been the ones asked to go to echoing Sulai-Ba to rescue him, and Mrs Pa felt a deep kind of pride at that.

"I am happy to visit my other grandparents," Precious Dragon said, very gravely. "I should like to get to know them. But there is another choice."

"What choice is that?"

Precious Dragon gave a slight frown, as if peering into a future that he could not properly see. "I do not know yet. But someone will come."

His trust in life to provide touched Mrs Pa, but even though she had seen some of her grandson's weird abilities, she was not sure that she believed him.

In this, however, she was wrong.

The knock on the door came early in the evening, a tentative, uncertain sound, so faint that at first Mrs Pa thought she was imagining things. After the previous night, she wasn't going to open the door without checking first, so she put the chain on the latch as a precaution before looking through the spyhole and then opening the door a crack.

There was a young woman on the step. She wore a pretty frock, modestly highlighting an elegant figure, and a large hat. She wore sunglasses, even though the sun was setting over the port in a smear of gold and red. She stepped back a little as Mrs Pa opened the door, and something ambled out from the shadows: a black and white shape that Mrs Pa thought at first was a dog. Then she saw that it was a badger.

"Good evening," Mrs Pa said, somewhat taken aback.

"Good evening," said the young woman. "I am so sorry to trouble you. My husband mentioned you to me—he's Detective Inspector Chen, of the city police department." She held up a picture of a round, rather surprised face. "You met him last night."

"Why, so I did," Mrs Pa said. Precious Dragon nudged her arm.

"Grandma? It's all right." He spoke with such confidence that Mrs Pa reached out and unlatched the door.

"Before I come in," the young woman said, "there's something you should know. I'm not human." She took off her sunglasses to reveal large, crimson eyes. "You see, I'm afraid I am a demon. My husband rescued me from Hell, though, and now I live here. I should quite understand if you'd rather I didn't come in."

"No, that's all right," Mrs Pa said, marveling at her own daring. "After all, my daughter herself lives in Hell. I know that in her own case it was because of someone else's corruption, but even so—not everyone from Hell is wicked."

"Hell is a wicked place," Chen's wife said with a sigh. "And so is Earth, sometimes." She took a step forward. "My name is Inari."

"I think you'd better come in," Mrs Pa said.

Inari accepted tea, and the badger had a saucer of water that it drank with a loud golloping noise.

"Please excuse badger," Inari said. "He doesn't have very human manners. He's my family's familiar."

Precious Dragon sat smiling at the badger. "He's very furry," he said.

"Yes, he is. But I'm afraid he doesn't like to be cuddled," Inari explained. "I like your tiger."

The little boy beamed. "My grandmother bought it for me."

"What a nice grandmother!" Inari took a sip of her tea. "Mrs Pa, my husband has asked me to—well, to keep an eye on you, really. He was very worried."

"That's extremely kind of him," Mrs Pa said. Pride, and the loss of face, almost made her add, but we can manage. She was too old for face; she could not manage. She bit the words back. "I've been wondering—you see, I have to work. I have no choice. But I didn't know if anyone might look after Precious Dragon for me . . . He is not the usual kind of child, Inari."

"No. I can see that he is not." Inari smiled. "But then, I'm not the usual kind of childminder."

"You may think it's very naïve of me, to hand over care of my grandson to a stranger—if you wouldn't mind, of course. I'm sure you're very busy."

"No," Inari said, rather wistfully. "Actually, I'm not."

"But you see, Precious Dragon seems to trust you." She turned to her grandson, who replied with a nod. "And Precious Dragon seems to know things."