The Iron Khan (22 page)

With Roerich and a silent, withdrawn Omi, he dined in the little pavilion on an exquisite vegetarian dinner. They were shown chambers in a nearby tower, by Nandini. Zhu Irzh, more fatigued than he’d realized, fell asleep immediately.

He didn’t know what woke him, but once roused, he was instantly and fully awake, senses jangling. He got off the bed and crossed to the window. Beyond the glass, the sky was filled with stars. Agarta was on the move: the city was flying. He was looking out across a galaxy. The demon gaped open-mouthed for a moment, then ran to rouse Roerich.

But Roerich wasn’t there. The bed in which he had been resting was empty, with no sign that anyone had ever slept in it. With growing apprehension, Zhu Irzh went in search of Omi and discovered that the young warrior’s bed was also vacant.

Zhu Irzh stepped out onto the landing. “Nandini?” he called, aloud. Somehow he knew that she’d hear him, but no answer came. He ran back down the stairs and threw open the double doors at the base of the hall, to stand teetering on the threshold.

The street wasn’t there, either. Instead, the door opened onto star-filled darkness, even though Zhu Irzh had seen the city below only minutes before. It reminded him of the Sea of Night, but this galaxy-whirl was alive, just as the city had been. The demon slammed the door shut and stepped back against the wall, his thoughts swirling as fast as the stars. A voice said out of nowhere, calm, verging on amused, “It’s only you I’m taking.”

“You’re the city, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back.”

“What do you mean: ‘back’?” Zhu Irzh asked.

“Ah,” the city said. “You’ve been there before.”

The demon knew where it meant. “To the Tokarians?”

“That’s when things started to fracture,” Agarta said. “The Book has rewritten things now. But the Book no longer has that authority.”

“Somehow,” Zhu Irzh told it, “I got the impression that you were working with the Book.”

“We had a deal,” said the city. “I was to help you, to set the spell. But the Book, it seems, had other ideas.”

“It stabbed you in the back?”

“That is too Hellish a way of putting it. It has changed matters.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing?”

“I am here for humans,” Agarta said. “The Book isn’t.”

“Ah.” There was a pause. “Whose agenda is it running, then? Its own?”

“The Book made Heaven. Perhaps more than one Heaven — it’s far older than I. My age was after the Ice Age; the Book dates from long before that, from the lands beyond the Northern stars.”

“The Book wants Heaven to withdraw from the human world,” Zhu Irzh said.

“And so it has rewritten the world to make sure that this happens.” Involuntarily, Zhu Irzh glanced toward the tall, arched windows along the hallway. All he could see was the calm, marble street outside, but he knew that if he opened the window, he would once more be looking upon a starfield. And beyond, on Earth, just what the hell had the Book done? It was beginning to hit home that the Book had done something genuinely huge. “Has it changed the whole world? Or only a bit of it? Only China?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it’s done, it’s removed me from Earth.”

This hadn’t occurred to the demon. “You can’t get back?”

“I can return, but only to the point when the world changed. That’s when I’m taking you.”

“Why me? Why not Roerich?” were Zhu Irzh’s next questions. “Surely he’d be a better candidate?” He’d have suggested Omi, but the warrior was clearly susceptible to unfortunate influences and maybe it was better that he was out of it.

“Roerich is not entirely of the world, being dead. You are.”

“I’m not really used to saving the world,” the demon said. “That’s my partner’s job.”

If a city can be said to smile, then this was what Agarta did. “You had better accustom yourself to the notion, then.”

Li-Ju’s Celestial warship rode at anchor, close to a half-moon bay. The Empress’ vessel had disappeared, heading swiftly and unhesitatingly up a narrow creek. Li-Ju was reluctant to follow her, fearing a trap, and Chen was compelled to agree with him.

“It’s too narrow,” he said, looking at the mouth of the creek. A thin tongue of mud unfurled into the clear water of the bay and the sides of the creek were gnarled with roots. “If we go down there and something comes up behind us, we’ll be stuck.”

“It’s bad enough in the bay,” Li-Ju said. He cast an uneasy glance behind him.

“So what do we do? I’d suggest going in on foot.” Chen turned to the Celestial captain. “I’m prepared to go in alone. I can’t ask anyone to risk themselves. And if I’m not back by an agreed upon time, then go on without me.”

“The Emperor sent us to help you,” Li-Ju said. “And that’s what we’ll do. You and I will go.”

“Very well,” Chen said, slightly ashamed of how relieved he felt.

Li-Ju ordered a small boat to be slung over the side, then they climbed down into it and rowed in silence toward the mouth of the creek. Chen, armed with one of Li-Ju’s bows and a sword, kept a close eye on the water beneath, just in case. But though the water of the bay remained clear, once they traveled into the creek itself the water was too murky to get a proper view. They proceeded cautiously, until they had moved so far along the creek that the bay and the warship were no longer visible. The creek narrowed, the branches almost meeting overhead, until they rowed down what seemed like a long, fetid green tunnel. There was no sign of the Empress’ ship, until they rounded a bend and saw it ahead, startlingly close.

At once Li-Ju took the little boat into the side of the creek, under the root growth. Like being in a cave, Chen thought: the great roots arched and curved overhead. He didn’t like the idea of what might be living in amongst those roots, either. The underside of the boat scraped mud, but the creek itself must form a deep channel, for the Empress’ boat was able to travel down it.

“Do you think we’ve been seen?”

Li-Ju peered out between the roots. “There’s no sign of anyone.”

A voice spoke out of midair, making Chen start. “Captain! There’s a ship approaching.”

Celestials do not usually curse, but Li-Ju looked as though he might be on the verge of doing so. He spoke into a small mirror, carried in one of his long sleeves. “Can you take evasive action?”

Over the captain’s shoulder, Chen glimpsed the agitated face of the crewman in the mirror. “Doing so now, sir!”

The mirror blurred and went dark. “They’re changing position,” Li-Ju said. Mentally, Chen wished them luck.

“Look,” he said. “We’re close enough to go in on foot.”

“I agree.”

Together, Chen and Li-Ju clambered out of the boat and up through the tree roots onto the bank. It was dense jungle at this point, and not easy going, but they scrambled through the undergrowth until they came level with the Empress’ vessel, then they climbed up one of the broad tree trunks and onto a thick branch. Disregarding the insects that crawled in and out of its bark, Chen began to inch forward along the branch, hoping that the ship wouldn’t suddenly surge forward. They were close to the side of the ship now. The voice spoke again from Li-Ju’s mirror.

“The boat’s coming down the creek, Captain.”

“Did they see you?”

“We don’t think so. We’re behind the headland.”

Chen glanced up at the birds that still circled the peak. Spies? The prospect that they had been watched all along, but not from the sea, was a dismaying one, but it obviously could not be ruled out. He continued his slow progress along the tree branch, trying to avoid the sharp spines that periodically protruded from the bark. He was over the water now, close to the deck of the boat and at an angle to be able to see into one of the cabins. There was not, as far as he could tell, anyone there, nor could he glimpse anyone in the wheel-house.

Behind him, Li-Ju said, “Ready?”

“Ready.” They dropped down onto the deck, landing with more noise than Chen was comfortable with. He drew the sword and ducked behind the side of the wheel-house, with Li-Ju close behind. They waited, but there was no sound from within. The silence was beginning to give Chen the creeps, as though there was no one at all on board, the boat traveling under its own volition. Then Li-Ju nudged him.

“Look!”

Another ship was edging its way up the inlet. Chen thought it was the vessel he’d seen earlier, heading out into the open sea. It was hard to tell, as the ship’s sails were furled. The mast brushed the treetops, but only by a few inches: this boat was made to fit this world. It was being rowed, the creak of the oars and the splash as they hit the water were the only sounds he could hear.

Next moment, he dragged Li-Ju back into the shadows of the wheel-house. A figure strode past: black-armored, with a high plait of red hair.

“That’s — ” Li-Ju started to say, then bit it off. There were footsteps overhead, clattering down the steps. Three more figures, of near-identical aspect, ran past Chen.

“Who are they?” Chen whispered.

Li-Ju was frowning. “They’re the Empress’ guards.”

“They don’t seem to be doing much guarding.”

Peering round the corner of the wheel-house, Chen saw that the new arrival was bearing down fast on the Empress’ ship. Its sails were still furled, but its oars had stopped their motion and Chen could not see how it was still coming on. Magic? No doubt.

As the craft approached, one of the guards gave an ear-splitting scream: Chen had never heard a more obvious war-cry. The guard drew her scimitar; moments later, a man dressed in blue with a cutlass between his teeth leaped over the side from the oncoming ship and hit the deck with legs braced. More men followed him and soon the deck was filled with fighting, struggling crew members. But it was evident to Chen that the struggle was unevenly matched. One of the Empress’ guards struck off the head of an attacker and Chen winced. The head, grinning, flew through the air, but before it could strike the water it disappeared in a plume of fire. At once, it was back on the neck from which it had been so recently severed. The guard went down under a swift stroke of the cutlass and vanished, but she did not reappear.

“Sent back to her own place,” Li-Ju said.

“Which is?”

“Another Heaven. They were hired from there.”

They did not, Chen thought, seem to have been very effective. But he was wasting time, watching a battle in which he had little part. He had someone to find.

With Li-Ju close behind, he ducked into the empty wheel-house. A narrow flight of steps led down into the depths of the ship. Chen dropped down the steps and found himself in a passage.

This had clearly been a Celestial vessel. Once upon a time, anyway. Now, the wooden panels were eaten and eroded away, covered in cobwebs and a curious black film. Chen touched it, cautiously, and it came away, staining his fingertips like soot. Yet it felt soft, not at all gritty.

“If you ask me,” Li-Ju whispered in his ear, “that’s what the Empress has exuded.”

“Exuded?”

“Yes. The evil that she contains, breathed out into the air so that it does not stain her soul. Or so she hopes.”

That was a lot of evil. Never mind, Chen thought grimly. He’d met worse.

Hastily, they searched the ship as the fighting raged overhead on deck. There was no sign of Inari, Miss Qi, or the badger. But one of the doors showed signs of abuse, as though something had tried to break through it. A badger’s claws? Chen was willing to put money on it. And attached to a splinter in the wall was a single long strand of pale hair.

“Miss Qi,” Chen murmured. More than the signs of hair and claw, however, was the twinge that told him of Inari: a flutter across the surface of his soul. “She’s been here.”

“Not here now, though,” Li-Ju said.

“No. So where is she?” The emptiness of the vessel, the presence of the possessed or manipulated guards, was beginning to get to Chen. And there was something else, as well. Something waiting.

“This way,” he said, and they sprinted down the rotting passageway.

With Miss Qi and the badger, Inari clung to the Roc’s back as they flew onward toward Earth. The bright gap in the sky was widening and she could see land ahead.

“Singapore Three,” the bird said over its shoulder. Miss Qi craned her neck.

“I can’t see it.”

“This is where we are headed,” the Roc said.

“It might be where we’re headed,” Inari replied, “but where is it?”

No towering apartments were visible. The red Jaruda symbol of Jhai’s company, Paugeng, no longer lit the sunset sky. The harbor was there — a wide muddy inlet — and Inari could see a huddle of huts on the banks of a river. But the dome of the Opera House, the mass of government buildings, the temples, and avenues — none of these were there.