DAC 3 Precious Dragon (14 page)

"Quite all right," Lesser Lord Nine said. "Underling No?"

"I have all the papers here." No stepped smartly forward. "I trust everything is in order?"

The demon in the hazmat suit produced a phial of gleaming blue light from an inner pocket and poured it over the papers. It foamed as it fell, like acid, and left the papers glowing in its wake.

"All is quite acceptable," the demon said. He sounded relieved. Chen could appreciate that Lesser Lord Nine was not someone whom one would wish to fall afoul of.

"Good, good," the Lesser Lord remarked. Then, to his guests: "Follow me."

Again, Chen was expecting a room, and again, he was surprised. The next door through which the Lesser Lord led them took them outside—not onto the steamy square of the central city, but out onto a vast, bleak plain. Chen stood in gray grass up to his knees; it blew in a breeze he could not otherwise feel. Above him, the sky was molten silver, racing with rags of cloud in the high upper winds of Hell, a cold and empty sky. But the plain itself was not empty. It was filled with a slow parade of moving vehicles: enormous juggernauts bristling with armaments; warships on great trolleys, sailing like black galleons across the plain; tanks that were twice the size of any Chen had seen on Earth, even during the military parades through Beijing in his youth. All of the machines were dark, some bearing the blood-red insignia of Imperial Hell, others with the symbols of the lesser Houses.

He turned to Lesser Lord Nine. "It is our turn to be impressed."

"Magnificent, isn't it?" The Lesser Lord looked gratified, though why he should be so pleased by an accolade from a human, Chen did not know. But the being was clearly proud of his establishment.

"What is it all for?" Miss Qi stepped a little closer to Chen.

"Why," Lesser Lord Nine said, rather blankly, "it is for war, of course."

"But I have never seen machines like this used on Earth. Where is it to be, this war?"

"We're engaged in constant conflict with the lower levels," the Lesser Lord explained. "Incursions from below mean that we need to maintain a strong military presence here. And also, such incursions provide us with a practice ground. We are able to test our military capabilities."

"I see," Miss Qi said, after a pause. Chen could tell what she was thinking, however: the military muscle before them, the great machines thundering across this barren plain, might someday be turned against Heaven. He wondered if even Heaven could withstand the onslaught, and he wondered whether this might be the real reason that the Ministry had been so open to their Celestial visitor: Would Qi be expected to return and report on what she had seen to the Heavenly authorities? Or was there another game at play? The Lesser Lord did not strike Chen as a particularly subtle being—a typical career soldier, in fact—but there was no doubt that subtlety was one of the hallmarks of his masters.

The wind rose, stirring the grass still further, and this time Chen could feel it. It lifted his hair, whipping it around his collar. Zhu Irzh hunched his black silk shoulders against the sudden wind and Miss Qi's pale mane snapped free of its braid and fluttered out like a banner.

"Ah," Lesser Lord Nine said. "You'll find this interesting." He pointed beyond Chen's shoulder. Chen looked up to see an object like a multi-bladed helicopter, but the size of a battleship, soaring over the horizon. The Lesser Lord said something but his words were lost in the roar from the sky as the flying machine came overhead. Its sides were black and pitted as though it had been struck by meteors: Just where, Chen wondered, had this thing seen active service? The lower levels? In space? It looked used. Within minutes, it was directly over their heads and then gone, roaring off across the plain and sending waves through the gray grass in its wake.

"Perhaps," the Lesser Lord said, into the sudden silence, "we should return to my office. It's a little chilly, don't you think?"

Just as they reached the Lesser Lord's chamber, however, returning via the decontamination unit, an old-fashioned phone shrilled. Lesser Lord Nine picked it up and listened, a frown creasing his inhuman features.

"Sorry about this," he remarked, putting the receiver down. "Seems I have to go downstairs for a few minutes. Some crisis, no doubt. There's always something. Don't you find that?"

"Almost continually," Chen said. It was possible to find some sympathy for the Lesser Lord after all.

"Wait here. I'll have some tea sent up to you. Underling No, would you see to it?"

"Of course, sir." No scurried away and the Lesser Lord strode through the door, closing it gently behind him. Chen listened for the click of a key in the lock, but there was no other sound.

They all looked at one another. Chen knew that everyone had too much sense to start a conversation about what they had just seen in an office that was almost certainly bugged.

"I should love some tea," Miss Qi said. "I hope they serve green tea. I should like to try some down here."

"I wouldn't mind some myself," Chen told her. Zhu Irzh's mind, however, was clearly far from thoughts of refreshment. He was standing by the door, with his ear to it. Next moment, to Chen's horror, he reached out, turned the handle, and disappeared into the corridor.

Miss Qi's gray eyes widened with alarm. "What—?" she started to say.

Chen motioned for her to stay put, and followed the demon out. Zhu Irzh was already at the end of the corridor, almost running. Cursing beneath his breath, Chen went after him.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he realized that the demon's hearing, so much keener than his own, had picked up the conversation that was now evident to Chen. He did not have to put his ear to the door at which Zhu Irzh had halted, however. The conversation was being conducted at full volume.

"Absolute fucking disaster!" someone was bellowing. This was said at such a roar that it was hard to tell who was speaking, but Chen did not think it was Lesser Lord Nine. Perhaps he was on the receiving end of it; though Chen, who had come almost to like the Lesser Lord, hoped not.

"What do you mean, a disaster?" An older voice, full of sibilant hissing. "The mission was an unmitigated success. We have quelled the lung. There will be no more incursions from that quarter, you may rest assured."

"Yes, but you haven't quelled all of them, have you? At least one remains. On Earth! It has been seen."

"If any remain, which I doubt, then they will be ancient and as such, close to disintegration," the hissing voice said, testily. "Besides, many of them have already fled from Earth."

"You cannot underestimate them! Age brings cunning." A pause. "You should know that."

"I fail entirely to see—" the second voice said, but at that point Zhu Irzh clasped Chen by the arm and hauled him back around the corner.

"Zhu Irzh, what are you doing?"

"The Lesser Lord's coming back. I heard footsteps."

They made it back into the office, where an agitated Qi was waiting, moments before the door opened and both the Lesser Lord and Underling No appeared, the latter bearing a tray on which was set a teapot and several cups.

"Now," the Lesser Lord said, all geniality and smiles. "I've arranged for a private supper to be held at your hotel. I thought you'd probably be tired. I also understand that you—" this was directed at Zhu Irzh "—have an important function to attend tomorrow night, so we will of course accommodate this. On the following evening—"

"Wait a moment," Zhu Irzh interrupted. "Might I ask how you know about that?"

"We were informed," the Lesser Lord said. "Anyway, on the following evening, there is to be a banquet here in honor of our guests." His brow furrowed. "I'm sure you'll enjoy yourselves."

"Sounds fantastic," Zhu Irzh said.

Chen's experience of Hell's cuisine had not, to date, been encouraging, but the supper back at the hotel was exemplary: fresh stir-fried vegetables with rice and fish in broth. Zhu Irzh was given a plate of some vile red stew with tentacles, which he consumed with every appearance of enjoyment, and Miss Qi had a bowl of something fluffily white and highly scented. Mindful of listeners, the conversation revolved mainly around food and the weather, and no one wanted a late night. Miss Qi retired shortly after the meal. Zhu Irzh and Chen wandered into the hotel bar, which was deserted, and had a Scotch each as a nightcap. The demon seemed preoccupied with his mother's party, and it was at least a safe topic. At last Chen said, "Well, this is pleasant, Zhu Irzh, but I'm afraid I'm starting to fall asleep. I think I'll go up."

"I'll do the same," the demon said. "I'd forgotten how tired this place makes me."

"Have you heard from your family yet?"

"No. But I will. The Ministry of War evidently has."

They parted company on the landing. Back in his room, Chen found that someone, probably the maid, had opened a window. He didn't know what kind of insects might frequent the night airs of Hell, so he went over to close it. The towering summit of the Ministry of War was lit by floodlights, sweeping across the building's innumerable armaments and casting a glow into the stormy skies. The Ministry of Lust, on the other hand, was a shadowy russet bulge at the other side of the square.

Just as Chen was about to close the drapes, movement caught his attention in the bushes below. Something was gliding swiftly through the hotel garden, pausing briefly beneath the branches of a flowering tree and looking up. Chen stared down into a triangular face. It struck him that there was something familiar about this person, but it was too dark to see properly. Then the figure was gone, melting back into the garden gloom. Chen pulled the drapes shut, suddenly chilled. He had the impression of something predatory, moving through the night of Hell. It made him glad to be inside.

Despite his location, he did not take long to fall asleep. Images drifted before his drowsing sight: the suburbs of Hell in endless progression, its turrets and towers; Miss Qi's alarmed face and the bristling countenances of the Lesser Lord and Underling No; long metal corridors and an arrow striking a target, sending ripples through reality like a stone thrown into a pond; raised voices—and just as Chen fell asleep, he heard someone say something about a lung.

And everyone in China knew what a lung was.

It was a dragon.

Embar Dea, released from the prison of sluices and cities, swam through warm seas and cold seas, scenting ice and occasionally, when a dark bloom fell across the surface of the water, rising to see the chilly secret of the North Star, which is sacred to some dragons and is said, on certain days, to speak. It is said, too, that it was from the stars that the dragons had come, making their way to the sanctuary of Cloud Kingdom, but Embar Dea did not know whether this was true or not. Whatever the case, the North Star did not speak to her, but remained in glittering silence at the height of the sky. Embar Dea saw it as a friend, nonetheless, and took inspiration from it before she once more dived, and sang.

There were other voices, but they were very faint and far away. Sometimes she could not be sure whether she was hearing them at all, or whether what she was hearing was the past, swimming back through her ancient memory, just as she herself swam through the waters of Earth, when the seas were alive with whales and dragons, singing to one another. She heard whalesong now, but much less than before, and it saddened her. But some of the voices—if they existed at all—were not whales, and Embar Dea headed toward them, hardly daring to hope. She swam up straits, aware of the bulk of land on either side, once quiet and harmonious earth but now humming with technology and a sour and bitter magic. The world had changed too much, while Embar Dea dreamed in Sulai-Ba. It was better when she swam into the Sea of Japan, veering away from the land and curving past Hokkaido and then out into the open ocean. She called on her own, half-forgotten, magic as she swam, willing invisibility and causing it to wrap itself around her, keeping her warm just as it kept her unseen. Shoals of fish accompanied her, bream and mackerel, the group minds of the shoals engaging her in slow and careful conversation about currents and tides. Embar Dea drew on knowledge that might no longer be applicable and shared what she could.

It was the fish that told her about the wreck.

They did not know where it had come from, but Embar Dea knew what it was as soon as it was mentioned. The ship had glided over the sea for a great distance before it had struck something—not an iceberg itself, but the ghost of one, lingering in the northern ocean since the end of the Great Ice—and the damage it had sustained had caused it to sink.

The ship was called the Veil of Day, and it had set sail from Heaven many years before, but had never reached its destination—which had been Hell—and Embar Dea did not know why. It carried a treasure which had never been found and Embar Dea was amazed that this was still the case, for surely someone must have searched for it. But then she reasoned that few things could come this far and this deep: not even Hellkind.

But water dragons can dive to the bottom of the deepest trench in the ocean without injury, for water dragons are the sea itself, made of sea-stuff, and cannot be harmed by it.

So Embar Dea thanked the fish, and let them lead her to where the wreck had last been seen. She was aware of urgency, of those distant voices calling, but the thought of the wreck, if it was indeed the Veil of Day, nagged and twitched at her and she was too old to ignore the promptings of instinct. North and north again, she followed the fish until they reached the limits of their territory and she watched them as they shot away, falling silver down the stairways of the sea, until she was once again alone in the middle of the ocean. She rose to the surface, waited till the sea lay on that time between night and day, and then just as the moon was rising and the tides of magic were at their height, she dived, arrowing down until the faint illumination from the dying day was gone and there was only the dark.

Embar Dea's lamplight eyes shone beams ahead of her. She saw nothing for a long time, only a few strange fish, but then a moonscape land rose up to greet her and she knew that she was close to the seabed. At this depth, it was empty, no weeds or shellfish. Nor was there any sign of a ship.