The Iron Khan (Detective Inspector Chen Series) Read online

  Inari was letting Miss Qi, a fellow Celestial, handle this one. She could sense Miss Qi’s reluctance, but knew that the Celestial would accept, rather than risk offending the Empress.

  “That would be most kind,” Miss Qi said.

  They settled themselves gingerly on the cushioned seats on either side of the Empress. The former ruler of Heaven wore a magnificent gown, with spreading skirts in pink and gold, like clouds, that took up most of the seating. The Empress smelled of jasmine, but there was something too sweet, too sickly about it, and Inari, used to far fouler odors, had to struggle not to recoil. The Empress raised a hand, in which was a small bell, and rang it.

  It took Inari a moment to recognize the person who entered. She was slight, dressed in a formal gown, moving with small shuffling steps that suggested her feet were bound. She had a pale, oval face, the color of peach blossom, and huge, dark eyes, but both her mouth and her ears were missing and there was little expression in her limpid gaze. Across the room, Miss Qi stiffened in shock, but Inari thought only, Clever Mhara. Instead of supplying his devious mother with servants who might, even here, be suborned, or worse, sending her servants who needed to be punished and who would, therefore, resent their position, Mhara had looked to Earth for a solution. The mouthless drones who served the super rich had provided him with a way out. This thing had no proper sentience of its own, could not hear, and could not speak. From the distaste with which the Empress was regarding it, she did not appreciate its services.

  “Tea,” the Empress pronounced, bleakly.

  Miss Qi and Inari murmured thanks and sipped hot oolong. Inari was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It was clear that the Empress was both angry and mad, and despite her current status, she had once possessed a great deal of magical power. If she chose to exercise that on some nasty whim —

  But then the Empress turned to Inari and gave a glacial smile.

  “So. What is a demon doing in the company of a Celestial warrior?”

  “Circumstances,” Miss Qi said, firmly. “Much has changed in the last few months.”

  “It certainly has.” The Empress looked at Miss Qi. “I rarely hear from my son, you know. How is he faring?”

  “I have never met his August Serenity,” Miss Qi said, lying with a smoothness that Inari could only admire. Deception didn’t come easily to Celestials, whatever example the Empress herself might have set. “But I believe him to be well.”

  There was a glitter deep in the Empress’ eyes. “He betrayed me, you know,” she murmured.

  “I’m sure he — ”

  “My own dear son sent me here to live. Forever.” She turned to Inari. “Do you know how long forever is, little demon?”

  “I — ”

  The Empress dropped her teacup and it shattered into a hundred shards on the wooden boards beneath her feet. Hot tea mottled the surface of her skirts like blood. The mouthless drone was instantly there, to sweep up the remains. The Empress, rising, struck the drone and sent it spinning to the floor. The drone shook its head with mechanical speed, and rose.

  “I think we’d better go,” Inari said.

  “I agree.” Together, they hastened out of the cabin, with the badger at their heels. The Empress gave a shriek of fury.

  “Don’t leave me!”

  — but it was too late. Inari and Miss Qi sprinted down the passage and out onto the deck. To Inari’s intense relief, the houseboat was still there, moored on the black heave of the Sea of Night, and within reach. Miss Qi helped her over the railing.

  They stood looking back at the Empress’ boat, rocking close by. Inari somehow expected the disgraced Celestial to hurtle after them, but the boat remained quiet.

  “She’s quite mad,” Miss Qi said flatly. “I had heard the rumors, but I hadn’t — well, I found them difficult to believe, even though I know the current Emperor could never lie.”

  “Sometimes I think we’re better off in Hell,” Inari said. “You expect that sort of thing.”

  Miss Qi looked askance. “How horrible.”

  “Well, it is Hell. And at least it comes as less of a shock.”

  “True enough.”

  One of the benefits of being on the houseboat was that they had plenty of food. With the stormy season coming up Inari kept stocks of noodles and dried mushrooms, tins of bean sprouts and water chestnuts in the kitchen cupboards. As supernaturals, she and Miss Qi could survive without food, but it was more pleasant with it and she found that cooking grounded her, providing a familiar activity in the midst of this limbo. Over a simple meal, wok-cooked on a conjured flame, they discussed their options.

  These were, Inari reflected in dismay, somewhat worse than they had thought. They were stuck in the Sea of Night with the Empress’ boat moored next to them, and Inari did not like the thought of such a mad and powerful neighbor.

  “The trouble is,” Miss Qi said, “there’s nothing we can do about it. We can’t move away. We can’t erect a barrier, even. We’ve nothing to do it with and neither of us could sustain that kind of magic indefinitely.”

  “Mhara must keep an eye on his mother,” Inari suggested. “Maybe he sends someone to check on her periodically. In that case, all we have to do is wait.”

  Miss Qi looked a little more hopeful at this optimistic idea, but then she said, “She must have had that boat steered next to us. I can’t believe they just drifted together. That means she’s plotting something.”

  “I agree,” Inari said. “I think we should take it in turns to sleep tonight.”

  Miss Qi nodded. “A sound plan. I am a light sleeper. You need not fear that you will be unable to wake me up.”

  •

  However, the Empress’ boat remained quiet and still. Inari had offered to take the first watch, but Miss Qi would not hear of it.

  “You need your rest, Inari. For the sake of the baby. Besides, if she’s planning anything, it’s likely to come sooner rather than later and I am a warrior. I have badger’s help, too.”

  “I will not sleep,” the badger declared. “I do not trust that woman.”

  “No one should,” agreed Inari.

  She was surprised to find, some hours later, that she had in fact fallen fast asleep. She went out on deck. Miss Qi was still sitting on the bench, staring at the Empress’ boat with her bow in her hands.

  “I woke up,” Inari said. “I feel quite refreshed. You can let me take over the watch now, if you wish.”

  Miss Qi nodded. “Very well. If you’re sure. Nothing’s happened.”

  They swapped places and Miss Qi went below. Inari collected a book and took it out to the bench, while the badger remained on watch. The Empress’ boat was as still as before. An hour or so passed. Inari began to concentrate a little harder on the book, rather than the boat. Then, she heard a sound. It didn’t come from the boat before her, but from the cabin below. Perhaps Miss Qi could not sleep. The badger rose to his feet. “Something is wrong.”

  Inari could hear footsteps coming up from the cabin. They did not sound like the light, quick step of Miss Qi, but stealthy, as if the person was trying not to be heard. Very quietly, Inari rose from the bench and made her way along the deck, to hide around the corner of the cabin. The footsteps continued. She peered forward.

  Miss Qi stepped out onto the deck, her bow clasped tight. Before Inari could sigh with relief, however, the Celestial turned and Inari saw that her face, normally so delicate and expressive, was somehow blank. It looked as though a grotesque mask had been placed over the Celestial’s features. Beside Inari, the badger stifled a growl.

  Miss Qi’s head snapped up. In a second, the bow was up and drawn. She ran along the deck. Inari and the badger fled up the nearest means of escape: the ladder leading to the roof of the cabin, where Wei Chen grew herbs in pots. Inari crouched at the end of the roof. As Miss Qi, her face contorted, climbed onto the deck, Inari stifled any misgivings and threw a pot at her. It missed, but Miss Qi dodged and in doing so fell off the ladder. There
was a thud from below. Inari climbed down the ladder on the other side of the roof, heading for the kitchen, where there were pans and knives. She did not want to injure Miss Qi, but perhaps if she could stun her —

  Just as she reached for the cupboard where the heavy iron frying pan was kept, an arrow sang past her and buried itself in the wall. Inari spun around. Miss Qi was notching another arrow to her bow.

  This, thought Inari as she wrapped her arms around herself, is going to hurt.

  SIXTEEN

  This time, Omi did not have the luxury of closing his eyes. He had to keep them open, to steer the crane as it flew, according to the fragment of map given to him by the akashi. Now that Raksha had been left behind — waving from the acacia groves — Omi discovered that despite his mistrust, he now missed her. For all her strangeness, she had been a calm presence, curiously dependable. Thinking back, the fact that his grandfather had not appeared during his time with Raksha boded well. Had she been malevolent, he felt, Grandfather would have issued some degree of warning.

  Assuming Grandfather hadn’t been prevented from doing so.

  Omi set these reflections aside and nerved himself to look down. Desert and more desert, much as it had been when he’d crossed its northern extent with Raksha. It was changing, however. The black sand and shimmering red cliffs had changed to a dusty gray. A tiny train trundled across the expanse, its tracks shining in the sunlight, and it seemed to Omi to form some demarcation line between the northern harshness and the true desert further south. What unfolded below was what Omi thought of as “desert” — high sandy dunes rolling away toward the horizon, interspersing flat expanses of sand. He grew more hopeful. He hadn’t fallen off yet, and they were surely nearly there.

  What would be found at the other end remained to be seen. He was ashamed of his hope, that a spell would be found, not for the sake of Raksha and the akashi, but for his own: that he would have aid and not be forced to undergo his trials alone. His grandfather and the sensei would have told him that there was no shame in seeking aid, but Omi was young enough to feel it all the same, and old enough to recognize it in himself.

  He’d be glad when they landed for purely practical reasons, too. Magic had its limits. His throat was parched and his eyes tired from squinting into sun and dust. He was aware of a cramp too, but reluctant to shift about too much on the crane’s back. So he concentrated on the land instead, and on the indigo-cerulean-sapphire feathers of the beautiful bird on whose spine he perched.

  After a while, he began to fear that he’d missed the spot where the pagoda lay. The dunes all looked the same, and Omi had the dismaying impression that you could just fly round and round and never spot it. But then they passed over a high ridge of dune and the crane gave a croaking cry. A black spire rose from the desert, in front of a crescent lake of startlingly clear hue. There was a line of trees. It looked, in the middle of that dusty expanse, a cool and inviting place. Omi, overcome with relief, directed the crane downward.

  Climbing from its back, he was immediately struck by the silence. There was no wind. The desert was completely still, not a grain of sand moving. Omi, enchanted by the quiet, walked down to the shore of the lake, which curled in its half-moon shape around the base of a dune. It was close to sunset now and the sky was a deep green, like water. Omi knelt and ran a hand through the water of the lake: it was cool to the touch and not at all stagnant. Toward the center of the crescent, a school of fish flicked and were gone.

  Omi took a deep breath and released it. There might be enemies here, but he found it difficult to believe. He turned and studied the pagoda. Dark wood and stone, a sturdy construction. A white pennant, quite plain, drooped from its peak, and he glimpsed a great bronze bell. A long gallery led around the interior of the pagoda, surrounding what was obviously a courtyard. Omi walked toward the pagoda and just as he reached the oak doors which lay beneath the gallery, the bell clanged once, making him jump. His hand reached toward the bow, then away.

  No voice spoke, and yet Omi knew that he had to explain himself. Aloud, into the desert silence, he said, “I have come from the akashi. I am in need of help.”

  The doors opened, creaking with age. Omi hesitated, then went inside. The courtyard was also quiet. An immense stone basin stood in the middle of it, and Omi could smell incense. He looked around the upper stories of the gallery but there was no one to be seen. Then a voice spoke, clearly, into his ear, “Come.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Go up.”

  Spotting a flight of steps at the far end of the courtyard, Omi did as he was told and found himself on the wooden boards of the gallery.

  “The third room,” said the voice.

  Very well. Omi walked along the gallery to the third door, and entered.

  The room was empty. The door seemed to be its only entrance, for there were no shutters. Black-paneled wood shone in the light of a single lamp, casting shadows to all four corners of the room. A book sat on a small lacquered table, its crimson covers stiff with age.

  Omi had not been trained for nothing. He said to the book, in amazement, “You spoke to me!”

  “Yes,” said the Book. “I am alive.”

  “Are you a book of spells?”

  “I am a book of making,” the Book said. “Why have you come here?”

  “I’m looking for help,” Omi said. He told the book about the Khan, about the akashi.

  When he had finished, the Book said, “Sit down.”

  Omi did so, on a small bench to the right of the table.

  “Do not touch me,” the Book warned. “I can unmake you.”

  Omi, who would in any case have considered it an unpardonable liberty, assented.

  “Lean forward,” the Book said. “And watch.”

  Omi did as he was told. Later, he thought how naïve he had been, but it had not even occurred to him to disobey. He watched as the book’s cover opened and he was, immediately, within the land.

  It was as though he had been disembodied and stretched out. He was everywhere at once, standing on the glacial summits of the mountains above Urumchi, amidst the grit of the desert dust in the deepest Taklamakan. He was water in a pool in the Imperial palace, far to the east, and a spire of rock above a winding river. He was city and stone and forest.

  When the Book snapped shut, Omi reeled back, gasping and fighting for breath.

  “Now,” the Book said. “Do you see what I am?”

  “You’re — everything?” Omi corrected himself. He wasn’t thinking straight. “You’re China?”

  “I am the Book of the land, and of Heaven, which mirrors the land. I told you. I can make and unmake.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I came into being when the land came into being. I have had other shapes,” the Book explained.

  “So — if you are the land, and you can — create it? You can change things, yes? Could you change a land-based spell?”

  “If you want to do that,” the Book said, “then you must enter the land and do so yourself. That is the price you must pay.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I will show you,” the Book said.

  •

  He stood at the edge of the desert. It was night, and the stars burned and blazed like fire. Behind him, the little lake and the pagoda were invisible, but he knew they were there. Deep within, he also knew that he was still sitting in the third room of the gallery, while his consciousness ranged through the world that the Book contained.

  “Choose your shape,” the Book said.

  “I don’t — ” Omi started to say.

  Then there was a blur in the air and Grandfather was standing before him. He bowed — not to Omi, the latter realized, but to the Book. “Thank you for permitting my humble presence.”

  “You’re welcome,” the Book said mildly.

  To Omi, Grandfather said, “Our ancestors came from the north, from the mountains. This was their totem.” He extended a hand and a snow leopard
appeared, pacing.

  “Then I choose,” Omi said. Immediately he felt his muscles begin to shift and change, his face elongating, the bristle of fangs within his gums. His fingers prickled, became claws. Omi dropped to all fours.

  “Now go!” Grandfather said. Omi raced out into the desert, splayed paws scattering sand. Even at the height of the sensei’s training, he had never felt so connected to everything else: this must be what it was like to be an animal, a sense of place so strong that little else was needed beyond the basic drives of food and mating. Territory was part of this, and so was the maintaining of it. For the first time, Omi, with his remaining fragment of human awareness, understood that self-consciousness is a two-edged sword, dividing us from the world as greatly as it allows us to comprehend ourselves.