Necropolis

Kowloon, just off the Nathan Road, which was a long, wide tourist strip known as "the Golden Mile." Not that there was much gold amongst the rather tacky shops that specialized in cheap electronics, fake designer watches, and cut-price suits. The market was located in a low-ceilinged warehouse, sheltered under one of the huge overpasses that seemed to be knotted into the city.
    The pollution was even worse today. The weather was cold and damp, and the mist was thicker than ever. Scarlett could actually feel it clinging to her skin and wondered how the people of Hong Kong put up with it. She noticed that increasing numbers of them had resorted to the white masks on their faces.
    How long would it be before she joined them?
    There were about fifty stalls in the jade market, selling necklaces, bracelets, and little figurines. Keeping one eye on her watch, Scarlett made a big deal out of choosing something, haggling with the stallholders, asking Mrs. Cheng for advice, before finally settling on a bracelet that cost her all of three pounds. As she handed over the money, it occurred to her that Amanda would actually like it — she just hoped that she would be able to give it to her sometime soon.
    "Do you want to go back down to the peninsula?" Mrs. Cheng suggested as they came back out into the street. Karl was waiting for them, leaning against the car. He never seemed to have any trouble parking in Hong Kong. For some reason, the traffic cops — if there were any — never came close.
    "Not really…" Scarlett looked around her. And she was in luck. There was a signpost pointing to the Tin Hau Temple. They were standing right in front of it. "Can we go there?" she said, trying to make the suggestion sound casual.
    "We've already visited a lot of temples."
    'Yes. But I'd quite like to see another."
    It was true. They'd already been to the Man Mo in Central Hong Kong and to the Kuan Yin only the day before. They were strange places. Chinese temples seemed to mix religion and superstition — with fortune sticks and palm readers sitting comfortably among the altars and the incense. The people who went there didn't pray like an English congregation. They bowed repeatedly, muttering to themselves.
    They left offerings of food and silk on the tables. They burned sacks of paper in furnaces that were kept going for precisely that purpose. Hong Kong had been Westernized in many ways, but the temples could only belong to the East, providing glimpses of another age.
    Tin Hau was just like the others. As Scarlett stepped inside, she found herself facing not one but several altars, surrounded by a collection of life-size statues that could have come out of a bizarre comic book: a cross-legged old man with a beard that was made of real hair, two devil monsters, one bright red, the other blue, both of them more childish than frightening. One of them was crying, wiping its eyes and grimacing at its neighbor. The other stood with a raised hand, trying to calm his friend down. There was a china-doll woman carrying a gift and, in a long row, more than fifty smaller figures, each one a different god, perched on a shelf. The temple was a riot of violent colors, richly patterned curtains, lamps, and flowers. The smoke from the incense was so thick that they'd had to install a powerful ventilation system that droned continuously, trying to clear the air.
    Scarlett had arrived on time, but she had no idea what she was looking for. There were about a dozen people in the temple, but they were all busy with their devotions. Nobody so much as turned her way.
    Was it possible that she had misunderstood the passage in the guidebook? It had definitely told her to be there at five o'clock, and it was already a few minutes past. She waited for someone to approach her, to slip another message into her hand — one of the worshippers, or a tourist perhaps. She even wondered if her father might be there.
    Nothing happened. Nobody came close. Scarlett knew she could only pretend to be interested in the place for so long. Mrs. Cheng was watching her with growing suspicion. She certainly hadn't shown much interest in temples the day before — so what was so special about this one?
    "Have you had enough, Scarlett?" she demanded.
    "Who is that?" Scarlett asked desperately, pointing at one of the statues.
    "His name is Kuan Kung, the god of war." Something flickered deep in Mrs. Cheng's eyes. "Maybe you should pray to him."
    "Why do you say that, Mrs.