Necropolis

Cheng?"
    'You never know when another war will begin."
    In the end, Scarlett had to leave. She had lingered for as long as she could, but it seemed clear that nobody was going to come. She was hugely disappointed. Of course, the note had given her only a time.
    It hadn't told her what day to be there. On the other hand, it was unlikely that she would be able to find an excuse to return, and slipping out of Wisdom Court on her own was out of the question. Nine people had died when the office on the waterfront had burned down. Maybe whoever had sent the message had been among them.
    It was beginning to get dark when they emerged into the square. Karl was sitting on a bench with his arms folded, looking about as animated as the statues they had just seen. A number of stalls were being set up all around. They didn't look particularly interesting — selling socks, hats, reading glasses, and useless bits of bric-a-brac — but they were attracting quite a crowd.
    "Can we look at them?" Scarlett asked.
    It had only struck her there and then. The passage in the guidebook had described the Tin Hau Temple.
    But it had also gone on about the square outside. Maybe her secret messenger would be waiting there.
    Mrs. Cheng scowled briefly, but Scarlett had already set off. She followed.
    Scarlett pretended to browse in front of a stand selling cheap alarm clocks and watches. She was determined to spend as much time here as possible. She noticed that the next stall wasn't selling anything. There was a woman with a pack of tarot cards. In fact, now that Scarlett looked around, she saw that at least half the market was devoted to different methods of fortune-telling.
    She walked over to a very old man, a palm reader who was sitting on a plastic stool, close to the ground.
    His stall was decorated with a banner showing the human hand divided into different segments, each one with a Chinese character. He was examining the palm of a boy of about thirteen, his nose and eyes inches away from the skin as if he really could read something there. Scarlett moved on. There was a woman a little farther along, also telling the future. But in a very different way.
    The woman was small and round with long, gray hair. She was wearing a red silk jacket, sitting behind a table, arranging half a dozen packets of envelopes that were stacked up in front of her. On one side, there were three cages, each one containing a little yellow bird — a canary or something like it. On the other, she had a mat with a range of different symbols and ajar of seeds. The woman seemed to be completely focused on what she was doing, but as Scarlett approached, she suddenly reached out with a single, gnarled finger and, without looking up, tapped one of the symbols on the mat.
    It was a five-pointed star.
    Scarlett had seen exactly the same thing on the door that had led her to the Monastery of the Cry for Mercy. She was careful not to give anything away — Mrs. Cheng was standing right next to her — but she felt a rush of excitement. According to Father Gregory, the doors had been built centuries ago to help the Gatekeepers. They were there to help her. Had the woman sent a deliberate signal? Scarlett examined her more closely. She still didn't look up, busying herself with the envelopes and occasionally muttering at the birds.

    Scarlett turned to Mrs. Cheng. "What's this all about?" she asked.
    "She uses the birds to tell fortunes," Mrs. Cheng explained.
    The old woman had heard the English voices and seemed to notice Scarlett for the first time. She squinted at her and muttered something in Chinese.
    "She's offering to tell your fortune," Mrs. Cheng translated. "But it will cost you thirty Hong Kong dollars."
    "That's about two pounds."
    "It's a complete waste of money."
    "I don't care." Scarlett dug in her pocket and took out the right amount. She set it down on the mat and took her place on the plastic seat on her side of the table. The fortune-teller folded the money and transferred it to a little purse that she wore around her neck. Then she reached for a white card and laid it in front of Scarlett. She said something to Mrs. Cheng.
    "She wants you to make a choice," Mrs. Cheng explained.
    There were a number of categories set out on the card, written in both Chinese and English. Scarlett could choose which part of her life she wanted to know about: family, love and marriage, health, work, business and wealth, or study.
    "Maybe I should choose family," she