The Demon and the City

for the evening."
    "You're for hire?" Chen asked. Not looking either of them in the eye, Pin nodded.
    "All right," Chen said grimly. "Consider yourself hired. I'll take you home myself. Don't worry," he added, "I meant your home, not mine."
    Zhu Irzh nodded. "I'll make sure Jhai doesn't ask too many questions."
    Pin saw Chen give the demon a long look.
    "Not as long as you're still here. I should think she'd be delighted to have the competition removed . . . Come on, Pin. Let's get out of here."
    They took the elevator to the atrium in silence, and flagged down a taxi. On the way down Shaopeng, Pin turned to Chen and said, "Detective Inspector. Thank you."
    Chen said quietly, "I just wish, Pin, that I could do more. That people like you didn't have to do what you do. I understand the reasons for it, but that doesn't mean I approve of the circumstances which generate it."
    Pin glanced at him. The policeman's face was downcast, banded in light as they passed beneath the neon towers of the city. He was quite an attractive man, Pin decided, more because of his kindness than his round-faced, stocky appearance. One learned to notice these things. Shyly, Pin said, "If you'd like to—I mean, I wouldn't mind if I really was for hire. I mean, for free."
    Chen gave him a startled glance. At last he said, "Oh, no. No, that's quite all right."
    "I'm not a child," Pin said, feeling oddly rejected. "And I'm not cheap, either." He might be a prostitute, he thought, but he still had his pride.
    Gently, Chen said, "I know. But it's not my thing. I'm married, you see. And I meant what I said; I'm taking you to your home. Where do you live, anyway?"
    "At the Opera."
    "You actually live in the Opera?"
    "We all do," Pin said, and glancing out the window he saw the familiar rotund shape of the Pellucid Island Opera House rising behind the go-downs and teahouses of Shaopeng. He discovered with surprise that he was almost pleased to be back.
    "We're here," he said.
    "All right. I'll make sure Zhu Irzh knows where to find you, if he discovers anything." Chen turned to him. "I'm sorry about your friend. We'll do what we can. Goodnight, Pin."
    Pin stepped out into the humid night air and the car pulled away. He watched it depart for a moment, then made his way slowly through the back entrance of the Opera House to the dressing room that he shared with the rest of Fourth Chorus. He had thought that he was too agitated to rest, but it was not long before he fell into sleep, dreaming of golden eyes.

TWO
    Mrs Pa always tried to get to the temple early, but although the setting of the cheap alarm clock crept further back each morning there were always people there before her, squatting on the steps of Emmereng Ghat in the sultry morning air. Mrs Pa had to avoid stepping on them as she hobbled up the temple steps. The clients muttered furious imprecations into the dim dawn light, rattling the pai cups in a frenzy and sending thin wooden spills cascading over the translucent marble. Hands were cast up around Mrs Pa's narrow shins, in elation or despair. There was already a snaking queue at the teller's counter and Mrs Pa had to wait, watching as the sun drew up over the edge of the temple roof. The last breath of unhealthy night air drifted away, and Mrs Pa's turn came. She grabbed a paper packet out of the slot, not daring to take time to choose, and shoved a coin toward the teller. Her hand shook a little as she fumbled it open. Stupid, stupid of me, Mrs Pa thought, and then stared dumbfounded as the slip of paper revealed the auspicious eight and lucky mountain sign.
    "What are you waiting for?" a voice bawled in her ear. Mrs Pa turned to find an elderly gentleman nudging her elbow. Muttering, Mrs Pa pushed him aside and went to stand in the courtyard under the growing light. Rude old man . She soon forgot him, however, because the sunlight showed it clearly: lucky eight, lucky mountain .
    The great day had arrived, just as the broker had said when she'd called last night. Mrs Pa couldn't quite bring herself to trust the broker; you heard so many stories. Still disbelieving, she inserted a coin into the counter slot. A thick spike of incense, red as embers, rattled down into the tray. A foolish machine, Mrs Pa thought. The incense might break. Crossing the courtyard to the brazier she stuck the stick firmly into the pan, patting down the sand to keep it upright. She touched her lighter to the tip of the incense, and a column of smoke threaded