The Demon and the City

harbor the lights of Tevereya illuminated the sky and drained the light of the moon. From this angle, the bulk of the market blotted out the Paugeng tower. The market's wooden-slatted sides were coated with salt and the eaves dangled with bagua mirrors designed to deflect the unwholesome sha that shot down the side of Paugeng and bounced off the harbor. The mirrors clattered in the little wind high above Chen and Zhu Irzh, and their mirrored surfaces caught the light. The detective and the demon made their way beyond the empty vault of the market and out onto the wider end of the rickety wharf. The Shendei stretched featureless beyond; the only land between here and Luthen Port was little Lantern Island. Zhu Irzh leaned with care on the old rail and breathed in an approximation of fresh air. Chen stood beside him, screwing up his face against the breeze.
    "Look," Zhu Irzh said. He was finding Chen's continued silence unnerving. "There are mirrors here, too." He pointed to the end of the dock, where a single octagon hung on a wire, fixed against the wind. Chen shook off his distraction and turned to and fro, working out the angles of ch'i and sha .
    "Yes, you can follow the path of the meridian—comes down the other side of Paugeng and then across the gully between the go-downs . . ." They both looked at the little mirror. Its dim surface reflected the lights from the shore and then, most oddly, a perfectly reflected face, with eyes like marbles, and a rictus mouth. How peculiar, Zhu Irzh thought. He stared at the little face. It was moving.
    Zhu Irzh spun and kicked the man's feet from under him. The assassin went down on the deck, skidding on the slippery planks and bounced up again like a ball. The sword whistled past the demon's ear and cleaved neatly through the rotten wood of the rail. It crumbled into wet dust. The demon stumbled backward out of the way and slipped, falling awkwardly on his side and feeling a jarring pain ride up his spine. Chen was balancing on the balls of his feet, waiting for the next rush. While Zhu Irzh regained his footing, the assassin twirled his blade, feinted once, twice, and came at the demon from the side. Zhu Irzh ducked under the blade and slashed at the assassin's throat with his claws. The next minute the demon was off and moving backward. The assassin screamed and rushed him, whirling the sword. Zhu Irzh drew his sword, feinted forward and kicked the swordsman in the kidneys, but the demon was a fraction off and the tip of the assassin's blade sliced across and down, under Zhu Irzh's own blade, catching him under the collarbone. He heard Chen hiss through his teeth. Zhu Irzh and the assassin circled one another. The assassin was gripping the blade with both hands and chanting. He made a start forward and then quite suddenly fell. The sword clattered to the floor. Zhu Irzh saw Chen's silent figure poised above the body. Swiftly, the detective reached down and scooped up the assassin's sword.
    "Zhu Irzh, stay where you are. Keep an eye on this one. I want to check if there's anyone else."
    The demon ignored this. He hauled himself to his feet and followed Chen. At the end of the market was a sort of hangar, used for storing heavy machinery. The rusty iron lattice of the gate was open. No one was there. Zhu Irzh lowered the sword, very slowly. He rubbed absently at his collarbone. They returned to the body: an unremarkable man in a blue Mao suit. Chen rifled his pockets and found a pair of throwing knives, a garrote and a card bearing the insignia of the Assassins' Guild.
    "So, he's a professional." Chen said. "Who wants to kill you? Apart from me, on occasion?"
    Zhu Irzh gave him an uneasy glance. "Quite a few, I should think."
    "Who, precisely?"
    "Jhai Tserai's a possibility. I know too much now. Maybe she started having doubts and decided to take me out of the running. Then there's the dowser I assaulted." Zhu Irzh grimaced. "He's shown remarkable tolerance in not trying to dispatch me before now, if you ask me. There's a whole host of Hellkind—ex-girlfriends and so forth. There's that demon-hunter from Beijing we met earlier in the year—he doesn't like me being here."
    "I'd be inclined to think that Tserai and the dowser are the most likely candidates," Chen said, reaching for his cellphone. "I'm calling the precinct. They can deal with the Assassins' Guild."
    The rest of the night was spent in tedious and protracted statement-taking. A representative of the