The Demon and the City

said, expressionless. Zhu Irzh tried to decide if he was being sarcastic, and failed.
    "I'm full of surprises," he said.
    Chen pushed the double doors of the temple aside and stepped through. It felt empty to Zhu Irzh—true, there was no one around, but usually the Earthly homes of the Celestials felt full of presence, as though the gods were keeping an eye on the place, no matter what else they might be doing. This place felt dead. Chen was frowning.
    "Wait here." Zhu Irzh watched as Chen walked up to the statue of the goddess and closed his eyes. The demon could see Chen's lips moving in the supplicatory prayer, and braced himself for that unnerving moment when the goddess swam into liquid life. But despite Chen's obviously heartfelt plea, nothing happened. Kuan Yin remained as cool, impervious marble.
    "What's wrong?" Zhu Irzh called.
    "I don't know. Maybe she's out."
    "Out? Gods can't be out. They're everywhere."
    "Well, she isn't answering."
    "Maybe she's busy. Hearing the cries of the world must take up more and more time these days, not to mention doling out doses of compassion here, there and everywhere."
    "I would remind you," Chen said rather coldly, "that this is the goddess' temple we're in."
    "What's the problem? She isn't listening, is she?"
    "Zhu Irzh, could you wait outside for a minute?" The demon was good at judging when Chen was reaching the limits of his tolerance. He complied without demur.
    It was more than a minute. Zhu Irzh cooled his heels in the courtyard for just under an hour by the time that Chen re-emerged.
    "Any luck?"
    "None. And the temple feels—"
    "Dead?"
    "Yes, as though any deific life that was in it has departed. Something is obviously wrong."
    "Perhaps she just doesn't want to talk to you?" Zhu Irzh said hesitantly.
    "Perhaps not." Chen looked so unhappy that the demon's heart went out to him.
    "There's no way of sending her a message?"
    Chen sighed. "I'd just rather speak to her directly. I don't want to take the risk of a message being somehow intercepted, that's all."
    "Look, let's go back to the precinct," Zhu Irzh suggested. "We can still try the Night Harbor. Then, if you like, we can come back via the temple, or one closer to the Harbor, and you can see if your lady is receiving guests again."
    "If I can't get through to Kuan Yin," Chen said. "I'll try one of the other gods. The Emperor has got to know about this."
    "Do you think He'll take it seriously without evidence?"
    "By then," Chen said, "I would hope that some evidence, at least, will be in our possession."

Twenty-Nine
    Robin and Mhara moved as swiftly as they could through the Night Harbor, but the chilly air seemed to sap Robin's strength. She should not be here, it was not her time—and the knowledge that she had been here before, passing from one life to the next, in perhaps many different incarnations, was unsettling. Who had she been, in all those past lives? Had Deveth been there, and what had Deveth been to her then? Sister, perhaps, or lover, or mother, or murderer? All lives are connected, Robin knew, the economical universe weaving patterns from the same cloth, unpicking it again, unmaking . . . But Mhara could not have been there, if he was a Celestial being. Mhara must be immortal, constant, not subject to the forces of life and death.
    "Mhara?" she said now. "Where are we going?"
    "To find a boat."
    "What boat?"
    "The boat that takes souls to Heaven. We will have to stow away, Robin, and I do not know if that will be possible. I can mask myself, perhaps, but the wards on the boat are set to sniff out a human soul. I can't expect you to risk that."
    "I want to go with you," Robin said. "Even if we get kicked out of Heaven immediately. And besides, it's probably my only chance of ever getting to see the place."
    Mhara gave a soft laugh. "Are you so sure, then, that you have not and will not?"
    "I'm not a good enough person, I think."
    "You see, this is why I left. Whatever Heaven might say, it does not understand what it's like to be human. It doesn't understand the stresses that you live under."
    "You said we had a choice," Robin pointed out, "and we do."
    "But sometimes it isn't possible to see that. Life and living obscures it, makes it disappear. Don't underestimate how hard it is to be alive. I did not understand that before I came here. Heaven entombs itself in perfection; Heaven has forgotten. Perhaps, Robin, it is that Heaven is not good enough for you."
    "That sounds like heresy," Robin