The Demon and the City

streets were as crowded as Shaopeng, but even under the brilliant fireworks it was still too dark for anyone to see them properly. Chen and the demon picked their way through the revelers, who sang and whirled through the midnight streets. A woman in a leopard mask, her black hair cascading down her back, seized the detective and danced him round. Patiently, Chen took her by the waist and waltzed her into another man's arms. They were not so far from the harbor after all, Zhu Irzh realized. He could see the cranes rising above the buildings, tipped and tilted by the quake like so many birds' necks, and suddenly they were out into Hangsu Square, where there was a cluster of restaurants before the rough part of Ghenret began. The square was heaving with people, many sitting out at tables, and the place was bright with colored lights and lanterns, strung between the eaves. There was a hectic burst of merriment from a group in the crowd. Someone was singing, a throaty, knowing voice.
    Chen and Zhu Irzh made their way through the square toward Kuan Yin's temple. Here, the streets were quieter and some of the properties looked deserted. There were fewer revelers, but when they reached the temple, they found that it had been opened again and was full of people. The faithful had come in their hour of need, hoping that the goddess would indeed hear their cries of suffering, and be merciful. As soon as Zhu Irzh stepped through the temple gate, he became aware of the aura of peace that filled the temple. It made him sneeze and itch. Chen, clearly amused, said, "We won't be here long. You can wait outside if you'd prefer."
    "Certainly not," the demon replied, his pride stung. "I believe I can cope with an allergy to Heaven, having been permitted to go there so recently."
    He followed Chen into the main chamber of the temple and saw that the statue was no longer there. Chen halted, in indecision.
    "She's gone."
    "She is out in the world," a voice said. "Doing her work."
    And Mhara, crown prince of Heaven, stepped from behind the empty plinth.
Interlude
    It had been a very long evening. All the chophouses and restaurants along both sides of Shaopeng were still open, filled with people who were celebrating their survival of the festival with an early breakfast or a late supper, assuming they were not too drunk to eat. Those with their heads on the table or sprawled across the floor were a common sight; waiters, continually sweeping, cleaned around them. The pavements and the roadway were littered with firecracker debris: a midnight tram crushed several live crackers that lay across its rails and they shot howling into the gutter. All the lanterns had come adrift and lay in sad, red tatters across the width of the street, and the pavements were covered with broken glass from the tower windows and the remnants of the mirror war. Those of Western ancestry thought uneasily of seven years' bad luck. A drunk was veering down the middle of the road, the light of sake bright in his eyes, echoing snatches of the poet Han Li Tseng, and declaiming them as his own.
    "I'm a genius!" he bawled. "A genius at last!"
    A small group of office workers, dressed in the vestiges of their party best, surveyed him indulgently. Flowers trailed from their hair, and the women wore waisted corsets and slashed skirts over high-heeled boots. Their elaborate coiffures were rather the worse for wear now, straggling down over their shoulders, and one woman's dress was ripped from hem to shoulder. They laughed behind their hands, politely. One girl was too far gone to stand, and swayed against her companion, knocking him off balance. They were service personnel, the public face of the corporations, greeters and courtesans.
    As they passed, the doors of the demon lounges slid open. The partygoers stopped to look, bewildered. Out of the nearest lounge came a dancing figure dressed in a kimono the color of flames. She carried a lantern, which she tossed into the gutter after a glance at the sky. She bestowed a glittering smile on the staring office workers and struck a theatrical attitude with one clawed hand against her oval brow. A long, barbed tongue licked her cupid's bow lips.
    "Nearly time now!" she sang. She turned to the little group of revelers and strode swiftly down the steps. Her eyes, the golden green of a lizard's, swiveled from side to side in impossible rotation. She giggled. The man holding the swaying, drunken girl stepped back hastily as she