The Demon and the City - By Liz Williams Page 0,61

crops, however, varied. Sometimes the fields seemed to contain corn, tall and fringed. Sometimes, the ghostly leaves of pak choi rose stumpily from the earth, and when Robin glanced again, she saw nothing but rice paddies. Then the crops were once more corn. Mhara paused and touched one of the tall, nodding heads.

"It's not supposed to be a good thing to eat when you are in the Night Harbor."

"I'm not hungry anyway," Robin said. The idea of eating any of these shadowed plants was off-putting—then Mhara's hand whipped back. The fringed ear of corn was writhing. Moments later, it split to release a huge moth, which unfurled sticky wings and sailed off into the darkness. The remains of the ear of corn shriveled and withered, and the long stem sank silently back into the ground. A minute later, a sullen potato plant emerged.

"Let's go," Robin said, appalled by this strange fertility. But they did not get far. The corn rustled as if a wind was rushing across it. Mhara drew Robin back, further into the roadway, but figures were already leaping from the corn, waving long pikes. Robin clapped a hand to her mouth. The figures were squat, moving springlike on legs that bent backward from the knee. They wore leather armor, and long fingers tipped with black nails clasped their weaponry. Their faces reminded her horribly of Deveth's new form: snarling doglike masks, mouths gaping behind short tusks. They stank of old meat and piss. They formed a ring around Robin and Mhara, and moved in closer, jostling and yipping at one another.

"So," one of them said in a strangely musical voice, "you're the missing boy."

Thirty

"Good news?" Paravang Roche asked hopefully.

The broker shook his head.

"No news?" Again, the broker shook his head.

"I thought it was to be last night!" Roche said in an urgent undertone. Several people, their prayers disturbed, glanced at him and frowned. The broker was obviously choosing his words carefully.

"So did I. But evidently matters have gone awry. The appointed gentleman did not return to the hiring place, nor was he at his abode this morning. There is beginning to be some concern."

Paravang felt someone draw a long, cold finger up his backbone. He was on the ground again and an expressionless killer's face was gazing down at him.

"What is to be done?"

"Give it another day," the broker said. He rose stiffly to his feet, wincing.

He is not a young man, and neither am I, Paravang thought. His jaw still hurt where the demon had cuffed him to the floor. He was reaching an age where his feet hurt him if he stood for too long, whereas his enemy paced the ground with predator's grace, the walk of a man who dispatched trained assassins without even thinking about it, and now he might be hunting me. Why did I do this? The dowser panicked. He should have done what that bitch Tserai had suggested and risen above it, let it rest. Hate had blinded him to consequence. In fright, he clutched at the old broker's arm.

"Can I stay here tonight in the temple? Will that be permitted?"

The broker detached himself with distaste.

"I imagine that for an appropriate consideration . . ."

"Of course!"

Paravang rummaged in his pockets. He gave the broker a handful of notes. The old man looked at the money as though Roche had handed him something old and dead.

"I suppose this will have to do. But what will you do after tonight? You can't stay here forever, you know."

Paravang nodded mutely. Senditreya save me . . . He turned a pleading gaze to his goddess, bowed his head to the floor and spent the first and only night of his life in prayer.

Thirty-One

It took some time for the permit to enter the Night Harbor to come through, during which Zhu Irzh fretted and chafed. Chen remained closeted in Sung's office for almost an hour, leaving the demon in the company of the precinct's indifferent coffee and the badger, which stared unblinkingly at Zhu Irzh with a gaze like a winter's night.

"What's the matter with you?" the demon asked.

"I watch, only. You are a creature of Hell," the badger said in its thick, slow voice.

"What of it? You hardly hail from the Celestial Realms yourself."

"I am a creature of Earth," the badger said.

Zhu Irzh frowned at it. "You really care what happens to Earth? To the human world? They haven't treated you very well, have they? You have to stay as a teakettle half your