Chapter 13 The Night of the Hungry Ghost Festival
THE NIGHT OF THE HUNGRY GHOST FESTIVAL
“Why did you murder the executive councilor?”
“I didn’t. Cobra Lily killed her. She’s even in Cobra Lily’s flat.”
“Stabbed with your knife through her throat, Chan! How do you explain that?”
“I already have, in eight different ways,” Mercy said, irritably.
A knuckly fist swung at her jaw.
Mercy fell sideways, teeth rattling in their sockets from the blow.
She could do nothing to avoid it; her hands and feet were bound.
The sensation was there, but it did not swarm her.
She had already moved to a place in her head where pain was a distant cousin banging on a locked door, and was determined not to let it in.
Even so, the blow put bursts of light across her vision. She found it harder to think and form words than she had at the start of this “talk.”
“Get up,” the vanguard said. “Answer the question, and don’t be fucking rude. It’s your fault the government are about to bear down on us!”
With agonized effort, Mercy struggled back to kneeling position, the weight of her body resting on her aching knees.
“I did answer,” she said, wearily, when more or less upright again.
“Cobra Lily is dead. So is Kit Ling. Their bodies have been possessed at different times by some kind of demon, probably a ghost. It moves between skins like a hand between gloves. Right now, it is wearing Cobra Lily, because that serves its purpose. Go back to Red Bird’s room, climb into those tunnels.
I know you know where they are, you were standing guard when I—”
“What our boss keeps in those tunnels is her business,” the vanguard said, stooping to her level to meet her gaze. “I’m not going to poke around in her personal property! Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Your own mother thinks you’re stupid.” She grinned at him through a blood-streaked face, lips burst and cheeks bruised.
He hit her again, far too hard. Like she wanted. Mercy leaned into the blow and let it knock her into blissful oblivion for a while.
Not nearly long enough, sadly. She awoke when they emptied ice water over her head, some uncertain number of minutes later.
“Stop being a coward and kill me,” she said, trying blearily to focus on the ceiling. But her vision was blurred and she couldn’t open one of her eyes from the swelling. She spat blood in lieu of gagging on it.
“Dying is too easy for one like you.” Fabric rasped as he rolled up a sleeve. He stood over her, the stink and sweat of him a palpable miasma. Mercy turned away, more from revulsion than fear, and kept her eyes shut. Easier if you didn’t see the blows coming.
A pause. Someone spoke at a distance. Then, footsteps. He was walking away.
She cracked open the working eye.
The vanguard had left. He must have been called off by a signal she hadn’t seen. When the ringing in her ears died down, she could hear muttering outside the door. Ah, talking to someone. That explained it. A small, temporary reprieve. She blew out a sigh. Blood flecked her breath.
The room she’d been put in was damp and gray, with grimy walls and a muddy floor. Maybe there was stone or concrete underneath all that grime, underneath the caked layers of blood and viscera and human feces and who knew what else. It had long been buried, though.
No windows, because obviously. And it was underground. Like the reservoir. No, don’t think of the reservoir. Even so, from within this closed box of a place, she could hear the rainstorm gathering strength outside.
Mercy wasn’t expecting help. Hong Kong didn’t have a functioning police force in the Walled City, and had not for years. Ever since the war, Kowloon had belonged to Cobra Lily. Her affairs were her own. Besides, the police now wanted her for killing Kit Ling.
The only other person who believed Mercy, who could really help her, was hopefully long gone to safety. No one had mentioned Erika, which was promising, and she’d seen no sign of her old friend, or of Bao. Mercy prayed that meant both of them were well away, and safe.
For herself, Mercy couldn’t summon up any angst about her own fate. A big part of her was beginning to believe that she deserved everything that had happened in the past few days.
Not from killing Kit Ling, because she knew she was innocent of that.
The years with Cobra Lily were fine, too.
Triads had a reputation, and many of the things they did constituted a break of law.
But Kowloon had been abandoned by proper countries, left to rot while China and Britain uncomfortably dodged the responsibility for its poverty and spirit infestations, refusing to deal with any of it.
The schools and protections and rules kept Kowloon running, and even the triad dues were not so different from taxes.
What had led her to this sense of resignation was the conviction that she had done wrong, in the past she could not recall.
After many years of being a ghost talker, Mercy had learned to believe their complaints, and the ghost had been adamant: she had caused great pain, somehow, in her forgotten youth. Even if she no longer remembered it.
After all, wasn’t that what the waking visions and nightmares were about?
Her own brain, trying to remind her of things her heart apparently wished to forget.
Lying here, taking blows, she kept trying to pierce the veil around her mind.
If she could recall what she’d done, maybe the spirit could be reasoned with.
A strange little idea popped into her head, giving her a moment’s pause.
Those waking visions. Had she ever tried to interact with them properly? She talked to them a bit, answered their cries, sure. But nothing in depth, as it were. Her go-to reaction had always been to shout at Sea Sister, or attempt to wake up.
Maybe it was time for a different tactic. Mercy closed her eyes, fighting off the pain and panic. Think, she told herself.
The forlorn figure, lonely and tormented on a surreal beach.
Sea Sister. SEA, SISTER!
Dead eyes, staring out from the face of a dead water fetcher.
Do you remember the island, Chen Mei Chi?
Kit Ling, smartly dressed and smiling coldly.
Are you sure, completely sure, we have not met before?
Red Bird’s nails, clacking and painted.
Do you still not recognize yourself?
A trickle of cold water ran across her cheek.
Mercy opened her eyes. Well, the one eye, anyway. The ceiling was dripping, the walls wet with moisture. The central drain was flooding, seawater welling up, the reek of brine overpowering the stench of blood and filth; a welcome change.
And Sea Sister was there. That monstrous, ocean-drenched young woman, wearing the same ragged clothes. As always.
“You,” Mercy rasped, through burst lips. “You are the key to all of this. Help me understand. Why is this happening to me, and why is it happening now?”
Sea Sister drifted over. With every step she drew closer, the level of water rose a little in the room until it was almost knee-deep. Mercy floated on her back, unable to move, neck twisted to keep the monster in her sights.
When she was standing with her knees against Mercy’s shoulders, Sea Sister stopped and peered down. Water dripped from the ends of her hair. Pearly eyes did not blink.
“I’ve been examined by every exorcist in the city, and they all tell me I’m not haunted,” Mercy said, words slurred through her busted lips.
“But even if you’re not haunting me, even if you’re just a dream, you carry my secrets.
And on the other side of you are all the memories that I’ve lost. I need to know what’s so bad and wrong about my past.”
Sea Sister echoed mockingly, Bad and wrong.
“Oi!” Mercy exclaimed. That was different. “Endless years of ignoring me, and you choose to respond today? Why are you only talking to me now, after all this time?”
Why are you only talking to me now?
“I have always been talking, but you never answered,” Mercy said, annoyed.
I have always been talking.
Disappointment swamped her. It wasn’t really speaking, just parroting her words. So much for a breakthrough.
“Oh, fuck this. Are you even real?”
Are you even real?
“Eat shit,” Mercy offered, experimentally.
Silence. Interesting, her hallucination was choosy.
“Answer me this, at least. Who am I, that you can’t leave me alone?”
Who am I? The apparition touched its throat, thoughtfully. Who am I?
“You are Sea Sister, idiot,” Mercy said, ragged. She was already having the worst day of her life, and this damn apparition couldn’t even answer a straight question.
The green face leaned over, so close its lips were a hairsbreadth from her nose. You are Sea Sister, idiot, it repeated, and licked her eyeball with a sucker-studded tongue.
Mercy lurched away in revulsion, swearing loudly. In an instant, the water and vines vanished as if they had never been, the walls moldy but no longer dripping. Unsurprisingly, the green-skinned apparition had gone; she was alone again.
The door swung open noisily. Footsteps slapped the ground. And Cobra Lily sauntered over, grinning wide.
Except it wasn’t Cobra Lily. Not even close. Beneath that familiar skin lurked a polluting spirit, staring out at Mercy from dead, stolen eyes.
The Girl with a Thousand Faces, in the flesh again.
Well, somebody’s flesh, at any rate.
“Sleeping, were we?” the water ghost said cheerfully. “Any interesting dreams?”
Thousand-Faced Girl had changed clothes, putting Cobra Lily’s form into a smart red jacket.
Hair smoothed back, collar and sleeves starched, skin lightly flushed with health and color.
No indication that a few hours ago, this body had been cold, empty meat on a stone slab in a secret reservoir, with a preservation talisman slapped to it.
Mercy glared in response, saying nothing.
“Want me to make her speak?” the vanguard said, with cruel eagerness.
“What? No.” Thousand-Faced Girl gestured with a languid hand. “Give us some space.”
The vanguard retreated to the far corner.
The triad queen’s body crouched down. “Are you enjoying the show?”
“Is this a game to you, then?” Mercy retorted.
“Not at all. My goal was simple: to spark a conflict between the police and these triad folks. That’s all it was ever about, this demolition nonsense. With Kit Ling dead, apparently murdered, that will be easy to kick off. I imagine it will be quite the gunfight.”
Mercy spat with perfect aim, landing a gob of blood and spit on Cobra Lily’s clean jacket.
In his corner, the vanguard reached for a blade.
Thousand-Faced Girl waved him down irritably. “I said, give us space! In fact, go bring us a barrel.”
“A … barrel, Madam Snake?”
“Yes, for interrogation. Bring it here, and bring water to fill it.”
The vanguard eyed them both, then detached from the wall and left.
Thousand-Faced Girl turned back to her. “Much better. I won’t have to whisper now.
” It made no move to clean off the bloody spit staining its jacket.
“I think it’s important to have the police busy in the Walled City, you see.
I need to free all those other ghosts, so unfairly locked away in the Murray Building. ”
“I knew it,” Mercy said, with a tiny flare of vindication. “You are one of those combat spirits who fought in the war!”
“Me, and many others. We were all betrayed.” Thousand-Faced Girl sighed breathily. “Do you know what day it is, Chen Mei Chi?”
“Of course.” She didn’t even have to think about it. “It’s the night of Hungry Ghost Festival.”
“That’s correct!” Thousand-Faced Girl clapped its hands in delight. “Today, the dead are strongest, and most angry, because today the gates of hell open. It is the perfect night for a prison full of angry ghosts to wreak havoc on Hong Kong.” She laughed, though nothing was funny.
“What did those people out there do to you?” Mercy demanded, struggling to control her anger. “The citizens of Kowloon Walled City are innocent. So are the citizens of Hong Kong!”
“Are they? I think not.” The pretense of humor fell away; Thousand-Faced Girl’s features were contorted with something like hurt.
“Everyone betrays me. I fought for this city, Chen Mei Chi—with sweat and tears and terrible danger. In exchange, they left me rotting in a bottle gourd, once their great stupid war was finished. Their betrayal was even worse than yours.”
Mercy wanted to ask what her betrayal had been, but there was no chance. The door banged open for a third time as the vanguard returned, this time carrying an industrial barrel. He struggled with its weight, knuckles white around the brass handles, and set it down with a half groan.
That done, he unspooled a hose from the nearby wall and began filling the rusted barrel.
Mercy couldn’t take her gaze off the damn thing. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Kill you, obviously,” Thousand-Faced Girl said. “It would be stupid not to. But! But, the good news, Chen Mei Chi, is that dying is not the end. I have every confidence your spirit will endure. When it does, perhaps then you shall remember your crimes.”
“Dying is not the ‘end’ for anyone in a city where we all become ghosts,” Mercy retorted, but deep within her chest, a tiny spark of panic was catching alight. “But being a ghost does not count as being alive!”
“Being … a ghost … does not count … as being … alive,” Thousand-Faced Girl repeated, finger tapping its lower lip. “How right you are! And how ironic that you, of all people, should say that to me.”
“Done,” the vanguard said shortly.
Mercy tried to speak, found her words had all withered up.
“There is no need to worry. I have everything under control.” Thousand-Faced Girl smoothed down Mercy’s hair, as if she were a child.
“Never doubt that I will always love you,” it whispered, and for a single breath, despite the incredible strangeness of that statement, Mercy found herself believing it.
The Girl with a Thousand Faces straightened up. “Goodbye, Chen Mei Chi. See you in another life.”
Mercy rolled away, trying frantically to crawl toward the door. For all the good it would have done.
She didn’t get far.
The ghost caught her, held her, dragged her to the water barrel, and pushed her head beneath the surface.
She should have held her breath but the panic was setting in.
Rationality fled, and Mercy tried—foolishly—to suck in a breath.
Water burned up her nose and then down into her lungs, like a cold wet fire.
Mercy had time to think Oh shit, not again in confused dismay as her spirit peeled away from her body, and there was nothing left of her but empty skin.