Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

Tin Hau was just like the others. As Scarlett stepped inside, she found herself facing not one but several altars, surrounded by a collection of life-size statues that could have come out of a bizarre comic book: a cross-legged old man with a beard that was made of real hair, two devil monsters, one bright red, the other blue, both of them more childish than frightening. One of them was crying, wiping its eyes and grimacing at its neighbour. The other stood with a raised hand, trying to calm his friend down. There was a china-doll woman carrying a gift and, in a long row, more than fifty smaller figures, each one a different god, perched on a shelf. The temple was a riot of violent colours, richly patterned curtains, lamps and flowers. The smoke from the incense was so thick that they’d had to install a powerful ventilation system which droned continuously, trying to clear the air.

Scarlett had arrived on time but she had no idea what she was looking for. There were about a dozen people in the temple, but they were all busy with their devotions and nobody so much as turned her way. Was it possible that she had misunderstood the passage in the guidebook? It had definitely told her to be there at five o’clock and it was already a few minutes past. She waited for someone to approach her, to slip another message into her hand – one of the worshippers, or a tourist perhaps. She even wondered if her father might be there.

Nothing happened. Nobody came close. Scarlett knew that she could only pretend to be interested in the place for so long. Mrs Cheng was watching her with growing suspicion. She certainly hadn’t shown much interest in temples the day before – so what was so special about this one?

“Have you had enough, Scarlett?” she demanded.

“Who is that?” Scarlett asked desperately, pointing at one of the statues.

“His name is Kuan Kung, the god of war.” Something flickered deep in her eyes. “Maybe you should pray to him.”

“Why do you say that, Mrs Cheng?”

“You never know when another war will begin.”

In the end, Scarlett had to leave. She had lingered for as long as she could but it seemed clear that nobody was going to come. She was hugely disappointed. Of course, the note had only given her a time. It hadn’t told her what day to be there. On the other hand, it was unlikely that she would be able to find an excuse to return, and slipping out of Wisdom Court on her own was out of the question. Nine people had died when the office on the waterfront had burned down. Maybe whoever had sent the message had been among them.

It was beginning to get dark when they emerged into the square. Karl was sitting on a bench with his arms folded, looking about as animated as the statues that they had just seen. A number of stalls were being set up all around. They didn’t look particularly interesting – selling socks, hats, reading glasses and useless bits of bric-a-brac – but they were attracting quite a crowd.

“Can we look at them?” Scarlett asked.

It had only struck her there and then. The passage in the guidebook had described the Tin Hau Temple. But it had also gone on about the square outside. Maybe her secret messenger would be waiting there. Mrs Cheng scowled briefly but Scarlett had already set off. She followed.

Scarlett pretended to browse in front of a stand selling cheap alarm clocks and watches. She was determined to spend as much time here as possible. She noticed that the next stall wasn’t selling anything. There was a woman with a pack of tarot cards. In fact now that she looked around her she saw that at least half the market was devoted to different methods of fortune-telling.

She walked over to a very old man, a palm reader who was sitting on a plastic stool, close to the ground. His stall was decorated with a banner showing the human hand divided into different segments, each one with a Chinese character. He was examining the palm of a boy of about thirteen, his nose and eyes millimetres away from the skin as if he really could read something there. Scarlett moved on. There was a woman a little further along, also telling the future. But in a very different way.

The woman was small and round with long, grey hair. She was wearing a red silk jacket, sitting behind a table, arranging half a dozen packets of envelopes which were stacked up in front of her. On one side, there were three cages, each one containing a little yellow bird – a canary or something like it. On the other, she had a mat with a range of different symbols and a jar of seeds. The woman seemed to be completely focused on what she was doing but as Scarlett approached, she suddenly reached out with a single, gnarled finger and, without looking up, tapped one of the symbols on the mat.

It was a five-pointed star.

Scarlett had seen exactly the same thing on the door that had led her to the monastery of the Cry for Mercy. She was careful not to give anything away – Mrs Cheng was standing right next to her – but she felt a rush of excitement. According to Father Gregory, the doors had been built centuries ago to help the Gatekeepers. They were there to help her. Had the woman sent a deliberate signal? Scarlett examined her more closely. She still didn’t look up, busying herself with the envelopes and occasionally muttering at the birds.

Scarlett turned to Mrs Cheng. “What’s this all about?” she asked.

“She uses the birds to tell fortunes,” Mrs Cheng explained.

The old woman had heard the English voices and seemed to notice Scarlett for the first time. She squinted at her and muttered something in Chinese.

“She’s offering to tell your fortune,” Mrs Cheng translated. “But it will cost you thirty Hong Kong dollars.”

“That’s about two pounds.”

“It’s a complete waste of money.”

“I don’t care.” Scarlett dug in her pocket and took out the right amount. She set it down on the mat and then took her place on the plastic seat on her side of the table. The fortuneteller folded the money and transferred it to a little purse that she wore around her neck. Then she reached for a white card and laid it in front of Scarlett. She said something to Mrs Cheng.

“She wants you to make a choice,” Mrs Cheng explained.

There were a number of categories set out on the card, written in both Chinese and English. Scarlett could choose which part of her life she wanted to know about: family, love and marriage, health, work, business and wealth or study.

“Maybe I should choose family,” she said. “She may be able to tell me what’s happened to my dad.”

“Your father will be home very soon, Scarlett.”

“All right, then. Love and marriage.” Scarlett tapped the words on the card and thought briefly of Aidan. She wondered what he was doing right then.

The fortune-teller took the card away and selected one of the piles of envelopes which she had spread out in front of the three cages. Each one had a door in the front and she opened one of them. The little yellow bird hopped out as it had been trained to do, perched on the line of envelopes, then pulled one out with its beak. The old woman rewarded it with a couple of seeds and the bird obediently hopped back in again. It was all over very quickly.

The woman opened the envelope and handed Scarlett the slip of paper which had been inside.

“Do you want me to translate it for you?” Mrs Cheng asked.

Scarlett glanced at the sheet. “No, it’s OK,” she replied. “It’s in English.”

“Tell me what it says.”

“Good news from Fortune Bird Two.” Scarlett read out the words. “You will find your true love in the month of April. Your marriage will be long and happy and you will travel to many countries. When you are old, you will make a great sum of money. Spend it wisely.” She folded the page in half. “That’s it.”