Barry Hughart - The Story of the Stone

“Come here, sugar,” Moon Boy purred, and he led the demon back into the bushes.

Master Li had to spend a great deal of time on the fourth and fifth locks. He was working on the sixth when we heard a sound behind us and a handsome young man came limping up the path. He was pale and weak and shaky, but he managed an elegant wave of a hand.

“Hell,” he said, “Is grossly maligned. I must come here often.”

I honored him with the three obeisances and nine kowtows.

“Buddha, the thing on that divine creature reminded me of the imperial flagpole at the funeral of General Ching!” Moon Boy said happily. “Better hurry. Any moment now the darling boy will catch his second wind and come looking for an encore.”

“Moon Boy, designing your medal will be one of the great challenges of the millennium,” said Master Li. “We'll have to acquire the services of Deng the Debauched, and even Deng will be hard put to do you justice without landing all of us in jail.”

The lock snapped open and we hurried through the garden to the seventh and last gate. Fortunately, it had an easy lock. We slipped through just as heavy crunching footsteps approached, and we reached the palace wall as a huge hoarse voice cooed, “Yoo-hoo?” I found a likely window and a moment later we were inside.

Down a corridor ahead of us was a huge room where endless rows of clerks scribbled in enormous ledgers, and above the doorway was the inscription “Tribunal of the Ninth Realm of Darkness.” We straightened our clothing and brushed off gray leaves and dirt. I raised the state umbrella proudly, and Master Li marched beneath it into the anteroom. Bureaucrats were dashing in and out of a doorway, and I actually got a glimpse of a Yama King: a dark crowned shape seated upon a throne, surrounded by clerks and courtiers. In all great bureaucracies the clerks are too busy and important to look up, so Master Li simply marched past rows of doors until he came to one with the title “Treasurer of the Ninth Realm of Darkness.” He shoved the door open and we walked inside. We marched past more busy clerks to a great desk where a spirit who resembled a shark was clicking like mad on two abacuses at once, and the nine buttons on his gauze cap indicated that we had reached the treasurer himself. Cold shark eyes lifted to Master Li's emblems and state umbrella “No inspection has been scheduled,” he snapped.

“Of course not,” Master Li said with equal coldness. “One who raids an illegal cricket-fighting parlor does not announce his plans in advance.”

The treasurer shot to his feet. “You dare to compare this office to a cricket-fighting parlor?” he said furiously.

Master Li shrugged “In such establishments peculiar things happen to the odds, and it has come to the attention of the Son of Heaven that peculiar things have happened to the odds in this office.”

“Explain yourself, sir!”

“The emperor,” Master Li said, “has been informed that the fee which purchased his own release from Hell has been unaccountably increased, which makes it virtually impossible for those unfairly imprisoned to be saved.”

“A lie! A vicious and unfounded slander!” the treasurer yelled. “Emperor T'ang purchased his passage for thirteen casks of silver and gold, and thirteen casks remains the price!”

“I sincerely hope so. We are here to ensure that the system works smoothly and equitably, and there is but one way of doing so,” said Master Li. The Son of Heaven, you will recall, had no funds with him but was able to borrow on the credit account of the saintly Hsiang Liang.”

The treasurer sat down. A smile was on his face and malice was in his eyes.

“The emperor indeed did so, but only on the authority of Minister Ts'ui,” he said softly. “It so happens that I currently occupy the ministerial position, and do you have my authority to borrow on the account of Hsiane Lianc?”

Master Li wrinkled his nose. “Who said anything about using the same account? Since there are three of us we shall require three times the amount, and I doubt that even Hsiang Liang's good deeds have deposited that much.”

“Less than twenty mortals in all history have amassed thirty-nine casks of silver and gold in their credit accounts,” the treasurer said with a malicious laugh. “I sincerely hope for your sake that you are in a position to borrow from T'su T'sin, the priest of the Temple of Lepers,”

“Nothing so grand,” said Master Li, bowing reverently at the name. One hand was behind his back and the fingers were tightly crossed. “We request you to check the credit balance of—”

Moon Boy and I stared at each other. Who could possibly have that much virtue on deposit?

“— a common singsong girl and prostitute named Grief of Dawn,” Master Li said calmly.

We smothered yelps of astonishment. The treasurer grabbed ledgers and ran his finger down rows of names and numbers, and when the finger stopped I thought he had suffered a stroke. “You have proof of permission to borrow on this account?” he said in a choked whisper.

Master Li took the interlocking phoenix/dragon headband from Moon Boy and handed it across the desk. The treasurer's finger moved to the fine print, and his voice took on a weak whine. “Well, why didn't you say it was a joint account? Of course you can borrow the money. As much as you like! Sign here, here, and here.”

Moon Boy signed there, there, and there, and in about as much time as it takes to tell it, I was hauling a cart upon which were piled thirty-nine casks of silver and gold. Master Li and Moon Boy sat on a couple of the casks, and the state umbrella rose grandly above them. The treasurer led the way to a side door and clapped a perfumed handkerchief to his nose.

“Get out quickly,” he hissed.

The door opened, I pulled the cart through, and the treasurer hastily slammed the door shut behind us. We were in the Ninth Hell, and I hope I may be allowed to pause for a brief tirade.

The Ninth Hell is the delight of theologians and the despair of everyone else. Technically it houses wang-ssu-ch'eng, those who died in accidents, but it is also the destination for suicides, those who died without proper prayers and ceremonies, and all who died before the official date set down in the Register of Life and Death—like the toad and his goo-goo friends. In the Ninth Hell there are no torments, which is the worst torment of all. Without punishment there can be no repentance and purification and rebirth, and the poor lost souls of the Ninth Hell must serve the sentence of imprisonment for all eternity.

Mind you, no crime is involved. Many of the damned are innocent children. After three years the damned are allowed to occasionally return to earth in ghost form (which is the reason for the Feast of Hungry Ghosts), and it is theoretically possible for a ghost to be saved by finding someone to take his place. That is why it is so dangerous to linger where a child has drowned or a man has hanged himself. The spirit will try to seize you and drag you down to the Ninth Hell, and only by doing so can it earn a place on the Great Wheel of Transmigrations. In practical terms the chances of reaching the Wheel are almost nonexistent.

All one hundred thirty-five lesser Hells and all but one of the major ones are dedicated to justice. The Ninth Hell alone is unjust. None but a theologian could love it. How can I forget a little girl I saw weeping beside the road, damned for eternity because she slipped and fell into a stream? It is my sincere belief that priests could deal a death blow to atheism by destroying the Ninth Hell, and the proper petitions should be submitted to Heaven at once.

The moment we stepped outside we were assaulted by the stench of unwashed bodies. Venality is rampant in the Ninth Hell, where the lowest of demons sell food and drink at ruinous prices, and an army of lost souls besieged us, screaming for coins. We would surely have been crushed had not Master Li and Moon Boy been able to scoop handfuls of gold and silver from the casks and hurl them into the mob. The poor souls fought for coins like animals, and the weak and the young had no chance at all.