The Girl with a Thousand Faces

August 20, 1975

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Late afternoon, and the Walled City was a fleshy soup. Human pedestrians slicked past each other in narrow alleys, bodies filmed with sweat. Sad-faced ghosts peered out from corners or hovered on filthy eaves. Steam rose from mildewed gutters, suffusing both living and dead alike.

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In among the shifting crowd, Mercy Chan paused at a crossroads, peering down the different alleys and struggling to recall the directions that her boss had given her not an hour before. The district was a maze, even for those who knew it well.

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Should have written the directions down, she thought sourly. It was too hot to remember things that weren’t written down.

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Every part of Kowloon was layered in shade, but the lack of sunlight brought no relief. The lower levels in particular were full of machineries and factories; they built up heat, like an oven. Mercy was trying not to bake in that dark oven. She tugged at the soggy neck of her plain linen shirt, peeling it from her skin in an attempt to create a little air circulation. But there was no air to circulate, only humidity.

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She was supposed to be wearing a triad jacket—white and green, Cobra Lily’s colors, patterned in a snakeskin brocade—but she could not be bothered with long sleeves in this heat. Besides, Bao didn’t like her jacket, wouldn’t sit on her shoulder when she wore it. Even less incentive to ever put it on.

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Since she’d chosen a regular sleeveless vest, the ghost cat had deigned to accompany her, compacting himself into a white, fluffy-looking bundle of fur. He nestled between the crook of her neck and shoulder, emanating a tiny radius of chilly air. A long tail curled over her upper arm in languid rest. It was a good, safe comfort to know he was there.

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Bao opened one bright-red eye, stretched out a claw, and raked her collarbone lightly.

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“Stop that!” Clearly, she’d stood in one place too long for his liking. “If you get bored so easily, why do you come with me?”

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The ghost cat yawned.