Page 98 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
Someone has set you free.
Well. Partially, anyway. You can’t leave this stupid ring of salt, not in your weakened condition.
“Soyouare the famous Girl with a Thousand Faces. The memorial plaque they made doesn’t do justice.”
Tilt your head up painfully, straining against the rapid dehydration and sensory overload.
A youngish woman peers down from her vantage point in the doorway. You did not notice her before, because there was too much for you to look at. She is in her late twenties, older than you when you first died, with a hard edge to her cynical smile. Smartly dressed in a gray tweed suit. Lean arms fold against a slim body, and her front teeth are charmingly crooked. The opened gourd sits on the floor next to her, along with a jug of water.
Water… I need water!Point at the jug. She must have brought it for you.
“You can have water later,” she says, impatiently. Her Cantonese is crisp and clean, with no trace of accent; a native Hong Konger. “I brought you out of binding to talk.”
No, you don’t understand. I need water, now, or I willdie!
She hesitates, caught off guard by your insistence.
Please. The fight with the exorcists has left me weak. Look at me!Extend your hands, the skin already like withered parchment, cracked all over.I will talk about anything you wish. But first, water!
“Fine,” she says, exasperated, and picks up a jug next to her feet. It is full to the brim, and she throws it over you. “Better now?”
Water pools around you on the floor, but does not breach the circle of salt. Interesting. Normal salt would wash away, but this stuff is presumably blessed or sanctified in some way.
Thank you.It’s an effort to keep your voice sounding humble. The water is good, but it’s only a temporary relief, and you resent this arrogant young woman who acts so dismissively.How long was I in there?
Her lip curls. “Today is the tenth of June, and the year is 1974.”
You clutch the pedestal, reeling in shock. Exorcists trapped you in 1945, which means it’s been twenty-nine years, locked in that tiny pocket of torment.Twenty-nine years.
“I tried three ghosts, before yours,” the young woman says, watching you avidly. “The others had dispersed into nothing. Yet you have endured, after nearly three decades. Very impressive.”
I will not succumb to darkness.The water that pools around you on the floor has nowhere to go; the concrete is sealed. You sit in that shallow puddle, taking what comfort you can from the barest of liquid.I will not yield to time. Not after all I have endured.
“Wing Yun said as much,” she says, then grins as you sit bolt upright. “Ah, you recognize that name!”
He was my brother in arms. We fought in the war together. Is he still alive?
“He is, and he’s petitioned for many years for your release. In fact, it was his petition that first drew my attention to the ghosts down here, and gave me the idea.”
An uncomfortable itch settles between your shoulder blades.What idea? Who are you, and why have you freed me?
“At last, you ask sensible questions! My name is Tsang Kit Ling, and I am a councilwoman on Hong Kong’s Executive Council.” She unhooks a folding stool from a nail on the wall, and sits on it cross-legged. “You are the Girl with a Thousand Faces, and you fought for the Hong Kong resistance during the war. Very brave.”
Hong Kong betrayed me.
“The British government did, when it took over again,” she corrects. “But I suppose my government did yield to that order. Not like there was a lot of choice.”
Same difference!
She ignores that. “I have come to offer a deal, Thousand-Faced Girl. If you are willing to negotiate.”
That gives you a moment’s pause. You will never trust living humans, ever again, but you do need out of here, and this smug young lady seems to have the proverbial keys. Whatever she’s offering must be better than a return to the bottle.
I am listening. What kind of deal?
“It’s very simple. Either you go back into banishment until your spirit collapses and you die a true death, without even reincarnation”—she gestures languidly at the gourd, and you shudder—“or, you agree to do me a favor. For whatever it is worth, I think you will like the task I have in mind.”
That doesn’t sound like much of a “choice” to you. But though your anger is a towering mountain, you rein it in. The memory of twenty-nine years’ worth of lonely torment is more than enough motivation to keep your ghost urges under control. For now.
