Free The Dragon Book by Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann Page B

behind plaster; men and women breathed, moved, talked to each other in soft whispers and with voices raised in anger. Alone in the squalor of the hall, Bob Choi listened.
    High in the building he heard the slow, slow rasp of shifting scales as the creature settled itself for slumber.
    He stood still a moment, remembering the reptile walk of the old man in the street. He remembered the fight at Fukuoka, when the one cloaked like a little girl had risen from the pile of bones and speared Sam Johnson through the chest.
    He remembered the flask in his breast pocket.
    Bob Choi made a soft, sad sound. Patting the weapons beneath his coat, he stepped past the body on the floor and proceeded up the stairs.
    The stairwell was empty, worn and desolate, with aged linoleum underfoot, yellowed wallpaper, light fittings made of oval glass at intervals on the walls. Each landing had a short lobby, four closed doors, a window at the end. Bob went slowly, carefully, listening to noises from the rooms, smelling the air. With each step, the rustling grew more obvious, the mineral taint hung heavier on his palate.
    As he approached the third landing, he took a small black canister from his coat and sprayed its contents back and forth on the stairs, the floor, and the walls about him. A thin mist settled and vanished. Bob Choi continued climbing, past the landing and up the next flight, spraying the mist every few paces.
    Rounding the final half-landing, Bob Choi went more slowly than ever, but the stairs were clear right to the fourth floor. Ahead was the lobby, its window showing a bright, wet light and falling rain. To the left was the door to Apartment 4A. Somewhere close came a dry rasping, like something heavy sliding among dead leaves. Bob Choi halted, scratching the back of his neck with gloved fingers. He opened his coat and unclipped a fastening within. With his left hand, he pulled out a long-barrelled gun, fitted with a vicious barb-headed dart.
    He took a long breath and glanced around.
    Opposite 4A was the door to 4C, closed and quiet. He heard nothing from there, or the other two rooms further along the lobby. From 4A, the apartment of old Mr. Yang, the rustling sound had quieted. The thing was still now, continuing its digestion.
    Bob Choi sighed, stepped quickly across the lobby, drew back the fist of his right hand, and struck the door just beside the handle, where the locks were. The wood split, the frame cracked; with another blow, Bob drove the door wide open.
    Before stepping through, he used the canister again. Now the mist revealed secret characters written on the threshold of the door. When Bob bent close, the inscription glowed an angry emerald green. When he stood up, it faded. Taking care not to touch the curse rune, he jumped over it, landing in the apartment safely.
    The hall was short and narrow, hung with pictures, floored with dark wood. To the left was a bureau supporting a Chinese lantern, three letters, a telephone and address book, a ring of keys. Fixed to the opposite wall was a metal rail, the kind used by the elderly and infirm.
    Bob Choi put away the canister, and, thrusting his right hand under his coat, drew out an ebony stick, shiny, bone-handled, long as his forearm. He moved quickly down the hall toward an open door.
    The room he entered occupied the corner of the apartment block, and had a window overlooking the alley. It was cluttered with shabby furniture and belongings: a radio, a television set resting on a table, a magazine rack, a frayed rug on a linoleum floor, a wheeled walking frame. The air smelled strongly of carbolic cleaning fluid.
    In an armchair in the centre of the rug, facing towards the door, sat an old man, arms bent, hands folded contentedly across the belly of his shirt. His legs, stick-thin beneath the nylon trousers, were crossed at the ankles. He wore white socks and canvas slippers. His eyes were closed; a faint smile played upon his lips. White wisps of grandfatherly hair lay