Ch.229Request Log #018 – The Ghost Wandering New York (5)

I contacted the journalist and left a message asking the Blingkerton agency to investigate the magicians as a gesture of goodwill before going to sleep. I didn’t want my skills to get rusty by not investing at least four hours a day.

It wouldn’t take long to get to the truth of the case, and I’d succeeded in keeping Blingkerton involved. I could rest briefly before moving again. Not everything would be resolved in a single day. I fell asleep.

I woke in darkness before morning came. It was dawn. Though my apartment barely had proper heating, I hadn’t awakened from the cold. Nor from a sense of duty.

I poured cold water over my scalp. I felt my muscles tense. My mind became so clear I felt I could see the ghosts wandering through New York. No, I couldn’t see even the slightest trace.

Only now did I sense something was wrong. In most conspiracies, there was always some loose end to grab, a thread to follow out of the labyrinth. But this time, there was nothing.

There were too many missing people, yet no one to be found who carried out the disappearances. No one had seen those responsible… all that remained was the ozone smell spread over the factory district.

In short, if Philip disappeared in front of the meat processing factory where he worked, and if he wasn’t kidnapped by someone hired to do so, then the kidnapper must have been nearby. Very nearby.

So did this kidnapper turn one person into a thrall, hide them without leaving a trace, then go to another factory to kidnap the next person? I couldn’t imagine a magician driving around in a truck.

Even if they only kidnapped three people a day, the truck would be full, and even if that weren’t the case, other workers would have seen their colleagues getting into a stranger’s vehicle in front of the factory.

Even if they were made into thralls and made to walk on their own… could it really be the civil servants from the New York City Spirit Management Department that The Idealists mentioned? If it were them, they would know every inch of the Industrial Spirit King’s body they had contracted with.

No, that’s not it either. The New York City Spirit Management Department had a dragon. Dragons wouldn’t commit crimes. Such dragons were all torn apart by their own kind hundreds of years ago.

Am I missing something? Anyone could be a suspect, but no one could be confirmed. It felt like someone had deliberately tampered with the information. I opened Blingkerton’s file again.

I spent until morning flipping through the files and creating dozens of hypotheses, but none connected perfectly. Perhaps I still lacked information, so I brewed and drank a cup of coffee.

As I was about to call the journalist, the phone rang first. I picked up, but the caller remained silent. It was up to the person who answered to identify themselves.

“Husband Detective Agency. Who is this?”

Silence continued. Not complete silence. Something like a groan came through the phone line. That sound soon became a voice.

“Detective, a detective?”

It was the voice of the Hive Mind. It sounded like a mix of hoarse voices and unpleasant off-key voices, all seeming tired. If a mental entity could be exhausted, there was only one reason.

“Were you attacked? If so, I’ll come right away, just tell me briefly.”

A deep breath from the thrall resonated once. The Idealist Hive Mind’s voice, which had been like an untuned dissonance, became orderly and emotionless again. The true entity spoke.

“We were attacked, but the damage is recoverable. However, this time we didn’t just take it. We immediately connected consciousness to the thrall and identified the opponent. It was human. Most likely a civil servant from the New York City Spirit Management Department contracted with the Machine of the Age. They used magic through the ground. We couldn’t catch them, but…”

“That’s my job. Gather all your thralls and rest. If they’re attacking along the Industrial Spirit King’s body, wouldn’t it be better to keep them above ground?”

Fortunately, they’re gathering information on their own. Whether it’s a loose end or not, I’ll find out when I catch them. It was almost unsettling how simply the unsolvable problem was resolving, but I ignored that for now.

“Our building is outside the industrial district, so there’s no need to worry. Besides, we protect this place with our magic, so there’s no concern. If you catch them, can you let us participate in the interrogation, detective?”

They spoke as if they might start an uprising. The Idealist Hive Mind was an entity that thoroughly hated those who tried to oppress them, even as they became oppressive when creating their own thralls.

Pain had made them a little more flexible, but only a little. Essence doesn’t change easily. Not that it matters. A client is a client.

“Of course. I’m hanging up.”

It was time to move. The journalist said she might be able to meet the Industrial Spirit King, so I should help with that first, then go to the Industrial Spirit King himself to ask about his contractors. That would be fastest.

It would be nearly impossible for me to break into New York City Hall and steal information. Even if possible, doing so would only cast doubt on the truthfulness of information obtained that way.

Forcing my way in only worked with people like the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn, who couldn’t report it even if they knew. This opponent was a civil servant contracted with the Industrial Spirit.

I called the journalist as planned. I would have thought she wouldn’t be awake at this hour before, but not anymore. The connection tone rang for quite a while, but she answered.

She made a groaning sound, but since it was the day after she said she’d meet someone, it wasn’t hard to guess why. A hangover.

“Ugh, my head…. Yes, Rose Leafman of Golden Age Press…. Who is this…?”

“Weren’t you bone dry just a few months ago?”

Recognizing my voice, she made another energetic sound. I could almost see her ear tips twitching.

“More like a hundred years ago! I was thinking I should call you later, but you called first. Remember I said I was meeting someone yesterday? It was the head of the Half-God Party. He said he could take me to meet the Industrial Spirit King, and if I brought an attendant and a bodyguard, we could enter without any trouble!”

It was as expected. Still, I’d never seen the Half-God Party leader’s words make the front page of a newspaper, so the journalist must have handled it well. This would be her first time meeting the Industrial Spirit King.

“Should I dress like a demon’s bodyguard? Or did the Half-God Party leader say he’d provide the clothes?”

“He said he’d lend us clothes… Can you dress like a demon’s bodyguard, Michael? Hmm, somehow I think it would suit you… You could have gone to Broadway instead of the Blingkerton Detective Agency when you were fourteen, couldn’t you?”

The kobold at the tobacco shop had said the same thing last time. I let out a small laugh of disbelief before responding.

“There’s nothing special about a demon’s bodyguard. You just dress like any other bodyguard. Demons are just obsessed with black leather gloves, that’s why I asked.”

When I let her know she hadn’t asked about anything as impressive as she thought, she groaned again. Her long ear tips would be turning red now.

“Ah, ugh…. Anyway, come quickly! He said the earlier the better, so I’m going right away!”

When meeting demons, it’s best to match their tastes. Unlike my usual style, I wore a proper suit with a vest and tie. Bright colors would have been better received, but I chose black.

For some reason I don’t understand, I put on the black leather gloves that demons love so much. I also wore the wristwatch that a French watch company had gifted to the Argonne Invincibles after the war ended.

In the trenches, watches were items only officers wore, but by the end of the war, all Argonne Invincibles received watches. It was a gift given with that knowledge, and quite a luxury item.

When they told us they would make watches for us, I told them about our fallen comrades, and they made watches for the fallen too and gave them to us. That’s why I treasure it.

It wasn’t just for us. Those who said they’d rather wear skirts than leather-strapped wristwatches rushed to buy wristwatches as soon as they saw the Argonne Invincibles wearing them.

With that watch completing my neat attire, I left home and headed to the journalist’s place.

The air was humid and cold. Yet it felt dry. It was as if the entire city was holding its breath, waiting for something. The air was clear this morning.

When I arrived at the journalist’s home and knocked, she energetically opened the door and walked out, ready to go. She was dressed neatly as usual, but wore a coat due to being an elf susceptible to cold.

Seeing me, she perked up her ears and smiled brightly.

“I feel like a rich person returning home. Though not quite like returning home… anyway, it feels good! Let’s go!”

I was quite used to giving this elf a ride now. I didn’t need to borrow coffee, so I drove with her to the Half-God Party headquarters. It was the best building in Hell’s Kitchen, which had been redeveloped by demons.

This time, I walked alongside her into the headquarters. No one stopped non-demons from entering. At the reception desk, I gave the journalist the opportunity to speak.

The journalist, who once left all speaking to her lawyer when facing me, could now speak quite confidently.

“I’m Rose Leafman from Golden Age Press, with an appointment with the party leader. He said he would clear his entire morning schedule, so please check.”

A demon with horns so short they looked like protrusions on the forehead nodded after checking the schedule. He handed us visitor badges made of fragrant paper, likely to mask the ozone smell.

“He’s on the top floor, so please go up. You must keep your visitor badges with you at all times while in the building… Both of your attire is acceptable.”

A headquarters with a dress code. The vanity of demons had to be acknowledged. Since they would be checking the magic on the badges rather than the badges themselves, I put mine in my inner pocket without folding it.

We entered the elevator together. Painting murals on elevator walls was also a demon preference. The mural depicted the party leader waving signs questioning the legitimacy of a theocratic state in front of the elected God-President, and him denouncing the God-President and Prime Minister Woodrow Wilson who had decided to join the Great War despite leading anti-war movements.

Little Mike leaving for Europe thought demons did demonic work, but the Argonne Invincible who returned to New York didn’t think so.

Demons said more sensible things than expected. Perhaps it was the God-President’s intervention that made the world strange. Still, I couldn’t side with demons.

They were merely jesters offering right words before the God-President, knowing he would be saddened by the world he might have made strange.

When we reached the party leader’s room, he opened the door first. He was a demon with healthy Mediterranean-like olive skin and angel-like curly black hair. He was bigger than Yehoel.

His eyes weren’t burning, but anyone could tell he was a former angel. He greeted the journalist first, then approached me. He extended his hand for a handshake, which I returned.

Without needing an introduction from the journalist, the demon recognized me. He spoke as if he could tell just by looking or smelling.

“What an honor. I meet the one who fulfilled the Half-God Party’s purpose, the god-slayer of the 20th century. I’ve always wanted to meet you, but never expected to do so by such a coincidence. Words of praise overflow in my mouth, yet only the simplest ones escape. God-slayer, the one who brought down the sunset, who awakened the gods to their fate… If I had a bit more creativity, I would have praised you more.”

I didn’t think about the principle. It must be similar to how a taxi driver can smell murder. To this demon, I must still appear covered in the transparent blood of a god.

Hearing those words, I regretted not bringing Sol Invictus’s gladius. With that sword, I could have cut off this demon’s head. Uncut necks say too many unnecessary things.

“Don’t say such ridiculous things, Lord Serpent. You don’t hate the God-President; you love him with all your heart. Enough to willingly stand on the opposite side. Isn’t that right?”

I pushed away his handshaking hand and walked into the party leader’s room first. On the ceiling painted with a red dragon was proudly written the phrase “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

A self-portrait on the ceiling. Is he trying to build a temple? Knowing it was rude, I still sat on the guest sofa first and waited for him. He didn’t mind the harsh words or rudeness.

“Originally, I was going to grant Rose’s request… Well now. I have one more reason to help. I’ve set up an appointment for noon today. I’ve prepared clothes for Rose… It’s sad that there’s no custom suit that can be completed in two hours. If you tell me your measurements, I’ll have them brought.”

After telling him my measurements, I didn’t respond to anything else he said. The clothes were delivered shortly, and I was able to use a changing room. I hung my jacket over the mirror and changed.

The shirt was smooth and luxurious, but the vest and jacket were made of rough material with noticeable texture. On top, I wore a bowler-like hat made of stiffened felt.

The tie was black with dark red stripes running diagonally upward to the left. It even included the short black leather gloves they loved so much.

Demons certainly have a knack for choosing clothes. Once fully dressed, I looked quite like a bodyguard. I turned around, took the clothes hanging on the mirror, arranged them, and left the changing room.

I wouldn’t look like a sturdy bodyguard compared to the angel-born demon due to our height difference, but demons generally knew this. Since they couldn’t overwhelm with size, they preferred people who seemed capable fighters despite average builds rather than just large beings.

The journalist was also dressed in a clean black suit. Since demons are quite conservative about clothing, she wore a skirt that completely covered her ankles. However, her hat with almost no brim didn’t cover her face at all.

“I wonder if they won’t find it strange that the journalist who came to meet the Industrial Spirit King last time is now coming as a demon’s secretary.”

She nodded vigorously, even putting her hands on her waist, as if there was no problem, contrary to her neat suit appearance.

“I thought of that too, so I asked for a hat! The party leader contacted me and said different angels would be on guard duty today, so there won’t be any problems!”

From the angels’ perspective, he would be a senior colleague, so he could share that information without burden. The tacit approval of the omniscient God-President was essentially permission.

While we had taken my inconspicuous car to get here, when leaving the headquarters, I drove a demon’s car—black with decorative red accents in a streamlined design.

It was a car for a species that would die of loneliness if others didn’t look at them. At least it had the effect of making other drivers clear the way.

We headed to the heart of the industrial district. I parked the car in front of the concrete temple built on the pulsating heart of the Industrial Spirit King—the heart of industry and manufacturing.

When the journalist tried to open her door and get out on her own, I clicked my tongue to stop her. I got out first, opened the door on her side, and lastly opened the door for the demon.

A high-ranking person’s secretary should move like birds taken out for a walk in a cage. Meaning they barely need to move at all.

As instructed beforehand, the journalist walked alongside the party leader, while I walked one step ahead diagonally in front of him as we approached the angels guarding the Machine of the Age. The angels even saluted him.

“We heard you were coming with an appointment! You may enter with one secretary and one bodyguard!”

Their voices were quite forceful. They let us in to meet the Machine of the Age without even checking our identities.

The building was flashy on the outside but empty inside. There wasn’t even a receptionist, and most of the first floor was occupied by stairs leading down to the basement where the Machine of the Age was pulsating.

Now the journalist walked beside me instead of the party leader. The party leader looked curious about why she wanted to meet the Industrial Spirit King, but he didn’t bother asking about what he would soon see anyway.

The stairs seemed endless, as if they might reach Earth’s core. Inside, the machine was pulsating. A machine made of all gears, cylinders, and engines mixed together was pulsating, as if it had forgotten what it was trying to create.

The journalist put her hand to her ear, half-covering one ear, and sent a flame message. Her voice was cheerful, as if meeting an old friend.

“Industrial Spirit King! Oh, no, Industrial Spirit King. It’s been a while.”

She spoke loudly at first, then quietly afterward. Since she was speaking through flame messages, there was no need to shout, no matter how enormous the being.

The Industrial Spirit King’s reply came through flame messages that we could hear too. His voice sounded surprised by visitors different from what he had expected.

“I was told today’s visitor would be a demon, but here you are. How did you get in… Ah, I see, that cunning one helped you. What brings you here with the help of such a person, little elf? It must be important, so I’ll swallow my gladness. Though it’s so great it’s hard to swallow, I’ll try.”

How does this woman get such responses from the Industrial Spirit King? I could nod at the part about meeting the Half-God Party leader, but this remained a mystery.