Ch.262Request Log #021 – The Struggle for the Mountain Peak (3)

Finding out if the emerald truly had a curse engraved on it wasn’t difficult. Still pointing the gun at old Beckman’s neck, I walked around the counter toward him.

“I’m going to ask you to bring me something, and it’s not a shotgun. Cursed jewels bring trouble, don’t they? Are they in the appraisal room?”

His chin nodded slightly as sweat dripped down it. He made no attempt to resist. I couldn’t tell if he had some plan or simply thought giving up one jewel was better than losing his life.

The former would be worse. He might improvise against a sudden intruder, but not against a member of the Invincibles who was preventing curses and abominations from spreading.

He obediently entered the appraisal room with the silencer pointed at the back of his head. It was easy to distinguish between items people had polished to sell to the pawnshop and stolen goods.

Generally, the better-maintained items were those pawned. Thieves tended to handle goods carelessly. He reached out and pointed to a box. When I checked, he brought it over.

Perhaps trying not to provoke me, he carefully opened the box with one hand. From inside, he took out a square-cut emerald and placed it on the appraisal table.

“Is this enough? Among detectives hunting for stolen goods, few actually succeed, your ability…”

This wasn’t over. After putting the gun away, I drew a pocket knife from my waist. A common tool among gnolls. With proper force control, I could make it look like their work.

But I had no such intention now. I simply grabbed his wrist with twice the force and placed his palm over the jewel. I smirked leisurely.

“No, no. The sin of stealing was committed with hands. The same goes for collecting such items. It’s obvious how you should pay, isn’t it?”

I needed to find out what kind of items my client had collected. Even with curses that create abominations, their strength varied depending on the warlock’s skill.

He said they were from the Great War, but I wasn’t sure if there were defective ones mixed in, or if they were powerful enough to activate curse patterns just by holding them. I raised the pocket knife.

Instead of stabbing down, I made a long cut across the dwarf’s palm. As he suppressed his screams and writhed, the emerald, now appearing like a garnet, began to shake violently, its movement gradually becoming more deliberate.

The droplets of blood were writhing. White particles spread through the core, twitching on the emerald as if trying to raise a body made of blood. Blood that shouldn’t be able to move was moving.

I placed a cloth soaked in olive oil, used for jewel maintenance, over the forming abomination and the jewel, then took out a match, struck it against my thumb, and threw it. Even with olive oil, the oil-soaked cloth burned well.

Old Beckman couldn’t scream anymore after seeing his own blood move. His eyes looked at me differently now. People always imagine situations worse than their current one.

What if he had touched that emerald with his bare hands? What if his hands, scarred from dismantling and repairing watches, had triggered that curse? He could imagine many possibilities.

As the small abomination burned to death, I tossed him one of the cheap women’s scarves piled in a corner of the appraisal room, apparently deemed worthless. I lit my cigarette with the fire that carried the abomination’s screams.

I exhaled cigarette smoke into the acrid fumes. Only when the abomination had completely stopped did I pick up the emerald, place it in a velvet box befitting an appraisal room, and put it in my pocket.

I had no intention of getting tuberculosis. I gestured for us to leave, abandoning the fire that wouldn’t spread further. I blew another puff of cigarette smoke into the shop.

Old Beckman still seemed unable to comprehend what he’d seen, staring blankly at his bleeding palm. I clicked my tongue while taking another drag from my cigarette.

“You survived after accepting such a jewel as stolen goods, and now you want to die from a bleeding hand? Staunch it.”

If it could respond to just a few drops of blood and attempt to raise an abomination, it was high quality. One of those jewels deeply imbued with curses typically found in commanders’ rooms after clearing out German trenches.

When taking this job from the client, I tried not to think about the relationship between Doppelsöldner and warlock-soldiers. And trying to restore such an item to its original state was something I should have been hired for.

Only then did Beckman wrap the scarf around his wounded hand. With the characteristic strength of dwarf hands, he tied it tightly and spoke with chattering teeth, half of which were dentures.

“That, that thing in the jewel…”

“It’s a curse your kinsmen injected into jewels during the Great War. It created something living with just a few drops of blood. Now, there’s something you need to do for me. If you remember the face of the person, or people, who pawned this, why don’t you draw it? As a fence, you must know other fences too.”

I turned to a new page in the notebook on the counter, pushed it toward him, and offered a pen. Old dwarves never forget debts or favors. Selling him a jewel containing a curse was clearly a debt.

Preventing him from dying and becoming a monster, neutralizing the curse with blood—that could be considered a favor of sorts. Compared to one’s life, a scar on the palm isn’t very important.

He began drawing the face of the customer who had visited him, pen in hand. Though his drawing skills weren’t excellent, he seemed confident in his memory, sketching steadily.

Resentment soon turns to anger. The old dwarf slammed the counter with his hand wrapped tightly in the scarf for hemostasis, as if he utterly despised the faces of those thieves he remembered.

“Th-those damn bastards! Cut their throats! Passing on such a cursed item to someone. I, I… whew, whew… Now I understand why you pointed a gun first. For something like this, pointing a gun barrel and making someone come right away is the kindest method, isn’t it…”

As the space emptied of sympathy for the fools who sold the jewel cheaply, it was filled with goodwill toward the professional who had saved his life. That’s natural. When something empties, something else fills its place.

Perhaps what filled the space where hatred had drained from me were things that had been there originally. Old memories, things I’d said to Sarah, or what the reporter had told me. Beckman continued.

“And, I-I just remembered they had a jewelry box with them! Like all fences, they probably wanted to sell each piece separately, so you’ll have to visit every pawnshop in New York. If you catch those bastards, can I get in a couple of punches for my share?”

I clicked my tongue twice. Unfortunately, there was no share for him. If he had remained purely an enemy, I would have stubbed out my cigarette on the counter, but since I was receiving his cooperation, I pressed it out in an ashtray.

“It seems this will end without anything left for your share. Was that answer satisfactory enough?”

“I’d welcome it if you finished them off completely. What more could I say? Should have smashed their heads like in the old days… These were the guys!”

Beckman’s drawing was crude, but I could identify the distinctive features. Additionally, they were of different races. One was a goblin and one was an ogre.

It didn’t take as long as I expected to narrow down the suspects from seven hundred thousand to two. Finding those two was another matter to consider.

Still, by gathering information from fences across New York, I could reach the last fence they visited and possibly find out where they went.

Meanwhile, was it even possible that no one would touch the jewels with wounded hands and become an abomination? Either way, it was a race against time.

Before finding the next fence, I should tell the client that I would neutralize and return the jewels. After getting Beckman’s drawing and a list of fences, I headed straight to the streets of Littlehold.

Since what I had to say could be heard outside anyway, I used the public phone right in front of Beckman’s pawnshop. I dialed immediately. The connection tone continued.

Racing against time like this to gain… nothing. At best, an extra hundred dollars. Everything else was at the standard rate.

What was certain was that this time I wasn’t moving to gain something, but to avoid losing something. Not to achieve something, but to repeat today one more time.

At least my purpose had progressed from reclaiming yesterday to repeating today. That’s progress. Still, in the end, it’s just Sisyphus learning to love rolling his boulder.

I didn’t know what that man’s name was in English. I just knew he was a Greek who was punished to roll a boulder up a mountain for eternity, only to have it fall back down each time.

I heard about it while briefly staying in France after the war. There was a man who shouted that heroes like us enjoying rest instead of helping with reconstruction was as futile as Sisyphus’s punishment.

It was an intolerable statement, but at that time, we were… in a state that would make the present seem ideal by comparison. We had neither the strength nor the will to respond. We only knew that staying like that would arouse suspicion.

From then on, we decided to pretend to be heroes. Feeling like breathing through blood was better than arousing suspicion. The phone connected. I spoke immediately.

“Husband Detective Agency. Is this the client who requested the recovery of stolen goods?”

The voice that responded seemed to find it strange that I was calling so soon after taking the job. I didn’t mind clients with reasonable suspicions.

“If you’ve found something already, I can’t help but think you might be in cahoots with those thieves. You’ll need to explain in detail. Especially since you…”

“We agreed that I’m just a detective, sir. Anyway… I got the name of Littlehold’s biggest fence from an informant and just finished interrogating him. It seems they sold the items separately. The emerald is an authentic piece from the Great War. I’ve already neutralized the curse by spilling the pawnbroker’s blood and secured it. I’ll do the same with the remaining jewels. If you have any persuasive arguments, I’m willing to listen.”

The sense of duty was admirable but too dangerous. It was like a landmine factory worker who had seen people lose their legs to mines randomly digging up unexploded ordnance and mines and collecting them at home.

I could tell him his purpose was noble, but his actions were extremely dangerous. Such things should be stopped. After a moment’s consideration, he too set aside his obsession. We were people who knew well about curses and magic.

“Damn it, I was hoping to find the jewelry box intact… If the jewels are scattered, I understand. But if there are any still in the box, could you bring them as they are? You know I’m doing this out of my own sense of duty and can’t easily let go. I just hope to repay a debt of conscience a little, so please.”

It was dangerous, but… jewels untouched and still in the box would be relatively safe. As long as the thieves hadn’t handled them to sell separately.

Still, I couldn’t give a definite answer. There might be situations where all the jewels would need to be destroyed, so I gave an indirect response.

“If the situation is ideal, I’ll try to collect as many as possible. I’ll be traveling around New York all day, so I’ll contact you again in the evening. Goodbye.”

As soon as I heard the client’s affirmative response, I hung up. A day is too long. Not today. Fortunately, pawnshops stay open late, and fences work until dawn. The detective business and detectives are the same.

I head to the second pawnshop. This one is on the outskirts of Littlehold, so it might accept customers of different races. As soon as I entered, a well-dressed man approached me and said:

“Welcome to Rolston Family Second-hand Goods Store. We help ensure your memories aren’t sold cheaply…”

A family store? At those words, I pretended to look around while slipping my hand into my pocket. I naturally pushed him between the densely packed display shelves.

“Ah, I’m in a hurry for something, so just a moment…”

A gun with a silencer would be too conspicuous. I drew the blade of my pocket knife from my waist and placed it over the pulsing vein on the side of his neck. I gently pressed that vessel with the flat of the blade.

The man who greeted me immediately began to whimper. So he didn’t even have the guts to receive stolen goods but was doing this anyway. I leisurely lowered my voice and asked:

“Second-hand goods dealer? Seems you don’t like being called a pawnbroker. Or a fence. But I came looking for Mr. Rolston the fence. Bring out all the jewels that came in today.”

With the knife lightly pressed against his back, I made him enter the back room behind the counter again. Children were constantly calculating something with fingers and abacuses, perhaps made to help with the work.

Despite being in front of children, I didn’t withdraw the knife. I just made sure it wasn’t visible as it pointed at his back, then moved to the next room. There were only three jewels that had come in, but all showed signs of being dismantled and were clearly stolen goods.

“H-here they are. You saw the children in the next room too. We started dealing in stolen goods after some customers arbitrarily pawned items and then stole our money…”

“If that were true, you should have reported it properly and just remained an antique collector. Why, did the stolen goods they left behind seem much more valuable than the money they took?”

As he tried to wave his hands, he extended both hands forward. I grabbed one wrist and pulled it toward me, then showed him through his palm that the pocket knife, which had so far seemed like just a threatening tool, had its original purpose.

The jewels would each have had their own names, but as he suppressed his screams to keep the children from hearing, they all turned into garnets. On the middle one, originally an aquamarine, the blood began to surge.

This time the reaction was a bit weaker. There’s variance between each jewel, but what doesn’t change is that they’re sensitive enough to react to just a few drops of blood.

I poured jewel maintenance oil onto a cloth draped over his jewelry box and threw it. This time I struck a match against my glove to light it. The abomination, which hadn’t even formed enough to move properly, fortunately burned without a scream.

So far I’d found two. It seemed I was winning the race against time. I needed to widen the gap while I was ahead. After confirming the drawings of the two men with the nameless man of the Rolston family, I set out again.