Ch.51Request Log #007 – The Weight of Life (1)

The poet succeeded. After hearing about a sword exhibition and discovering that Hexenbane was involved, he had been preparing for this.

His plan was to pierce his heart with the Hexenbane that breaks spells, completely severing the magic and finding peaceful rest. And he accomplished that plan.

So there was no need to be sad. The crying was his business, not ours. After attending the memorial service and witnessing the burial the next day, I returned home and threw off my formal attire.

It was time to get back to work. I could probably take a few days off, but as the reporter at the memorial service had said, I was someone who was always working. After changing clothes, I headed straight to my office desk and made a phone call.

I called the unworshipped goddess I had met in Little Eire. There was a phone number on the invitation card with a black bird that she had given me.

The connection tone didn’t ring for long. Soon I heard the goddess’s voice. This time her voice was cold. It was a voice rising with the same coldness I felt watching the poet’s final moments.

“Don’t you smell more strongly of a night’s worth of love and warmth than the scent that comes from me? And this isn’t something to discuss over the phone. Come to Little Eire. I’ll prepare a glass of memorial wine for you.”

Even an unworshipped goddess was still a goddess. It wouldn’t be strange for a deity to know such things. I answered casually.

“Sure. Make it sweet if you can. It wasn’t such a sad death after all.”

Through the static of the phone, laughter flowed.

“Really… that’s no way to address a goddess, is it? The God-President would be furious if you expected such treatment. But alright, that’s fine.”

Working rather than resting was actually more comfortable for my mind. Leaving my formal clothes carelessly thrown aside, I walked out wearing only a thin jacket. I got in the car and set off alone again.

I decided to think about what kind of job the unworshipped goddess might have for me. Or perhaps it would be better to think about what kind of job the boss of the Irish mafia might have?

The Irish mafia executives, except for that driver named Gancan, seemed to have twisted personalities or were out of their minds. Thinking about them wouldn’t yield much.

The Selkie from the sea was going mad from living only in western New York without seeing the ocean, while Bavan and the fairy in the green suit were just nasty by nature.

With people like them, there would likely be many conflicts, so she might want me to handle something related to that. Or perhaps someone had fled from the organization.

The image they had seen of me was someone combing through territories from the Italian mob’s area to the Irish half-breeds’ district, searching for Giuseppina’s brother. So it would be natural for them to assign me such a task.

I arrived at Little Eire with my mind satisfyingly filled with all sorts of thoughts. It was still bearable since it wasn’t yet time for Little Eire to sparkle with lights.

Again, I parked where I had before, showed my invitation to the doorkeepers who would now remember my face, and went inside. They didn’t stop me.

Without even glancing at the bar, I headed up to The Morrígan’s office. No one tried to stop me. It felt like everyone in Little Eire knew whose guest I was.

The Italian mob and the Irish half-breeds were quite different, but they were all the same as gangsters. They were just parasites selling alcohol, drugs, and protection to suck money from people.

Reminding myself that getting too deeply involved with such people wasn’t good, I opened The Morrígan’s office door and entered.

She was waiting with a cocktail on the table—green at the bottom with pink foam on top.

“You came quickly. I didn’t expect you to break through New York’s traffic congestion so fast…”

“Let’s just talk business. I’m tired enough from breaking through the traffic jam.”

Now sitting somewhat comfortably on the guest sofa, I took a sip of the pink-foamed drink. It was pleasantly sweet. The foam tasted of flower honey, and the alcohol underneath seemed to be absinthe.

At my request to talk business, she placed a photo on the table. It showed what looked like people smuggling themselves in.

In the photo, there was one small figure, two human-sized figures, and one lumpy shape that didn’t have a human form… The three smaller figures were properly dressed, but the last figure was covered with a large cloak or blanket, making only its general shape barely recognizable.

“If it’s about catching illegal immigrants, the police would do better than me. Why call me specifically?”

“The God-President cares about illegal immigrants, not me. The problem is what they brought in. Do you see that large figure in the back? This is a photo taken from a different angle…”

She handed over a photo taken from an angle where the being inside the blanket was visible. This time the people weren’t clearly visible, but the being inside the blanket could be seen distinctly.

It was a War Spirit. With a body riddled with holes that made whistle and siren sounds when wind passed through, and a water-cooled machine gun instead of a head attached to a naked human-like body with red skin wrapped in barbed wire—there was no doubt it was a War Spirit.

All spirits are created by humans. The Industrial Revolution created Industrial Spirits, and these Roaring Twenties gave birth to Economic Spirits… and the Great War created War Spirits.

Many War Spirits still lived in Europe, but there were none in America, which hadn’t experienced the war. So this one had been deliberately brought into America. After calming myself briefly, I continued.

“That’s a War Spirit. If they brought that in too, you should have handed this over to the angels even more urgently. Why call me?”

“I already handed it over to the angels. They’re pursuing them, but there’s been no information since this photo was taken, so they’re struggling too. So, I decided to call in a private contractor to investigate. Will you help?”

If the angels were already working on it, I could exchange favors with Yehoel. And if there was a photo like this, there must be someone who took it. I organized my thoughts.

“I’d like to meet the photographer first. Where can I find them?”

“You can pay your respects at Green-Wood Cemetery. We were able to recover the film, but the photographer is dead. Riddled with machine gun bullets.”

The Morrígan’s voice remained cold. Today she announced someone’s death as casually as discussing the weather, which gave me chills, but it didn’t last long.

Anyway, they certainly didn’t bring a War Spirit here to lecture about the horrors of war. I nodded with a sigh.

“Fine, I’ll take it. Have they been designated as wanted criminals? For a case like this, I’m sure the angels would have put up wanted posters.”

“So far they’re only charged with smuggling and murder, so the bounty isn’t that high. Don’t worry about the amount—I can cover it. You know who I am.”

Right, the boss of the Irish mafia. She was in a position equivalent to the Godmother in the Italian mob, so if she weren’t an unworshipped goddess, I would have been bowing my head respectfully.

“Of course. Well then, I’ll check with the police first. Oh, what are the police calling these people?”

The Morrígan briefly reached across her desk to sort through some letters, then picked up a mail with the New York Police Department’s wing-extending-from-circle emblem and checked.

“It seems they don’t have a specific name for them yet. They’ll probably get a name once they commit more crimes, won’t they? If you can catch them before that, the reward is… pfft, I can give you as much as you want. Do you want a goddess’s treasure?”

“No, the mafia boss’s vault sounds much more appealing.”

I returned her smirk with one of my own before standing up. I thought I should contact Yehoel first.

The War Spirit was problematic enough, but the bigger issue was that there was no information about the people who came with it. Seeing that the War Spirit wasn’t rampaging, it must have contracted with one of the three.

Can I identify their race from the photo? Looking at the two people following behind, one seemed to be human and the other an orc, but it was difficult to determine the race of the small figure in front.

Comparing with the human standing behind, the small one was about 5 feet tall, so probably a dwarf or an elf, but the build wasn’t thick like a dwarf’s, and no protruding ears were visible in the photo.

It was probably a half-breed. Dwarves and orcs possessed strong bodies, and elves had sensitive senses—every race had its strengths. The strength of humans hadn’t been known for long.

The strength of humans was their ability to reproduce. So-called human traits were mostly dominant. Humans could generally create hybrids with other races.

The height suggested dwarf or elf, but there were no visible protruding ears, and the build was human-like… probably a human-dwarf hybrid. It was a dwarf again this time.

The Germans… honestly, they were becoming a bit strange. Especially after that riot in Munich or whatever city, it had gotten worse.

They lost because they could no longer fight the war. The Kaiser fled, and Wotan barely managed to surrender as Germany’s God-President. No race, goblin or otherwise, stabbed them in the back.

Half the Germans I killed in the Great War were dwarves, and the other half were goblins. Yet they were spouting nonsense about being stabbed in the back by goblins.

After checking the photo three times to see if there was anything else I could learn, I drove straight back to my apartment before Little Eire started to sparkle. I immediately called Yehoel.

“Yes, yes. This is Officer Yehoel of the New York Police Department. Who is this?”

At least he’s making his voice a bit firmer now. The audit season might be approaching. This angel, who normally slacked off, would pretend to work a little only when audit season came.

“It’s Husband. I’m calling about the illegal immigrants… share some information if you know what I’m talking about.”

He responded as if relieved.

“You’re on this case too? Thank goodness… I thought I’d have to run around by myself. Anyway, yes. I don’t know what kind they are, but they brought a War Spirit all the way to America.”

After confirming we were talking about the same immigrants, he answered.

“I guess they were guys who felt it was unfair that only Europe was in chaos. Anyway… do you have any information? If you pull something from police records, I’ll verify it. Like usual.”

“Well, I have a little, but it might not be that useful? The small one is a human-dwarf hybrid, the second tallest seems to be a pure human. And the tall one is an orc. From how they’re standing, the smallest one seems to be the mastermind, but honestly, it’s hard for us to find them with just one photo. Do you have any information from your client?”

I sighed. Since The Morrígan was probably the one who reported to the police, they wouldn’t know more than I did.

“No, nothing at all. My client is the one who reported to you guys. Then… I’ll see you at Long Island. If we search around the harbor area, we might find some information.”

I decided to think from the immigrants’ perspective. If they didn’t have an American collaborator, they would need to hide the War Spirit.

Unlike Industrial Spirits that could disguise themselves as machines, or Economic Spirits that looked like ordinary piles of money when asleep, War Spirits were conspicuous. Extremely so.

“Ah, damn. In the end, we’ll have to run around like crazy… Alright, alright. Want a ride? Flying would be faster at this hour.”

“No, it’s better if we go separately. Look around from the air to see if they’ve stashed it on some rooftop or something. I’ll also keep an eye out for anything suspicious on my way. Any other information?”

After the sound of golden wings unfurling came through the phone for a while, he finally spoke as if remembering something.

“Ah, this seems like a pretty important case. An archangel sent directly by the God-President came down to our department recently. You know, the kind who can’t interfere with us but knows everything and can do anything.”

The principle that gods would not interfere in human affairs was established by the God-President himself, but it wasn’t being followed that strictly. He was fundamentally a god who cared for people.

He would use his presidential position to send special investigators like this, and he would try to handle matters by making people act through a letter or two.

Still, if the God-President had taken direct action, it meant this was bad news for us. If it were something humans could handle on their own, he wouldn’t even make such indirect interventions.

I grabbed my gun. Since I’d need to shoot, I attached a silencer, and I also took out a shotgun and rifle from the closet and put them in my tool bag. These would be necessary to deal with a War Spirit.

Almost forgetting about the poet, I packed my tool bag. After hanging a small “Away” sign under the “Husband Private Detective Agency” nameplate on my door, I ran down to my car.

I headed toward Long Island with its smell of the sea. There was nothing special on the way.

There were no trucks carrying large cargo, and of course, no War Spirits walking around.

As I crossed the bridge, a sharp sound cut through the air from above, and something heavy landed firmly beside my car. It was Yehoel.

With his left eye’s flame still slightly weaker than his right, he folded his golden wings and waved at me.

“See anything on your way, Husband?”

“No, nothing. You?”

He shook his head too. I parked the car carelessly by the roadside and got out. I also grabbed my tool bag containing two guns and slung it over my shoulder. Now it was time to walk around until we were sick of it.

I briefly looked at the New York harbor, which seemed to have become quiet since immigrant ships stopped coming not long ago. We had made it here, but we had no clues.

Wait, that’s right. Immigrant ships haven’t been coming here since this year. They couldn’t have boarded an immigrant ship with a War Spirit, which means they didn’t hide among people to enter.

Then they must have come on a different ship. Both The Morrígan and I had forgotten to mention it, and I had forgotten to ask my client.

Worried whether my police collaborator would do his job properly today, I asked Yehoel:

“Wait. What kind of ship did they smuggle in on? I mean, it wouldn’t be an immigrant ship. They wouldn’t have come in dreaming the damn American Dream while looking at the Statue of Liberty.”

“Well… ah, right. It was just a regular cargo ship? The ship’s name was…”

Yes, now we had something that could be a clue. I already knew where cargo ships docked.

“As long as it’s a cargo ship, it doesn’t matter. Follow me. I heard the photographer was killed, so the dock workers should at least know where he died. The ship must be near there.”