13 Mink Street

Karon stood up and turned to look at Lot, the man who had just braced himself on his crutches and leaned his torso forward to hold Karon steady while maintaining his own balance.

Karon took a deep breath. His head was swimming. For a moment, he could not tell if it was due to a lack of oxygen or too much of it.

Inside, something finally relaxed. The boulder that had been pressing on his heart seemed to shift aside, as though someone had moved it off of him. There was an emotion he could not give words to. This was not because it was complicated, but because another family’s tragedy was on display before him, and whatever decency he retained would not permit him to say something so out of place.

In another place, or even during a phone call, he could have easily cracked a joke. Hey, Lot. I heard a whole family died on your street. You scared me. For a second I thought it was your family.

But in the face of death, most emotions became soaked by the gray atmosphere. Most of the time, this is not about respecting the dead, but respecting life. After all, when most people have stared at a body lying in a funeral home, they have imagined, at least once, what it would be like if they were the one lying there.

Such imaginings produced a quiet relief that is perfectly understandable. There is no need to feel guilty about it. Human suffering and grief do not truly resonate with one, especially when they are experienced by strangers.

“Karon, Karon?” Uncle Mason called again. “You alright? Hold the gurney steady.”

Karon turned back around and walked over to steady the gurney.

Uncle Mason gave another order, “Alfred, come with me to get the one inside. Karon, if you can’t push this, just wait here.”

Karon tried to push the gurney on his own. On a smooth road, it would not be a problem, but Miner Street was covered with ruts, which the wheels constantly caught on.

Sara’s mother came over and took the other side of the gurney without a word, helping Karon push. Lot shuffled beside them, maintaining a running dialogue as they moved. “Mr. Karon, do you know what they call me on this street? Crippled Lot. This one lying here is called One-armed Sisso.

“To think, our fathers were once coworkers. When we were kids, they drank together all the time, and we played together. Later, we started in the same factory. The day of the accident, we were both pinned under the same machine. I lost a leg, and he lost an arm.

“He once tried to comfort me like this: ‘Hey, Lot, I envy you to death. At least you still have a complete pair of hands and can make sandals from tire scraps. Me? I can’t knit gloves with these two feet.’ Truth is, his family had it harder than mine. In summer, when I stitch sandals together, I can still earn a few hundred rupi a month to help at home. My wife can still work at the textile mill and bring in a wage. Most of the time, Sisso could only rummage through garbage heaps, picking out leftover meat to sell to the fry shop. Still, he’d often bring the freshest, most intact pieces back for his own family, and sometimes he’d share with us too.”

“Every time he handed me some meat, he’d say, ‘Hey. Even scraps smell fragrant when chewed. It’s just like the two of us; We might be missing an arm or a leg, but we’re still people, aren’t we?’

“His wife always had heart problems, so she couldn’t do any heavy work. She and his mother folded paper boxes at home for other people. A hundred boxes’ll get you two rupi. Most days, they folded from morning till night.

“After we came back from that march, we were both excited. He told me, ‘Lot, did you see that? Mr. Sigran still stands with us. He’s still the pride of the East Side.’ He was already planning how to spend his two hundred rupi a month stipend. He said he wanted to save it so that he could take his wife to the hospital to get her heart checked. Said things seemed to be getting worse.

“But his wife said they should save the money for their child’s schooling. Once they reach middle school, tuition and books only get more expensive. Just last night, after you left, Mr. Karon, I even went to his place. I even took out that beautiful business card you gave me and showed it to him.

“He was shocked. Said he’d seen the hearse parked out on the street, and even sighed when passing by, wondering what kind of family could lie in such a luxurious, comfortable car after death, on the way to their funeral.

“I told him you’d eaten dinner at my place. He said that once his daughter reached middle school, she’d probably have some classmates from better-off families, too. If she brought them home as guests, he’d have to prepare something to serve them, something that wouldn’t be discourteous.”

The gurney finally reached the back of the hearse. Karon opened the door and pulled down a loading ramp that allowed the gurney to roll right in. The old hearse did not have such a convenient feature.

Karon climbed in first and pulled from above while Sara’s mother and Lot pushed from below.

At last, the gurney carrying One-armed Sisso was loaded into the hearse. Karon stepped down and looked into the distance, searching for his uncle and Alfred.

Then Lot, who had been talking nonstop, suddenly shoved his face close to Karon’s. The man’s expression twisted. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and he let out a roar, sounding almost hysterical, “Mr. Karon, a father who just last night was still thinking about how he’d host his daughter’s well-off classmates in the future is supposed to then take poison and kill himself just like that? Do you think that’s possible?”

“I...”

“He’s dead! One-armed Sisso is dead! His mother hanged herself., and his wife jumped with their daughter. I went to see it. You can’t see that. You really can’t. No one should.

“Mr. Karon, their little Mira was the treasure of that entire family. No matter what happened, they would have fought to protect her, especially his wife. Her heart went bad after giving birth to Mira. To her, her daughter was far more precious than her own life. Even if she wanted to die, how could she take her daughter with her?”

Karon did not know how to answer.

Lot seized Karon’s clothes with both hands. Sara’s mother tugged at her husband from behind, but Lot would not let go. “And another thing! Why is it you, Mr. Karon, who came to collect Sisso? Good heavens, do you think he could afford any sort of funeral expenses? His family would have to scrape things together just to pay cremation fees. How could they have money to hold a proper funeral?

“Look at this! He’s lying comfortably in a fine car now. Yesterday, when he was still alive, he would never have dared to imagine something like this!”

With a loud thud, Lot’s two crutches dropped to the ground, and the man himself toppled into a puddle.

Dirty water splashed up everywhere. Despite being a cripple, Lot had always been clean, yet at this moment, he slapped his hands into the puddle again and again, looking like he had lost his mind.

“Who can tell me what this is! Who can tell me what this is! Why did those reporters get here so fast! Why does Sisso’s suicide note curse Mr. Sigran! God! He was One-armed Sisso, a man who couldn’t even understand his daughter’s elementary-school homework! He had to bring her to Sara to ask about assignments.”

A group of reporters who had finished taking photos emerged from the dead family’s home. They held umbrellas over their cameras as they carefully picked their way across the bricks or around the puddles. When they passed Lot, who was crazily slapping the water, their faces showed shock and disdain. They veered wide of him.

Lot remained there, alone and screaming.

It was at this moment that Mason, with the help of a policeman, pushed out the body of Sisso’s mother. Farther back, Alfred moved another gurney on his own. Under that white sheet lay two bodies.

All of the bodies were loaded into the hearse. The gurneys’ legs were folded up. Sisso and his mother went into the central pit. Along the benches on both sides, where living passengers would normally sit, they laid the wife and daughter.

After Mason signed with the police, he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Young Master, get in,” Alfred reminded Karon.

Karon got in, but there was no place to sit. The seats were occupied by the dead.

He and Alfred crouched low, with Karon extending an arm to keep the bodies from sliding about as the hearse jolted over the road.

Finally, the commotion outside of the car started to fade as they drove away from Miner Street.

“Alf, get me a cigarette,” Uncle Mason called from the driver’s seat. Alfred went over, pulled out the cigarettes, placed one at Mason’s lips, and lit it for him.

Just as Alfred was about to put the pack away, Mason jerked his chin toward the back.

Alfred understood. He also remembered that day at 128 Mink Street, at that windowsill on the second floor, the two of them had accompanied the Great One, smoking and laughing out loud.

Alfred offered a cigarette to Karon. He took it, but refused to let Alfred light it.

“Uncle—”

Before he could finish, Mason shouted, “Suicide, suicide, suicide! To hell with suicide! Paying an advance deposit to a funeral home to book specific dates, and then a whole family commits suicide and waits for us to collect them?

“It’s not impossible. We’ve had jobs like that before. There really have been old couples who decided to die together and even arranged their own funerals in advance.”

“But a hundred thousand rupi deposit to the Immers Funeral Home? Is a family from Miner Street able to pay something like that?

“That man who paid the deposit already knew that people were going to die, knew that it would be today, and even knew that it would be the whole family. This isn’t the kind of thing where you hold individual funerals for people as they pass, so how can anyone call this suicide!

“Other people don’t know. Outsiders don’t know, but we do. We accepted that deposit. We rested for days, just waiting for this ‘suicide.’ I’m not stupid. I saw this coming!”

Mason’s anger burned out. When he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, “Karon, there were so many reporters today. Tomorrow, at the memorial, there will be even more. That inspector already told me that his department chief is keeping an eyes on this case. City hall has plenty of people watching it too.”

Karon pursed his lips tightly.

Traffic was clogged up ahead. Uncle Mason hammered the horn frantically. Beep beep beep beep.

Then, he slumped. “So, what can we do? Report this? Tell them that we received a hundred thousand rupi deposit in advance? Tell them that it was all planned? Are we supposed to seek justice? Expose the darkness? Speak up for those four guests lying in the back?

“Karon, this is a game of powerful people. The fact that they dared to openly pay us that deposit means that they’re not afraid we’ll talk. They have ways to shut our mouths.

“With rupi, sure, and if not with money, then the same way they shut that family’s mouths. Those mouths can never speak again.”

Alfred watched Mason as the man’s emotions rose and fell. He felt that these words were not intended to offer any comfort at all to Karon. Instead, they were meant to comfort Mason himself, to soothe that part of him that still wanted to believe in right and wrong.

“I understand, Uncle,” Karon said. His head throbbed. Maybe it was due to his “misunderstanding” at the start, the way so much of his mind had been dragged into the mess. Sitting in the hearse now, he even felt carsick.

Mason stopped shouting and drove in silence. Only his anxious bursts with the horn showed how restless the man still was inside. Maybe, if he could go back in time, he would not have accepted this job.

You make money to improve your life, and you improve life to feel happier.

Mason was not happy.

Karon looked at the girl lying on the seat beside him. She was a bit younger than Sara, still in elementary school.

“The neighbors saw it,” Alfred spoke up. “It was her mother who led her up to the rooftop.”

Karon looked over at Alfred. The man seemed to want to smile to ease the atmosphere, but a smile felt wrong at the moment. Instead, he kept his expression somber and quietly said, “Young Master, maybe you should go back and ask your grandfather.”

That comment was overheard by Mason up the front. “Telling Father is useless. He’s an upright man, but only a priest. Telling him about this will only trouble him.”

However, Karon heard what Alfred actually meant. These deaths had been ruled as suicides not only because of the notes. Many neighbors had personally seen the wife lead the daughter out, and then to the building they had jumped from.

No one forced them. The wife herself had led her daughter to jump.

Clearly, something did not add up. Even from the perspective of the rest of the Immers family, it was clear that these deaths could not be suicides. Everything had been planned.

Despite that, the wife and daughter’s deaths revealed no signs of coercion. It looked voluntary.

That was a contradiction, and there were existences who were capable of creating contradictions that surpassed the limits of human thinking.

“Demonkin,” Karon murmured to Alfred. The man nodded and leaned back.

It was almost midday by the time the hearse returned to Mink Street. As they neared the house, Mason suddenly shouted, “Damn it, what is this!”

Outside 13 Mink Street, right in front of the Immers house, a crowd had gathered. Each person held a bouquet of white roses. They silently sat in the street.

When the hearse arrived, the people forming the crowd immediately stood and raised their roses high, grief on their faces. The bouquets rose in neat rows. The movements were practiced, feeling almost rehearsed.

At the same time, reporters got out of cars along the road, cameras in hand. As the bodies were being unloaded, the cameras started shooting nonstop.

“Move! Make way!

“Move! Make way!” Mason shouted, but it was useless.

The “white roses” pressed in around each gurney, people crying and grieving. Each of the gurneys that made it inside was piled with white roses. With Ron’s help, all of the gurneys and bodies were pushed inside.

The reporters tried to follow, but Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary appeared and stopped them. “The bodies need to be prepared. The wake will be held tomorrow, thank you. Please do not interfere with our work.”

In a car at the curb, Humir, editor-in-chief of Roja Daily, gave orders to his people. “Don’t let them rush in and shoot the bodies like idiots! Do they want to photograph the bloody mess after a fall? Damn it, that won’t provoke public anger at all. It’ll only make people sick.

“Call the reporters back. Photograph the sit-in. Once the bodies have been prepared and look normal, then we can photograph them during the memorial. That’s how you create calm. Only then can readers look at a photo and feel the anger inside it. Understand?”

***

In the parlor, Mason was so furious he threw his hat to the floor. “Madness! Madness! Madness! Those idiots with white roses got here faster than our hearse!”

Aunt Winnie said, “Forde’s campaign office called. His secretary asked when the bodies will be ready for viewing. I told them tomorrow.

“Newspapers all over the city have already booked their attendance at the memorial. They’re all sending reporters, as have union representatives from various districts and officials from city offices. Even some Roja City celebrities will be attending. Their assistants called to ask when they can come pay their respects to the deceased.”

Aunt Mary said, “Mason, I think there’s something wrong with this job.”

“Out! Out! Out!” Mason shouted, his voice almost cracking. He then squatted down and began to cry.

Ms. Molly leaned close to Alfred and softly asked, “What’s wrong with Mr. Mason?”

Alfred answered in the same soft tone, “He’s a good man.”

Karon said nothing. He climbed the stairs, from the first floor to the second, then from the second to the third.

“The house is lively today,” Pu’er commented as she trotted along the railing beside him. Karon did not answer.

Pu’er kept talking, “Karon, if something’s bothering you, you can go talk to Tiz.”

She deliberately lowered her head to look at the two demonkin down below, both of whom were craning their heads to look up the stairs.

“Dear Karon, for the sake of fish, I’m reminding you: don’t listen too much to those two demonkin. You should listen to your grandfather. Tiz’s words are always the most appropriate, and the most steady. He will always give you the most suitable advice, the calmest advice.”

Karon stopped and looked at the cat. Pu’er swished her tail. “Anyway, you can’t be impulsive.

“There’s a proverb: ‘Those who act on impulse will always be swallowed by a heretical god.’”

Pu’er then tilted her head. “What am I even saying? ‘Meow.’”

Karon arrived at Tiz’s study. He hesitated, but still knocked. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Karon entered. There was a fountain pen in Tiz’s hand as he wrote. Without lifting his head, he asked, “It’s noisy outside. Did you bring that order back?”

“Yes, Grandpa. A family of four, all dead. They left suicide notes. They died on the last possible day that we agreed to in our contract. It’s quite a coincidence.”

“Oh.”

“They lived on Miner Street. Very poor. One hundred thousand rupi was left as the deposit. Even if you sold their house ten times over, they still wouldn’t be able to raise that much.”

“Oh.”

“I think it wasn’t suicide.”

“Yes, it’s obvious that someone arranged for their deaths and booked our services in advance.”

“So...”

“You can call the police,” Tiz said, still writing. “Tell them you know Inspector Duke. You do, don’t you?”

“Oh, he might not cover the East District.”

“Then call the city office. The number’s in the phone book beside the telephone on the first floor.”

“There’s a sit-in outside with white roses and a swarm of reporters. Either tonight or tomorrow during the memorial, public officials and various other VIPs will fill the house.”

“Oh? So they have a great deal of power and this involves a political struggle.”

“Yes, which means that calling the police is useless. They practically told us outright ahead of time that they were going to kill these people. They told us to keep our schedule free so that we could collect bodies. They were that confident. Even if we knew, it would not affect them.”

“Oh. Then don’t call the police. It would be pointless.” Tiz kept writing, as though he was drafting a report.

And that was exactly what he was doing. He was writing a report for the second investigation into the Belwyn divine descent ritual incident.

Karon took a deep breath and slowly turned to leave. He did not know what he could do. Even if he wanted to be more selfish, he did not even know what he was capable of doing; He was just a high school dropout.

Sure, he had two demonkin who firmly believed that he was a heretical god who had descended, and those demonkin were quite capable.

Ms. Molly had swallowed Mrs. Hughes whole right in front of him, and Alfred was probably even stronger.

Karon could command them, or guide them, to do something, but he was afraid. As Pu’er had said, he would not be impulsive.

The other side was powerful in the secular world, and the consequences of abusing demonkin power might be even worse.

Also as Pu’er had also said, Tiz was always calm. The man had already decided.

If calling the police was useless, they would not call.

Mason had collapsed to the floor, crying. As an ordinary man, he knew he could not fight those people outside. He had a family, a home, and a business, so after he screamed himself hoarse, all he could do was cry.

Karon was the same. What right did he have to drag his entire family into danger? For what? A pathetic sense of justice? Besides, the dead were not even Lot’s family, were they? They were not people he knew or had ever had contact with. He had not eaten with them, he had not smoked with them. He had not even patted the little girl’s head.

So, it had nothing to do with him, right?

Had he not felt relief when he saw Lot still alive? So what was he struggling with?

This was the way of this world, this society. What did he think he could change? It was better to think about dinner and cook something good for the family. Let his uncle, whose emotions had collapsed, regain a bit of appetite. That was the choice that was truly beneficial for his family.

Karon opened the door. He heard behind him the steady scratching of Tiz’s pen.

He hesitated. Finally, he turned back and said, “Grandpa.”

“Mm? Is there something else?” Tiz still did not look up.

“We know that family was set up to die, but the neighbors saw the wife take her daughter, walk to a rooftop, and jump. And as far as I know, that woman would never have willingly harmed her own child. She wouldn’t do something like watch her husband die, and then take her daughter and die with her to end it all.”

The fountain pen stopped. Tiz raised his head and looked at Karon. “What are you saying?”

“I think there’s a contradiction here. It’s very likely that demonkin power is involved.”

Tiz capped his pen, placed it back in the holder, closed his half-finished report, and stood. “If demonkin were involved, then we must deal with it.”

Karon felt a little thrown off by the sudden shift in Tiz’s attitude. The old man opened a desk drawer and withdrew a black briefcase. “You seem to have a fairly good understanding of the course of events, so if demonkin did the killing, where do we start investigating? I mean, do we start with the demonkin themselves, or the person who sent them to kill.”

Karon did not really know how to conduct an investigation. He was not a police officer. In his previous life, he had only been a consultant.

Still, since Tiz had asked, Karon offered the obvious answer. “I think this incident is supposed to be a fuse. There are people outside, waiting to use this to stir things up. In the end, things will point to the mayoral election, and this will serve as a public weapon to attack the old mayor, which means the biggest beneficiary is the one who will most likely replace the current mayor: Forde.”

“Good,” Tiz said. “Then we go to Forde’s house and ask him if he did it.”

“Uh...” Karon froze.

Tiz carried his briefcase around the desk and stopped in front of Karon. Seeing the young man was not moving, Tiz asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Go to Forde’s house?”

“Yes. Didn’t you say he benefits most from this? Then we ask him directly. Isn’t that the easiest?”

“Grandpa, he’s a mayoral candidate. Here in Roja City, he’s supported by the government, the media, and probably many elites and financial groups.”

“Mhmm. And?”

“We just go straight to his house?”

“We ask him first. If it wasn’t him, then we ask him to name other suspects. Won’t that be fastest and easiest?”

“That makes sense,” Karon agreed. “But they have massive influence, and if they can drive a demonkin to kill for them, that means their backing likely also has...”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because Tiz was smiling. “Heh.”

The man reached out to pat Karon’s shoulder. “Those books I told Lent to give you, did you read them?”

“I read one.”

“Which one?”

“The Light of Order.”

“Mm. There’s a passage in it. Did you see it?”

“Which passage?.”

“‘The Church of Order exists to uphold Order. Under the Light of Order, all are treated the same.’”

Karon nodded. “I saw that.”

“No,” Tiz said. “You read it.”

“I—”

“Equality beneath the Light of Order means one thing: no one is deserving of special consideration. This has nothing to do with the Swillen constitution, nothing to do with ‘all men are born equal.’ That is a lie that people tell themselves.

“The Church of Order did not write its truth with words. It enforces them.”

Tiz reached out and tapped Karon’s cheek gently, almost affectionately. “So tell me, why would I fear mayors? The press? Money?”

He opened the study door as he continued calmly, “After all, what are they?”