A Peking Duck Trauma

Enthusiastic chattering keeps flooding his ears. From before, from behind him, it’s like staying in line with a colony of flies. The place sure seems to have its own little prestige in Yokohama. Making it even more odd that the police never connected the dots before. Incompetence? Convenient obliviousness? Ohh well, it could also be their first misstep.

    His thumb pressed against his lips, Hans pensively awaits in the queue to get his ticket for tonight’s show at the Clockwork Dolls Circus.

    The moment he gets to his seat in the front rows is alleviating. The moment he remembers the eleven portions of Peking duck remaining in his fridge is excruciating.

    Luckily, after a moment of agony, the tent is suddenly immersed in darkness. The last whispers fade away the moment a spotlight lights up the stage with a snap, closely followed by multiple others.

    The silhouette of a man in an elegant costume stands in the middle of the stage, wearing a top hat and a black mask reminding him of the plague doctors’ ones.

“Welcome, welcome everyone!” The strange man greets with a reverence. “Since you have stumbled upon our little secret world, I had to wish you personally a pleasant escape. As the director of the Clockwork Dolls Circus, I can assure you that each of our artists take to heart this opportunity to share with you the spark of magic each has in their hearts.”

    That makes Hans briefly sneer. The audacity of the man.

“With his performance of Chinese plate spinning, Longwei is the one to open the festivities. Have a wonderful show!”

    And on these words, he leaves the stage.

    All eyes are now on the horse which walks onto the stage, on the flashy plates spinning at the end of multiple rods. Since the show always has to go beyond expectations, of course, on top of each plate is an egg rolling on and on.

    But what interests Hans is the man holding the rods, sitting on the horse. Not his yellow-with-gildings Chinese jacket, almost unpinned over a white shirt. No, it isn’t the stage costume which catches his eye.

    A clockwork key protruding from his back. Long ice-blue hair, a slender silhouette, in his late twenties. Everything matches.

    As Hans silently observes the performer, now standing up on the horse’s back, his eyes betray his will and get stuck on the eggs rolling for dear life over the spinning plates. He waits for them to fall. To crack. To bleed yellow.

    Magic always ends up this way, leaving people hollow.

    Despite Hans’s mean thoughts, none of the eggs is broken by the moment the performer leaves the stage.

    How many cracked in the past?

    As another artist shows up, the show goes on. Still, it isn’t the other one he’s looking for. Focused on the stage, Hans doesn’t pay attention to the voice growing closer. It repeats over and over the same question, not loud enough to disturb the spectators.

“Candyfloss? Do you want candyfloss?”

    Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

    It is regular, it grows louder along with the voice.

“Do you want candyfloss, si-”

    The voice pauses unnaturally.

    That is when Hans raises his arctic blue eyes to gaze at her. That is when he understands that fate as well has its own showmanship.

    Dressed as a clown, a box full of candyfloss hooked by a thread behind her neck, she’s there, standing before him. A clown with a crutch.

    They stare at each other for a while. He, unfazed. She, wide-eyed.

    Not even showing haste, Hans reaches for a banknote in his wallet. Holding it between two fingers, he extends it towards the young girl.

    She unfreezes after a while of hesitation, cautiously taking the banknote, carefully extending him a bag of candyfloss in exchange.

    As his fingers are about to take the bag, though, he reaches beyond. Grabbing the clown’s wrist, he pulls her towards him, close enough so that no one would overhear them.

    A dancing hare is painted under her left eye. Her face sure is unknown of him, but he could swear the girl from under the bridge had cherry hair like hers… and bandages covering her wrists.

    She tries to jerk away the moment he catches her, but he tightens his hold.

“Let’s go to a more appropriate place. We’re going to have a little discussion.”

“Sir, I’m not sure that’s appropriate.” She replies, trying to sound professional. Honourable attempt. “You’d better enjoy the show.”

“Mmm.” He holds her gaze. “What if I reported to the police a bunch of magic holders?”

    He has the time to feel her pulse quicken before he releases her wrist, letting her step back.

    She bites her lower lip, lowers her head, and nods in resignation.

    Thus he stands up and, while a boy throws daggers at an asleep young woman, the clown leads him to the backstage. She discreetly leads him through the tent to a secluded spot.

    When she stops, he stops a few steps behind her.

“We didn’t have the time to get to the presentations last time, huhh?” He notes, unwrapping the candyfloss enough to take a bite.

“How did you find me?”

“Thanks to twelve portions of Peking duck.”

“Huhh?” She vaguely turns her head at him.

“Call me Hans. In case you need to, that is.” He takes another bite. Sugary taste isn’t that bad. “I often get entangled into unpleasant situations as a detective, but I sure would’ve preferred to remain at bay from magic cases. But since you’re my main suspect in Mr. Izawa’s disappearance, it is what it is.”

    She clenches her fists at his words. Nervousness?

“I have nothing to do with his disappearance.”

“What were you doing under that bridge, then? You’d agree it isn’t very common to run away without a reason.”

“I…” She trails off. “I was also searching for clues to find him. I just panicked when I saw you. I was afraid you’d discover I can use magic.”

“Convenient.” He comments. “Well, at least you recognise knowing him. So let me ask you, how much did you know him?”

“Nothing. We barely knew each other. He just used to fish under that bridge, and it used to be a place I often went to.”

“Let me sum up. You’re a magic holder, you know about the place he disappeared, you barely knew him and yet, you were searching for him? That’s a pretty story, but I have another one. You used to go under that bridge, to use your magic there. It’s an ideal spot after all, isolated and unfrequented. Alas, Mr. Izawa surprised you one day. He just went to fish, but he got unlucky. He promised to keep silence, but you didn’t trust him. You were afraid. And you ended up attacking him. Things easily go out of hand in these kind of situations and you accidentally killed him, then-”

    A shame he can’t even finish his story as the girl suddenly turns around, angrily aiming her crutch at his waist.

“Never I’d have done that! Never, you hear?!”

    He doesn’t even frown at her outburst, his arm quickly raised to block the crutch.

“Yeah I almost know nothing about him, I don’t know where he lives, I don’t know his first name, I don’t know if he’s a cat or a dog person, I know none of these things. But he’s still important to me!”

   The moment he tries to move her crutch, Hans grabs it and, in a brisk move he did countless times, he pulls her forward to punch his elbow against her back, sending her to the ground.

“Decidedly, you’re too hyperactive at this age. Lay down for a bit, you’ll find it relaxing.”

    She scoffs at him. Ahh, the untamed wild beast. She’d bite if she could, wouldn’t she?

“You’d never get it, anyway. When you have nobody to rely on, nobody to call a family, the tiniest things count. They mean more than you can imagine. Mr. Izawa is kind, he’s always willing to help… he’s a good person. I like him the way a girl would like her father. So what, now? ‘Gonna call me weird? Delusional? What? What! Come on!!”

    Now it’s her tears she’s biting back.

    A sigh.

    Hans releases pressure from her back. He lets her sit up as he takes a few steps towards a nearby box, slumping down on it.

“Okay. Tell me what you’ve discovered, then.”

    There’s a pause. A long one, as if Hans has just spoken in German. That would almost be offensive. Almost, but he doesn’t care. So he simply waits, throwing the candyflossless stick he’s holding at the bin. It lands in an utter success.

“What?” She ends up mumbling.

“About his disappearance. What did you find?”

“That’s not what I meant. Why are you listening to me? What kind of trap is that? You’re acting too coolly for someone knowing I am a magic holder.”

    Hans glances at her. He considers her for a while. Talking more than necessary isn’t exactly in his habits, especially if it’s about him. But she’s angsty, and he has no time to waste.

“Why would I judge you? Mr. Izawa, he’s a sort of model for you, as far as I get it. I also had one such. You sure need one, especially when your life so far was but a mess.” He pauses. A weakness for a weakness. It is what it takes for people to trust. “I’ve not always been a detective. My past is… more shady than you’d bet. Trafficking, easy money, a part of Yokohama I wish you never to get acquainted with. Fact is one day a detective dismantled the whole organisation I was part of. He had all the names, I should’ve ended up in jail along with the big heads. Though it never happened. He didn’t give the police my name. Of course, I was intrigued. Thus, I found his agency and spent a whole day staring at it.”

“What.”

“When I decided myself to enter, the man didn’t even seem surprised to see me. He kept enjoying his tobacco by the window. And when I asked why he spared me, he said the most stupid thing ever. ‘You’d make a good detective. That’s what I thought when I saw you.’”

    The clown girl listens to him with surprising diligence.

“Nuts. To prove him wrong, I became his assistant. Case after case, year after year, we resolved many mysteries until…” Hans reaches his hand to his face, pointing at his scars, “…a certain accident occurred. Another missing affair. We ended up facing a Jikininki and I got severely wounded. It was the night I discovered my mentor was a magic holder. After defeating that monster, he could’ve stayed safe, but he chose to heal my eyes with his remaining magic. This man saved my life twice.”

    And with that, he goes silent.

“What happened then?” She asks.

“A gunshot. He killed himself to avoid becoming a monster.”

    The girl stares at him, then lowers her gaze. Good, she doesn’t look like a rabid dog any more.

“None of my business but,” Hans adds, surprising even himself, “I don’t see why you make it a fuss about that bond thing. If it’s important for you, don’t hide it. You didn’t commit a crime.”

    The words make her raise her face at him. Wide-eyed. He could have told her that her favourite anime was about to get a second season after a decade of void.

“Megumi Hoshimori, that’s my name.” She pauses for a while. “Jikininkis attacked Mr. Izawa, most likely.” The clown girl adds, growing more serious. “They didn’t kill him though, and I don’t think they know where he is. But they’re looking for him, they seem to know him. According to a friend, he might be a magic holder, so… Maybe there’s a link.”

“Mr. Izawa is a magic holder.”

“How do you…?”

“My eyes. Since the accident, I’m able to distinguish magic holders from other people when I see them.” He explains. “The moment her daughter showed me a picture of him, I knew.”

“A daughter… So, he has a family waiting for him.”

“Arisu Izawa, barely ten and yet bold enough to come to my agency and hire me.” He half-closes his eyes. “Your little troop here is used to fight Jikininkis, am I wrong? A troop of magic holders… What about… a little investigation?”