Book of Memories

The proposition makes me frown the very moment I hear it. Investigating the circus sounds like an utter betrayal. An asshole move I’m reluctant to take despite the secrets they kept from me. What if that self-proclaimed detective just uses me to gather information against the troop members? That ain’t it.

“No one knows better a magic holder than other magic holders.” He argues.

    I can’t help but remember the way Rubeus and Poltergeist show up whenever I use magic. I don’t think he would have hidden it from me if he knew something about Mr. Izawa, but… Maybe someone else has another such particularity. After all, there’s also this detective being some sort of living magic detector.

“Can you say there’s no one you find dubious here?” He adds. “Nothing caught your attention?”

    Despite it all, a memory comes back to my mind at his words. I can perfectly picture that evening I joined the circus as a permanent resident, when I tried to speak to the director.

    The director, who turned back at me, is quicker than me to react. Leaning forward, he delicately takes the cap, straightening up with no haste.

“Where… did you find this?” His head tilted towards the cap, he holds it now in both his hands.

    I didn’t overthink it at the moment, but why did his gaze linger on Mr. Izawa’s cap? With the accusations I’ve thrown at him earlier, I can’t help but find everything about him suspicious. Part of me don’t want to doubt the director. Part of me truly, truly wants to trust him for a reason I can’t explain.

    But…

“You won’t use it against the other members of the troop?” I ask. “You won’t report them?”

“These were basic threats.” He casually dismisses. “I have no such intentions, don’t worry.”

    ‘Says the one whose words definitely sound like the echo of a threat. No such intentions, my ass. ‘Sounded more like a ‘as long as you collaborate I won’t’.

    Slowly standing up, I pick up my crutch and turn my gaze at the detective.

“If you lie, I’ll kill you.”

    That actually makes him smile.

    That actually makes me wince.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

    Fingers grabbing the fabric, I lean forward to peek through the entrance. It took us a while to find the right place but this time…

“It’s his room.” I utter before stepping in.

“Are you sure?” The detective follows me.

“Who else would have a top hat collection hooked in the entrance?”

    I barely take a few steps into the director’s place that I pause, a slight feeling of unease creeping in, uninvited just as we are in this room.

    Books, clothes, rumpled sheets of paper cover the floor in a mess. As if a fat cat had chased a mouse through the whole place.

“That’s not how I imagined his room.”

    Knowing the character, I would’ve awaited a clean, elegant room. Or maybe crowded with strange trinkets I would’ve been unable to name but… This?

    Small objects, spilled ink from an inkwell and dozens of books lay on the ground like fallen dominoes, exactly as if someone had swept away whatever was on the desk in an angry move.

“Oi, oi, is your director alright?” Hans comments. “It’s barely cleaner than a hikikomori’s place.”

    Kneeling forward, I start unrumpling a few sheets of paper, inspecting their content.

“Unless he recently went through an existential crisis.” He takes a few more steps, careful not to step on anything, glancing around.

    I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault, for the way I accused him before the show. What if he has indeed no hidden agenda, just wanting to help the troop, and I hurt him? A knot grows in my stomach as I start resenting agreeing to investigate his place.

“I’m sorry…”

    Most notes are scribbled over, unreadable.

    Next to the desk, the detective inspects it in detail, pulling the drawers one after the other while I briefly flick through a few mystery and comedy novels.

    Another unrumpled scrap of paper. This time, the kanjis are readable.

    Arisu… Where is Arisu?

    My heart misses a beat. As if glued to it, my fingers are like sealed against the scrap of paper. That is… the same name as Mr. Izawa’s daughter.

    I am about to share my discovery, but Hans is quicker.

“Hoshimori. I found something.”

    Raising to my feet, I take a few steps towards him. A drawer left open, he holds a book in his hands, skimming through the first pages.

“Book of Memories…” He raises an eyebrow before handing me the book and glancing at me.

    Its cover is brown. I can feel the foil stamping under my fingertips. It is made of golden arabesques running over the cover, an overturned hat shaped in the middle of an intricate pattern at the back. A rabbit at the front, a clockwork key stuck in its back.

    For some reason, I hold back my breath as I open it, my eyes scanning page after page. Names, dates, notes, all handwritten. There are dozens of pages for each name. Whoever wrote this spent a fuckton of time on it.

    If the first names I spot don’t ring a bell, I keep flicking through the pages until I pause, wide-eyed.

“Longwei Pak…”

    The entry below his name is seven years old.

    The day Longwei joined the troop was a day of mourning for the whole troop. That was the very least we could do for finding him too late. If only our arrival in China wasn’t delayed, maybe we would’ve found him before his dear wife committed the terrible crime.

    Li Hua Pak, that was her name, was a magic holder as well. Oblivious to its danger, she regularly used her mana. It was but an innocent pleasure for her, until the day she used it for the last time. She wanted to show it to hers and Longwei’s newly born son.

    Unfortunately, she ended up changing into a Jikininki and eating their child before her spouse’s eyes. If not for her weakened state due to the childbirth, Longwei wouldn’t have managed to kill her before she did more harm. It pains me that he had to do it by himself. A man should never have to bring death upon his loved ones.

    The child’s name… Ahh yes, Longwei told me it would have been Tian. Tian means paradise in their language, and that is the place I’m sure he’s at.

    A lump in my throat forms the more I read. There are pages and pages more, retracing Longwei’s life.

“That’s… A collection of memories. These of the troop members. Past and present.” I comment, Hans leant over my shoulder as I let the pages turn one after the other, searching for another entry. “I think the director wrote it.”

“Yes, the handwriting corresponds.” Hans comments, comparing it with the scrap of paper I handed him in exchange. Despite the more uncertain, angsty shape of the kanjis… ‘Guess it matches, indeed.

    Edward Burton.

“There.”

    I press my fingers against the page, holding it in place. Already a few pages beyond the beginning.

    It may be my greatest mistake. To have left Yokohama thinking that they would have stopped the experiments after the government made magic illegal. But Edward’s parents managed to recreate a smaller, secret laboratory. The lack of human subjects drove his father insane. He tested multiple sources of trauma on his own son, which over the years led the latter to lose his mind before I was alerted by Mrs. Tamaki.

    By the time I momentarily abandoned the troop in Osaka and infiltrated their laboratory, pretexting the will to join back the experiments, Edward had awakened to magic.

    His thoughts remain confused, and he shows signs of PTSD when staying in a small room for too long. He might assimilate it to his room in the lab. I make sure now that the curtain is ajar when he goes to sleep.

    Edward shows no sign of distress towards me. I don’t know if he remembers me from before. Maybe he was too young back then. Maybe he already lost these memories.

    Lately, we work together on the importance of not overusing magic.

    I skim through the pages. Fujiko’s name flashes before my eyes, following Edward’s entry.

    Rubeus Beauregard.

    An entry, another… I skip the pages, skip to the point they’re finally blank.

    Blank… Until I reach another section. The kanjis are upside down, and I have to flip the book to read what is hence the most recent note on that entry.

    I don’t know how to find her back. The only thing reassuring me is that I believe I left her instructions in case this were to happen. She’ll be fine. I hope she’ll be fine.

    The circus is the only home I have left now. I am the Clockwork Dolls Circus’ director. I will remain, to the very end.

    My heartbeat increases more and more as I skim backwards through the director’s entry, stopping here and there to read a passage. Through the years, everything has been archived. Detailed.

    Febrile, page after page, I get closer to the beginning.

The detective doesn’t even interrupt to comment, and to be honest, I barely remember his presence. For how long are we here? Is the show already over? The risk of being discovered doesn’t even cross my mind.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

    In the distance, multiple shouts. Muffled noises.

    There’s no reason for them to echo inside the circus, so that when they reach my ears I believe it’s but my imagination. A twisted effect of the lines I’m reading.

    But as I feel a hand over my shoulder, I jump to the sound of the detective’s voice.

“Oi! Something’s going on.”

    It isn’t a dream. It isn’t a nightmare. It’s worse, since it’s reality.

“What’s that ruckus…” I mumble, leaving the room with Hans in a hurry.

    Despite my hobbles, it doesn’t take us long to join the main tent. The shouts are no more echoes, they are frantic exclamations. The muffled noises are a mix of growls and furnitures, boxes being crushed under the weight of bodies thrown against them.

    Bluish sparks flash before our eyes as the members of the troop do their best to ward off Jikininkis. There are at least twenty of them.

    Speechless, I don’t have the time to react before a yell catches my attention.

“Mr. Director!!” Edward’s voice calls with worry.

    At the other side of the tent, he’s being dragged away, restrained by two Jikininkis. Despite his best attempts to break free, all he manages to do is make his mask slip.

    Down, down his face it falls. Revealing cyan eyes, his tense expression, his three-day beard.

    Startled, I feel betrayed by my mouth, unable to give shape to my screams while I witness Mr. Izawa getting kidnapped. Disappearing for the second time.