“Teddy, I hope you have better rumors to share besides Putnam’s so-called Abyssal Theory of ghosts?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I do, sir. Have you heard the rumor that the gods of old mythology--Thor and Zeus and all those characters--were really the ghosts of ancient kings, and that one day modern ghosts will become the modern versions of those old gods?”

“Yes I have. But that’s not even a rumor, really. That’s a hypothesis put forward by Dr. Ernst. But I understand the confusion, Teddy. People share it around and discuss it as if it were a rumor.”

And Teddy probably didn’t even know what a hypothesis was.

“Have you heard the rumor, and I’m sure that this is a rumor, sir, that ghosts are the reincarnations of the Dyeus culture? According to this rumor, ghosts aren’t coin-in-sand impressions made by the human mind touching the Astral, instead, they’re the Dyeus. Of course, the Ror Raas has said that the Dyeus left Earth for the Astral a long long time ago, but that’s just what those mind-images of the past show them, and they’ve admitted those mind-images aren’t complete. The idea, sir, is pretty interesting. It’s that the Dyeus wanted to--”

“No, no, no, Teddy, that’s another hypothesis, and a fairly common one.” Mr. Carter smiled. “I overheard my Ophelia discussing it with my Gertrude just the other day. I believe it was first proposed by Dr. Sheridan.”

“You know quite a lot of rumors, Mr. Carter!”

“Actors are a very sociable lot. They share everything with you.”

“But have you heard the rumor about Ernst, Morton, and Glass?”

“Are you talking about there being tunnels under Blackwall that they use to meet with clients that fear their hauntings will become public knowledge? Because everyone knows those are real, it’s just that the insurance companies can’t prove they’re real, which is for the best, really. It’s so awful what they do to people just for knowing a ghost.”

“No sir, I’m not talking about the tunnels. I’m talking about…who the manesologists really are.”

“Come again?”

“Or another way of putting it, sir, what they are.”

“Oh, now this is something you must share with me, Teddy.”

“The rumor deals not only with Ernst, Morton, and Glass, but all manesologists.”

“Stop drawing it out, man! What’s the rumor?”

“The rumor, sir, is that all manesologists are ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Mr. Carter smirked. “Oh, Teddy, that’s…well, that seems a very…parochial rumor. Ghost-men must be ghosts, I take it? Is that how the rumor works?”

“There are well-developed arguments behind the rumor.”

“Such as?”

“Well, consider how different ghosts are from humans, sir. They have memories, and false memories, and half-remembered memories. They have bodies, and half-there bodies, and not-there bodies. They’re uncertain creatures, as you yourself said, sir. Wouldn’t an uncertainty be best understood by another uncertainty?”

“Hm…” Mr. Carter was surprised that there was substance to the rumor, after all. “...perhaps.”

“And considering how old and wise some ghosts are, wouldn’t they make great manesologists? I mean, manesology is a young science, but it’s steeped in old philosophy, and they’d have the pick of the ancient world to choose from, the best and brightest!”

“That is true…but if the Ror Raas wanted ghosts to be manesologists, wouldn’t they have just made them so? General Geoffrey Barton said that the Ror Raas were the uncrowned kings of the world.”

“Recall London, sir.”

“That’s a good point. People are still nervous about the candles even when they’re in human hands.”

“So you see how it’s possible that they’re ghosts?” Teddy asked.

“It’s…possible, but unlikely.”

“But possible, sir!”

“How is it supposed to work, exactly? Manesologists are people with history. Dr. Glass was a student of thaumaturgy before he became a manesologist. Dr. Morton was an alienist. Dr. Ernst was an anthropologist. Is the idea that the Ror Raas murders talented people so they can recruit their useful ghosts?”

“No. The idea is that they first recruit talented people to turn into thaumaturgists. But it doesn’t work out. Are you aware of the goal of thaumaturgists, sir? Do you know what they seek at the end of their instruction?”

“Isn’t everyone? They strive to awaken and commune with their own soul.”

“Without themselves dying, however.”

“I see. So manesologists would be those who stirred their souls but perished in the attempt?”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Dr. Glass got closer than most, which is why he has his dogs and other little magical things. But he failed, in the end, as they all failed, poor modern heathen wizards. Tell me, sir, would you still trust Ernst, Morton, and Glass with your business if they were, in fact, ghosts in dead, human bodies?”

‘I wouldn’t speak to them at all if they were ghosts.”

“Because you can’t trust ghosts, sir?”

“Yes, but also because the evasion speaks ill of them. Even with what happened to London still looming large in everyone’s minds, why lie to people? It has such a sinister undercurrent!”

“Perhaps they would lie about them being ghosts in human bodies, sir, because people would have your response to the revelation?”

Guilt made a sudden stab at Mr. Carter’s heart.

“Hm. I did not consider how the situation would look from their side.” Mr. Carter said.

“From the ghosts’ side?”

“If they are ghosts…but I doubt it.”

Still, the thought lodged itself deep in Mr. Carter’s mind. They could be ghosts. He could be going, right now, to talk to people who moved their bodies like puppets made of sinew and bone…

Mr. Carter shivered.

“They aren’t ghosts, and I’ll tell you why.” Mr. Carter said, partly to Teddy but partly to himself. “The very reason people have manesologists to begin with is because it shouldn’t be a normal person’s job to talk with some unknown person freshly materialized onto their property just because someone buried a locket under the foundations or something like that. Ghosts are too frightening for normal humans to deal with. That is why I’m certain they’re humans. The Ror Raas are distant, aerial men, but they’re wise. They would certainly know that a human needs a human to talk to about hauntings.”

But Mr. Carter still wondered…

“But wouldn’t, by the same token sir, a ghost need a ghost to talk to about hauntings?” Teddy asked.

Mr. Carter opened his mouth to say something, but found he had nothing to say, and so he sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

He was certain he was right about the manesologists…fairly certain…

A few moments later, the mechanical buggy lurched to a stop that sent Mr. Carter plunging forward, nearly taking him out of his seat.

“Oh, that’s a rough stop, Teddy.” Mr. Carter said. “It’s almost bad enough to warrant someone installing straps in this thing!”

“Sorry sir, but I doubt people would want to ride in a mechanical buggy if they had ot be tied down like luggage. But anyway, welcome to Harwood street, sir. The office of Ernst, Morton, and Glass are just a little ways down. It’s the really big building, you can’t miss it, and there’s always people in front of it.”

“You couldn’t have brought me any closer?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I could have, sir, but I stop down Harwood street a little ways from the office as a courtesy to my customers. You see, one time, I dropped a lady off right at the door, and sir, she did complain that I did so to Mercury Transportation later on, and how did she complain!”

“She had a bad experience at Ernst, Morton, and Glass?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I would say so, sir. She ran screaming from the premises and ran right into a jellied eels stand, got spiced broth all over her nice clothes. She blamed me, said I forced her to confront the horrors of Ernst, Morton, and Glass before she was suitably prepared. So now, I drop my passengers off at the end of Harwood street as a courtesy, just in case they decide they want to make a run for it.”

“I see.”

Mr. Carter slowly opened the door--slowly because it was a large, heavy door, and because Teddy’s story was creating hesitancy in his mind.

“Hope they’re able to help you with your haunting, sir. Have a good evening!”

The door to the mechanical buggy shut on its own. Mr. Carter wasn’t aware they could do that. It was incredible how animated automata were these days.

Mr. Carter watched the buggy roll down the street, turn, and vanish from his life.

He was left alone in Blackwall.

Blackwall. They called it London’s ghost, not only because it inherited London’s people, but because it inherited London’s spirit. It was dark and wet. The streets were slick with moisture. The steam beasts sprayed mist into the air as they pulled up earth and rooted buildings in the resultant holes. When Blackwall cooled in the evening, the steam condensed into what people called “Blackwall dew.” This made the city wetter and colder than foggy London ever was, and moldier. Mold was a major health concern, and the government kept trying different chemicals to kill it, which often contributed in their own way to the poor health of Blackwallians.

Mr. Carter looked up, craning his neck all the way back.

The steam beasts were more emblematic of the city than the dam which gave Blackwall its name. They reminded Mr. Carter of many different kinds of animals. Their bodies were rotund like whales. Their necks were long like giraffes. They had four thin legs like deer, legs that seemed far too gracile to support their massive bodies, and yet the steam beast were able to do their work while carefully stepping through the congested streets on their thin legs. Not once did they step on a building, though they sometimes left scratches in the street.

The steam beasts were plated like a tortoise, if a tortoise’s shell covered its entire body. Through the plates’ seams, blue light, the shade of deep ocean water, could be seen, though what was burning inside the beasts to produce such a light, none could say.

Their operators had been given the steam beasts to control and care for, but that didn’t mean they knew how they worked.

The steam beasts loomed over the city. Their shadows were strips of midnight cast over the gray evening. Even in the brightest morning, wherever the shadows of the steam beasts fell, there was midnight. It led to a few lawsuits against the city. Several civilians argued that the steam beasts were positioned in such a way as to deprive them of access to natural sunlight relative to other Blackwallians. The litigation was still making its way through the system, but it was expected that the city would win. The claimants proposed that their lack of sunlight had negatively impacted their health and mood, but the city countered with a small army of scientists that claimed that the shade provided by the steam beasts prevented their skin from being damaged by too much sunlight, and who could argue with scientists?

The steam beasts were awe inspiring creatures. Mr. Carter couldn’t understand how anyone could stand to live in a place where giants watched over them. Mr. Carter felt that at any moment, a steam beast could lower its head and pluck him off the street like a stork fishing a minnow out of a stream. Only the thaumaturgists knew how they worked, but even that was an assumption rooted in the fact that they created them. But when it came to magic, it was entirely conceivable they made the steam beasts without understanding them. They could have wished the steam beats into existence with all their cryptic innards and functions assembled by the hand of the universe. There were also rumors that the steam beasts were ruins of the Dyeus culture dug up somewhere in Egypt or India, repaired, and put to use. Other rumors said that the thaumaturgists reached through time itself and traded with the Dyeus culture for the steam beasts, though what they gave in exchange, none could guess.

SPAK!

A steam beast far above spat a white cloud of steam into the air. In the light that poured from its seams, Mr. Carter saw the droplets disperse, sparkle, and vanish into the evening dark.

Mr. Carter felt like he was inside a giant, living creature. Its bones were the buildings, tall and strong. These bones were not built out of bricks like in other cities but sheets of metal. Its heart was the Blackwall dam, which gave the city its name, built along the Thames, which sent fluid coursing through the many tunnels beneath the city. And its lungs were the steam beasts, ever working, ever wet.

Blackwall was a phlegmatic city, Mr. Carter observed.

Mr. Carter strongly disliked the city. It made him feel small, like a little morsel caught in Blackwall’s digestion. He pulled his coat close around himself to shield against the cold and damp and looked around. Just as Teddy said, it was easy to find the office, it was indeed the biggest building on the street, three times the size as any other horizontally and vertically, and as Teddy said, there was a crowd of people in front of the building.

And the crowd was runnin

Mr. Carter stumbled out of the way of the crowd. They were shouting something about a dog.

Below the awning of a building that advertised itself as Gaskell’s Manesological Books, Mr. Carter watched the crowd flee into the night. Not a single one looked back.

Silence chased after the fleeing crowd, and in the silence Mr. Carter could hear heavy footsteps. In but a moment he was confronted by the giant who made those footsteps--Dr. Joseph Morton.

“Ah, Mr. Carter! “We’ve been expecting you!” Joseph exclaimed, and increased his pace to bring him face-to-face with Mr. Carter.

How Joseph Morton knew his name Mr. Carter couldn’t even guess.

“Please excuse that rambunctious display by some of Blackwall’s local color. We had a little disagreement outside our office, but it's nothing for you to be concerned with.”

Mr. Carter could feel himself trembling as the giant approached and put his arm around his shoulder.

“Follow me, Mr. Carter!” he said.

And Mr. Carter did. He didn’t dare disagree.