An air of envy dissipates like a murder charge with too little provable evidence.

The arrival of further dancers and kisaeng courtesans, all scantily clad in see-through puresilk kimonos, dyed black hair done up in wareshinobu beehives, pricked with pins of flowers and wasps, porting expensive wines up to their armpits, has brought the evening’s events to the next beat. Like most other gangsters, Ke laughs and reaches for a glass with one hand, a girlie with the other. Instead, Bossman Shishito’s spiteful gaze follows your exit.

You and your mare are ushered through the natural seashell-beaded curtains, through Madame Soonyeong’s maze of a compound, up the multiple flights of lantern-lit stairs to the top of her pagoda. Here, from her promontory, your host looks down through the hinoki cypress slats onto the street below, full of life at every hour. She watches a beating, where a reed basket is flattened beneath sandals, a flute player roughed up in retribution for disturbing the peace.

Yet it’s silent here in her canopy.

Ø follows your robotic lead, sitting with you on the mat in the center of the room, beneath the recently lit paper lanterns. Madame Soonyeong gives you both a polite nod before sitting herself, her amanuensis beginning an elaborate tea ceremony just out of view. The attendant avoids your eye contact, silent as she’s meant to be.

“You two,” Madame Soonyeong muses, guard lowered, “for you two, I won’t need to break out the turtle shells or the tarot cards. It seems like you’ve already got a Secret from the beyond. That right?”

“You could say that,” Ø retorts politely. Surprisingly. You’re taken aback, stunned in place at her reverent tonality. “Don’t know if it’s a Whisper, though.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” the Madame responds says, letting her neck slouch, her posture becoming less powerful, flat chest less enticing to the naked eye. It must be a change of pace, you think, versus a normal evening of her entertaining. Her wiry fingers pick at her bunned hair, removing a silver pin beaten into the shape of a dragonfly. “You know, you can study the sutras for years, live at peace with a life force, some flavor of chi, what have you. Or, you can take the fun route, heavy-dose on spezie for a few years straight. But you’d need the good stuff. The sort of spezie they find in the tombs, straight from an archaeologist’s haul,” she reflects as the nearby pot of gyokuro green tea begins to brew, “a Whisper, one like mine, can be built. But it’ll never become anything you two share. In comparison, all I’ve got on my end are parlor tricks.”

“Like the shadow mushrooms in the soju?” Ø fires.

“Very observant, Miss! Yes, only a trace. All-natural, nothing detrimental to your health, I can promise you.”

“And the flooring.”

“Heated, with only a slight, low-noise drumbeat, to synchronize breathing. They call it mass trance hypnosis. A little magic from the Old World, just like how the ancients did it,” she flashes Ø a smile, happy to talk shop, unmasked but proud. “Finally, add a high cost of admission, a bevy of heavily drinking bossmen, a cohort of my cute girlies, and its great experience that everyone can enjoy. I hope it’s entertaining, even for the initiated.”

“Sure.”

“But, you, Miss,” the Madame pries, “I take it you’ve trained before in Whispering? You were quite the conversationalist out there. And nothing but nice things to say, too.”

“Sure, when I was a filly. Didn’t take the lessons too seriously, looking back.”

“I don’t blame you. It must’ve been a bit easy for you.”

“Nope. Didn’t have much skill until a year ago.”

“That’s surprising to hear,” the civet smiles, “who did you study under?”

“Don’t remember. Some guy. Held a few sessions on Agapito when I was in ludus.”

“Oh,” she tut-tuts. “So you’re one of those old friends of Bossman Shishito people have been buzzing about. But you’ve got a different face than his. Much more rugged. You’re a haejeok, no? Only a pirate would mix with softies like Shishito’s crowd,” she chuckles, “since he never likes to get his hands dirty, does he?”

Your host pauses, allowing for the tea to be served from its intricate tray, silver carved with a gold inlay of two cranes locked in combat. Foregoing any tradition, the Madame reaches for the tetsubin herself, expertly pouring the bowls of tea in lieu of her servant girl. The green tea’s fishy aroma wafts around the room as you and Ø loudly slurp in unison.

“You know, for a hobbyist, Bossman Shishito is quite adept with his Whisper. I assume he’s felt your connection as well, or he wouldn’t have paid the admission for you both.” She sighs, replacing the teakettle and slurping along with you.

“Don’t think so,” the mare replies. “He’s not quick enough to pick up on it. And if he did—you think he’d be this generous? Guy doesn’t like giving others a leg up on him. I should know.”

“Well, no matter why you’re here, or what your background is, your mental ability is impressive. Let me know if you’d like to make a career change from hired gun to performer, I’d certainly rather work with you than try and run a business against you.”

“Thank you,” Ø says, with no hint of irony or reluctance. You almost drop your bowl of tea in surprise. “But I don’t think I’ll make the change anytime soon.”

“That’s a pity. A loss for the whole Settlement. But, you, you’re uneasy, aren’t you?” The civet turns to you, chiding you with a kind, matronly smile. “And that’s not my Whisper, that’s just your posture. Slouching, curled up feet, too innocent looking but all those scars. You’re no gangster, it seems. Tell me, what’s your profession?”

“Courier. Used to be, at least.”

“Now, when did that change?”

You tilt your head through another obnoxiously loud slurp. Ø finishes the contents of her bowl, and reaches to fill hers up again, to the dismay of the attendant still watching. The Madame’s eyes dart between you both, taking in your presence, her mind’s water wheel rapidly turning, plucking along and seesawing like a garden’s sozu.

“Interesting, very interesting,” she meditates. “You see, Whispering takes many forms, and all of them are dreadfully intimate. For example, I remember, when I was a girl, my old seonsaeng could enter my dreams as if I were lying beside him. And that was quite the regular occurrence with my old master, let me tell you. Such a letch,” she rolls her eyes. “But in some old treatises I’ve read, individuals could persuade, convert, even interrogate with Whispering, but only with some sort of connection, a bridge of sorts. In his terma teachings, the Khünbish Rinpoche emphasized that a Whisper is nothing more than understanding a relationship exists within all creatures—living and nonliving.” She pauses. Lecturing is clearly part of her job description, but like all professionals, she draws back from discussing her knowledge to its fullest extent. “But,” she jokes, “like I said, instead of a Whisper with everyone, you seem to have a ‘Yell,’ and only between the both of you.”

“So what do we have?” you interject, playing into her performance.

“I would say that you two have a unique skill. You call it, what? A ‘Secret’? It’s something I’ve never seen. Only read about. You see,” she shifts in place, her hastily-wrapped translucent tomesode imperfectly splayed, blown across the floor with a natural wind like sosho calligraphy, “there’s these two sides. Male and female. They come into contact, intertwining, coalescing, normally in the most obvious—physical—sort of senses. I know you know what I’m talking about, and sure, that’s normally what I’m here for,” she smirks, gesturing to herself with a flapping sleeve, “but I’ll assume you two already have that part covered. Which is good, because you’ve got a lot of the more important stuff, below the skin, to share” she gestures to the mare, topping off a bowl, “wisdom. The female. The ‘I-told-you-so’ in a metaphysical sense. Spiteful, sure, but understandable,” and to you, kind eyes burrowing into you once more, “and the male. The compassion. It directs, mitigates, gives the female some sort of purpose or guidance. And, you know what? It’s a beautiful thing to see unfold from you two, especially within my walls. You know, most visitors don’t care too much for all this discussion. A lot of bossmen think I’m just spitting nansensu to buy time, eat into the hour they get with me up here. So this is nice,” she muses. “Real nice.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

You chew on her words. The mare, too, for once. In the distance, a maglev train rattles windows, but it’s too far from here to be noticed, beaten away by the otherworldly wisdom.

“It’s also very rare for two equally matched individuals to share this skill and not kill one another by now,” she laughs. “It can be a bit tiresome to always be sparring with bedfellows, right?”

Your host stands, gliding across the floor to the fusuma wall paneling, opening one compartment, leading to the attic, to her boudoir, and another to a small enclave hidden from view. Inside these hideaways is the simple king-size goza bedding upon which she performs most of her rituals, along with intricately carved tansu cabinetry and a single, modern-style cherrywood armoire. She rifles through one of the storage containers, and returns with a paper box wrapped in a modest silk.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen a couple like you two with all this energy, just raw. It’s a proper gift you’ve both got, a real treat for me to see. So here, take this. Think of it as a little prescription. Doctor’s orders.”

She places the package atop the table. It’s no bigger than a carton of cigarettes, wrapped in a fukusa fabric of purple shioze puresilk, embroidered and popping with the childish, delicately hand-sewn green image of a single stalk of bok choy.

“Inside are a couple old-world sutras—copies only, so don’t get greedy. Who knows if they’ll help, but it’s the way I learned. There’s some fun ones in there for you both to meditate on, of course. Ancient ‘wisdom’ taught by my seonsaeng.”

“Stolen?” Ø wonders.

“Wisdom is never stolen. Just copied, retaught, is all.”

“Thanks, we’ll need to find time to read them,” you accept.

“No, you’ll need to find time to understand them. That takes a lot longer than reading, I promise you that,” she laughs, patting the miniature chest softly before sliding it directly into your hands. “This is well worth the price of admission paid by Bossman Shishito, and then some, but I hope you’ll accept this as a personal gift. In return, if I may ask, please don’t hesitate to write to me as you continue your spiritual journey, if only to satisfy my own selfish curiosity.”

“Would you like to come with us, see how we work? I’m sure the Yugure Consortium would be happy to show you hospitality,” You ask as out of politeness, knowing that, after leaving Tiangong, you have little incentive to write constantly, to give away your position in such a fashion to an absolute stranger. Your host slinks around the room, mockingly weighing her options, staring wistfully out the window at the busy Settlement below. “No, as there won’t be enough time. Sadly, I know you will only be here on Tiangong for a fleeting moment.”

“I assume that’s your Whisper talking?” Ø asks.

“Hm? Heavens, no. It’s because there’s two Settlement Police officers posted outside. Waiting for you both, I presume?”

---

“Madame Soonyeong, I apologize for the intrusion.”

The tall human figure is dressed in formal navy uniform slacks. His sternum shows slightly atop his silk button-up, which includes his name, Lieutenant Fairsykes, on a single metal pin affixed between a leather belt strapped across his chest. He holds his policeman’s cap in his hand, having removed it to greet the lady. She smiles with familiarity.

“It’s quite alright, Lieutenant Fairsykes. The Settlement Police are always welcome to my inn, even uninvited. I hope you don’t mind that my girls asked for the most senior ranking officer possible. We both know I’d prefer dealing with you directly in matters of law enforcement.”

“Not at all, Ma’am. It’s always a pleasure to see your penthouse. However, as you might expect, I’ve arrived under different circumstances.”

“Yes, as I have foreseen,” she nods, her fingers gesturing in your direction, the you and the mare still seated. “These two are born under most auspicious stars, so I must ask as to why you’ve come for my guests.”

“Of course, Ma’am. We’re investigating a few incidents that occurred today. A murder outside a bar named Bloom!, unlawful trespassing at the Soong Regency, destruction of property, public and private,” his posh voice trails off, checking his list. “And lastly the discovery of nearly a hundred-and-fifty corpses in a kill house Below.”

“Ghastly business, it sounds.”

“Quite ghastly, indeed. Now, your two guests wouldn’t happen to be involved, would they?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. But I admit we haven’t discussed any past crimes committed.”

“Well, we have a few witnesses: a couple boys from the Yaomo, an insurance adjuster, his mistress, and a bellboy scared half-to-death. They all claimed to see a sorrel mare anthropomorph, accompanied by a human male, smaller in stature. Similar to your chaps, eh?”

“Sounds like it could be anyone,” your host insinuates, pursing her lips and batting her eyes at her client, Whispering to him. His serious face softens into a knowing smile behind his mustache, no stranger to the Madame’s penchant for mental persuasion.

“That’s very true. Of course, I’ll need to identify both of your guests. Would you happen to have their information on hand? I apologize, but seizure is well within my legal limits.”

“I apologize Lieutenant, but I have no idea. Truth be told, I haven’t their names, origins, or anything you would find valuable. Only insight into incarnation and the nature of a particular iddhi. So, if you would like to speak with the entities they were long ago, I’m sure after some time, I may provide use for your investigation.”

“While I appreciate your offer, I that won’t be necessary,” he turns to you both, having preempted the Madame’s answer, “now, your names, if you please?”

“Ermanno Carlotto.”

“Roxanne Michizane.”

He pauses, maintaining an air of politeness against your obviously manufactured answers.

“Occupations?”

“Salaryman.”

“Calligrapher.”

“And who employs you both?” he asks with a professional disappointment.

Erratic steps sound from afar, putting everyone at on edge as they slap the wooden staircase and send shockwaves through the paper walls. Hurried, out of breath, arrives Bossman Shishito. He powers through his slight drunkenness, nearly fogging his glasses as his out-of-shape body attempts to regain composure. One of the Madame’s attendants follows in tow, a white cervid face and hair askew from being barreled through by your part-time employer.

“I apologize, Officer—Lieutenant Fairsykes,” Shishito belts, “they are under my supervision. And Madame Soonyeong, I apologize for the intrusion, your assistant fetched me…” She glares through his implication. He moves forward with a misstep, and in standing between you and Fairsykes, proceeds to knock over your half-finished bowl of tea. “Lieutenant, these are just two old friends, visiting from Nuova Pomezia. Vacationing, on holiday, is all, helping with a few tasks for my business.”

“And these tasks are?”

“Miscellaneous, but I assure you, for a positive mutual benefit,” the Lieutenant’s inquiry lingers, “sadly, however, I cannot elaborate at present.”

“Sadly is right. I’ll accept your half-truth for the moment being. Only out of both respect for one of our Settlement’s finest performers, and because of your willingness to provide basic information, unlike your two associates,” he finger-wags. “Assuming they are indeed part of your circle, it should go without explanation that I’ll be expecting your presence at the station tomorrow afternoon. Please, bring their necessary visitation paperwork, and I suggest an extensive explanation as to the nature of their visit. Finally, if they are not in accompany, a piece of genetic material for filing, should an investigation be opened, as well.

“And the two of you, Miss Michizane and Mister Carlotto,” his stiff upper lip falters into a venomous snarl, “I suggest you both practice restraint in the meantime. I’ll be seeing you, Doctor Shishito. And Madame Soonyeong, once more, a thousand apologies.”

“Do not apologize for where Fate brings you,” she smiles, Fairsykes planting a chaste kiss on her outstretched hand in anticipation of his departure. The two refuses to break eye contact, her matronly eyes performing the oculomancy and Whispering of her profession. “And, Lieutenant Fairsykes,” she begs his attention with a coquettish grin, “this will not be the only time you come face-to-face with these two, or even more, their souls. That, I promise you.”

The officer gives you both a smug grin, the confidence exuded by her Whisper galvanizing him into a chuffing laughter.

“And what makes you say that?”

“The tea leaves,” she whispers, reaching for your discarded teacup, investigating the residue left by Boss Shishito’s clumsiness. “But, Lieutenant,” pausing for emphasis, bringing her face within centimeters of you and Ø, taking in your chi, performing ferociously, “your traditional tactics will not work. These two are fighters, as you may have deduced.”

“So,” he plays along, “how do you suggest I conduct this investigation?”

“Well,” she licks her lips, bringing a digit to trace the rim of the cup, lovingly discerning its divine importance. “No firearms, that’s for sure. No weapons at all, if possible. You boast of your hand-to-hand, your Defendu, and goodness knows the Settlement is aware of your prowess, but I wonder if you’ll overcome such odds. Just, if you could, promise me two things,” she stares into him, the fraudster ensnaring her mark, planting within him the willingness to come again, to spend more, to place her under the sturdy protection of municipality-controlled state-monopolized violence.

“Anything, Madame Soonyeong”

“One, negotiate,” she cups his hand between soft paws.

“Alright,” he returns a stiff upper lip, “And?”

“Two, bring a hat.”