13 Mink Street

Chapter 39: Fists

After all, what are they? The question left Karon unsettled. It shook him to his core. No, it would be more accurate to say it overturned his entire sense of self.

Since waking in this world, he had tried to gain an understanding of it. Despite countless corrections, convictions from his previous life still lingered, quietly filtering his vision of the world. This world was real, and it was a world shaped by systems, society, and order. Until now, he had only noticed the surface, the petty intrigues played by people like Alfred and Ms. Molly.

He had never, not truly, seen the truth of things: this was a world ruled by theocracy.

When Alfred had mistaken Karon for some heretical god, dropping all pretenses and kneeling in worship, it had not been false drama. The mistake hadn’t even been Alfred’s at all; It had been Karon’s.

Karon had failed to recognize the world around him for what it was. He had considered Alfred's performance ludicrous, yet perhaps, all along, it had been Karon they were laughing at: a clown posturing with dignity from the very center of the stage.

This was why Tiz had asked, “Why would you ever think your grandfather lives in fear of such things?”

Karon had always imagined Tiz to be a reclusive scholar who quietly upheld some invisible system of order, yet was still bound by its rules. Reality was quite different.

From the perspective of the Church of Order, from Tiz's perspective, so long as he stood within that order, there was little in the entire world that could cause him feel fear. The struggles Karon agonized over, the questions that left him feeling tied him up in knots, they were completely beneath Tiz’s notice. It was not even a matter of indifference, but because they simply were not worthy of his concern.

Again, Karon thought of Mason, downstairs weeping and pleading. When Tiz had been mentioned by Alfred, Mason had responded, "Telling Father is useless. He’s an upright man, but only a priest. Telling him about this will only trouble him."

At the time, Karon had internally retorted, No, Tiz is nothing like an ordinary priest.

And yet, ultimately, both he and Mason were the same, as they were each deceiving themselves in their own way. You do not know your father, while I, honestly , barely know my grandfather.

Karon stared at Tiz, more certain than ever that the old man was not making any sort of joke. Tiz was not a joking man. Karon had nothing left to say; His mind was empty.

"You can lead the way now," Tiz prompted.

"Oh. All right." Karon stepped out of the study, Tiz following close behind. At the stairwell, just before going down, Karon paused and looked back.

"What is it?" Tiz asked.

"Where are we going?" Karon was supposed to lead the way, but the way to where?

"To the home of Mr. Forde, the mayoral candidate."

At that, Karon asked, "But where... where is his house?"

Tiz stared at Karon, and Karon stared back. The two men faced each other on the landing, the silence between them stretching out longer and longer.

At last, Tiz asked, in a slightly puzzled tone, "You were the one to knock on my door, weren't you?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"You were the one who said this is likely related to demonkin?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"You told me the one who benefits most is likely to be the culprit: Mr. Forde, the mayoral candidate. Right?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

Tiz nodded. He brought his hands in front of his body, and asked, with careful seriousness, "So are you now telling me that you don’t know where his house is?"

"I—" In Karon's mind, a thousand silent protests rose up. Can you really blame me for this? Can you? How was I supposed to know you'd take me straight to the man behind everything?

When going after someone with real power, aren’t you supposed to follow the trail? Collect scraps of evidence, capture a lackey, inch closer to the truth, step by step, while enduring a few threats? Watch people disappear before finally exposing the truth while suffering great risk? Even if you learn who’s pulling the strings, he’s always untouchable, part of that world.

Even if they buy your coffin, smiling to your face, it’s clear that even if you see through them, it doesn’t matter. All you can do is swallow your anger. They are the people who make the rules.

But now, you simply say, “Let’s go," and expect us to pay him a visit?

It’s as if the cameras are about to roll, but when I give you your cue, I find that we’re not even holding the same script.

Tiz silently stared at Karon. With a sigh, the old man said, "So the truth is that you’ve come here without the slightest preparation?"

"I..."

"I thought you had already made all the preparations. Isn’t that why you came to my study?"

“I...”

“So why did you come seeking me just now?”

“I...”

“Is it possible that your conscience was troubling you so much that you wanted to make a final effort, even if you never believed I could actually do anything? To put it plainly, were you simply wanting to cry it out and find some peace for yourself?”

“That is... correct,” Karon admitted it.

It wasn’t Lot’s family lying dead, so Karon hadn’t completely lost his sense of reason, but he still felt the same thing as Mason: the weight of another’s shadow as fear pressed in like iron, the resignation that settled in to become fate, and the need to silence his own conscience by repeating “this is the sorrow of little people.” In truth, even after all of that, Karon was not ready, not truly prepared as someone small to be able to move something as vast as an elephant.

“Karon.”

“Yes?”

“Take the time to reread the books Lent brought you, especially The Light of Order, that one you say you’ve finished. Everything is stated in there clearly. Did you actually read it?”

I thought it was all just exaggeration, marketing in a costume of wisdom... I never imagined it would be literal, factual.

Tiz reached out, placed a hand on Karon’s shoulder, and quietly said, “Thousands of years ago, even a king was required to kneel at the feet of god to be crowned. He needed to seek the blessings of the faith before ruling. That is divine right. Over the last thousand years, such scenes have grown rare, not because kings have become greater, but because kingly power, on its own, is no longer sufficient. The gods, though, have never faltered.”

Still holding the black briefcase, Tiz glanced down at it. He gave a small shake of the head, and then turned to return to his study. As he walked, he spoke without a backward glance, “Don’t be a coward who runs to bask in the sun when your conscience stings; learn to take initiative. At the very least, compile a proper list of suspects and their addresses.”

The study door shut with a loud bang. Karon remained on the stairs, the air unmoving, though his thoughts were in chaos.

Meow... Pu’er called to him, confidently walking along the slick handrail. She looked at him with what appeared to be a knowing smile. “I told you before, Tiz always gives the calmest, soundest advice.”

The cat’s tail flicked, excitement in the movement. “Are you satisfied with his advice?”

Karon looked at Pu’er, finally understanding why, when he’d been at his lowest, Alfred had urged him, “Young Master, maybe you should go back and ask your grandfather, Mr. Tiz.”

From Alfred’s perspective, Karon’s entire reaction to everything must have been utterly baffling. Their opponents had clearly used a demonkin’s abilities, so why sit around, sighing in the hearse?

Fortunately, both Pu’er and Tiz had already confirmed that Karon’s identity as a heretical god remained watertight, as well as the fact that such beings, upon descending, would suffer long periods of frailty. It was not just a lack of strength, but of awareness and even memory. For Alfred, things were merely puzzling, rather than suspicious.

Karon drew in a slow breath, reached out, and pulled Pu’er into his arms. The cat made no attempt to escape. She could sense that Karon’s mood had already improved, so she seized the moment to make a request, “When do I get those carp noodles you promised me last time?”

Karon rubbed Pu’er’s belly, and just as the cat prepared to swipe with a warning paw— “I’ll make them for you tonight.”

“Alright. Meow...”

***

Everyone had gathered in the parlor on the first floor, the four members of the Sisso family nearby.

Mason was hunched on a sofa, while Aunt Mary tried to comfort him. Aunt Winnie pressed a hand to her temple. Ron’s expression was bleak. Even his dull senses were able to recognize that this family had not chosen death.

Alfred stood beside Ms. Molly, looking as if the two had wandered into the dress rehearsal of some heavy, stifling play.

Karon, with Pu’er still in his arms, descended the stairs. Each step landed sharp and clear against the wood. Eventually, every eye turned to him. “We have accepted the deposit. Since we have already taken payment, we will see things through. Aunt Winnie, please take Ms. Molly to help arrange the bodies. It’s cold and the funeral will be tomorrow, so embalming isn’t necessary. Still, let’s at least send them off with dignity.

“Uncle Mason, take Ron and get the first floor ready. Our clients requested something simple and solemn, so follow that while setting up.

“Alfred, I want you keeping an eye on the reporters and the protestors outside. Tomorrow will be a day of mourning; I do not want this house disrupted today.

“Also, Aunt Winnie, please prepare a list of the prominent guests who will attend tomorrow’s wake. We’ll have them leave their addresses during the event so we can send a small keepsake afterward.”

When he finished speaking, Karon let his eyes travel slowly across the gathered faces. “These are Grandpa’s instructions. The Immers family doesn’t keep idle hands, so let’s get to work.”

Something shifted. What had been weighing the room down had been necessary, but with reality reasserting itself, everyone understood what needed to be done.

Aunt Mary and Ms. Molly carried the bodies down to the basement workroom, one by one. Mason led Ron away to collect what would be needed for the wake and they got to work. Alfred took a wooden stool out to the yard, where he then sat with patient composure while watching the journalists and a cluster of protestors out on the street.

A demonkin sat in the yard, while outside the gate stood a crowd holding white roses. Alfred remained still, his dignity intact. The white roses outside seemed to hang limp, like flowers held in a hound’s jaws.

Aunt Winnie prepared the guest list, moving beside the telephone. She occasionally made a call to confirm a name. The house was buzzing with activity again. Everyone understood their place, their role, and their task.

Karon, still holding Pu’er, made his way back upstairs.

Earlier, the waiting had felt torturous. Now, it felt more like anticipation. Tomorrow, during the ceremony, everyone with a part to play would appear. The lines would be drawn between those at the front and those who had merely followed along in the background. Once the memorial was finished, Karon planned to take the list and Tiz to conduct visits to each house in turn.

The victims, an entire family, were already gone, but the perpetrator’s dance was yet to begin. Still, it was the one who smiled last who truly smiled.

Karon looked forward to seeing the faces tomorrow. He would search them for sly satisfaction, like a hunter taking pleasure in observing his prey just before the strike. There was an art to it, a cool delight that Karon could neither deny nor resist. He wasn’t sure when that impulse had found him, but he had no intention of turning it away.

Tiz’s outlook had given him all the support he needed. As Tiz had already said, the fist is the highest law.

Pu’er curled in Karon’s left arm as he slowly raised his right hand and made a fist. The cat seemed able to see straight through him. Even as she lay lazily sprawled in his arms, clearly still thinking about carp noodles, she could not resist her instinct to tease. “So, you’re starting to savor it too, aren’t you?

“The fist of the gods. A fist that slips free of all worldly restraints, that pulverizes anyone who moves outside of the rules into flesh and paste.”

A divine fist. Or perhaps, divine authority.[1]

Karon replied, “You and I don’t understand that fist in the same way.”

Pu’er laughed softly. “What other understanding could there be? Only a god’s will can tear through the filth and gloom that humans build for themselves to deliver punishment that can reach the bone.”

“There’s another kind of fist,” Karon said.

“Oh?” Pu’er tilted her head. “And what kind would that be?”

“It’s something your cat brain couldn’t grasp.”

She clicked her tongue. “Are you looking down on me? Still, I have to admit, ‘cat brain’ does sound better than ‘dog brain.’”

“Yes,” Karon said. “It does.”

Pu’er paused, then added casually, “If you one day decide to believe in a faith, you can come find me.”

“Why not Tiz?” Karon asked.

Pu’er slipped from his arms, landing soundlessly on the floor before looking back up with a smile that seemed all knowing. “Why not? Think harder.”

She suddenly laughed. “Because Tiz has no faith.”

1. “Divine fist” (神拳) is a deliberate wordplay with “divine authority” (神权), referring both to god-sanctioned violence and to absolute, god-granted power. ☜