The Devouring God by James Kendley

call down to a series of relay stations. The rest of it, account information and so forth, was a breeze.”
    â€œWell, the account information doesn’t help us. We know where to find Nabeshima. What about the caller?”
    â€œI can get you within two kilometers.”
    â€œTwo kilometers? That’s no good.”
    â€œThat’s good enough,” Suzuki murmured.
    â€œThat’s good enough,” Yumi repeated. “Walk around asking for the foreigner. Pretend to be a delivery­man.”
    â€œNewspaper salesman,” Takuda and Mori said almost in unison.
    â€œI need my phone,” Yumi said. “I’ll have to go to work in a few minutes. There’ll be no time for shopping this morning, Priest.”
    He nodded, but he clearly wasn’t listening.
    When Mori hung up and Yumi left for work, Suzuki sat in thought for several minutes.
    â€œYou said that this foreigner said something was missing, that someone had stolen something from him.”
    â€œWhat of it?”
    â€œHe didn’t say what it was? He didn’t say anything about a jewel? A big curved jewel?”
    Hair stood up on Takuda’s neck. “A curved jewel? He was just angry about something stolen. Why would you ask me about a curved jewel?”
    â€œBecause there are no coincidences. Not in our line of work.” Suzuki went to his room and returned with a sheet of onionskin paper. “If you find the foreigner, or find his house, keep an eye out for this.”
    Takuda took the page. The onionskin was crisp and new, as if Suzuki had just pulled it from a pad before folding it. It was an ancient curved jewel, like the dark half of a yin-­yang symbol. A single notation in the lower right-­hand corner: Black as night. Inner curve is razor-­sharp. This is the actual size. If the curved jewel really were as large as the drawing, it would be too heavy to wear, too heavy for personal ornamentation.
    He sighed. “The foreigner was asking about a Kurodama.”
    The priest shook his head. “Coal is too brittle to be shaped like this.”
    â€œBut it’s black, it says here. Black as midnight. A black jewel, a Kurodama.” Takuda compared the drawing to the span of his hand. “Ancient curved jewels weren’t like this. This is huge.”
    â€œNo, actually, some curved jewels were quite large, but this one is different in other ways. It’s a tighter curve, like a comma from an English font, a half-­circle, and it comes to a definite point. A very sharp point. The inner curve of the tail is also razor sharp, or it was.”
    â€œPriest, you’ve seen this thing.”
    â€œI’ve heard of it, years ago, from my father. This sheet showed up in my begging bowl. I didn’t see who put it there. There was another sheet, but I don’t know where it is. Look, there will be characters incised right here, along the blade . . . or the tail, I should say.” Suzuki pointed out rough and angular pictographs.
    Takuda squinted at the characters. They were so rough and random-­looking he had thought they were just bad shading on the sketch. He handed the page back to Suzuki. “Is it some sort of ceremonial knife?”
    Suzuki folded it into a small, tight packet. “Ceremonial knife is one way to put it,” he said. “It’s the fang of the Devouring God.”

 
    CHAPTER 8
    Wednesday Evening
    W ith Ota’s consent, Takuda took Mori along on the next shift at the mental health satellite office. The shift started with their witnessing an argument.
    â€œThere are just too many foreigners in this area. Just on the main rail line between here and the city, I see a new language school almost every week. All these foreigners have students they may be attracted to.” Detective Kimura looked around the room, his long hair swaying slightly. Nabeshima returned his gaze. It was after hours, and she had been prepared to go