“I thought about my safety when I let the Shiikuin take my wife without a fight,” Toshio said. “Not anymore.”
“You were thinking about your newborn daughter.”
“I told myself that I was, but now I am not so sure. I was a coward. I said nothing, did nothing. I just stood there and watched them take my wife away,” Toshio said. “But I did not see everything that happened. That is why I need your help.”
“What possible help can I give you?”
“You have a gift, Haruto. Each day, your hands create cranes from the seconds and minutes of the other world.”
“I fold paper.”
“You fold time,” Toshio said. “And I believe that you can fold time back to the morning my wife was taken.”
“Belief and reality are two different things. You know as well as I do where the time we collect from the museum comesfrom and what we must do to take it. The years you wish me to fold are different. They belong to this world, and everything in this world belongs to the Shiikuin. I cannot fold time without becoming a thief.”
Toshio pulled out a corked bottle from his satchel. A bright blue light glowed inside it. “Which is why I have already stolen what is required for you.”
Haruto stared at the bottle, his mouth agape. “What have you done?”
—
Toshio uncorked the bottle and poured its contents into a small glazed bowl. Three glowing grains sat at the bottom of the bowl, and Toshio made sure to count them twice. A Shiikuin’s bones were nearly impossible to find, their whereabouts all but lost in a maze of rumors and lies. Toshio had caught whispers of the ground-up bones at the Night Market years ago but did not have any cause to pursue them. Until he dreamt of his dead wife.
The versions of the stories of how and where the bones were hidden far outnumbered the fragments to be had. The early whispers said that the bones could fill a sake cup to its brim. As the rumors faded, Toshio heard that all but a few grains remained. He wasn’t surprised. A Shiikuin’s bones were precious enough to make even the most dutiful become daring. Or foolish. Toshio had no illusions that he was anything but the latter.
“How did you get these?” Haruto asked.
“You would be surprised how many people believe that it is in their best interest to do a pawnbroker a favor.”
“And they would be correct. Everyone in this world owes you a great debt,” Haruto said. “And I owe you more than most.”
Toshio held out the bowl. “Then help me. Please. Do you think these are enough? They were all I could find.”
Haruto took the bowl from him and examined the bones. “I don’t know. I have no experience making paper out of anything other than bamboo pulp and the other world’s time. What do three fragments of a Shiikuin’s bone even mean? Do these bones hold the story of one life? Ten?”
“A Shiikuin’s bones contain the memories of all the Shiikuin that came before and after them, everything they have witnessed, every word they have spoken and heard,” Toshio said. “But no one really knows how powerful they are and what they can do.”
Haruto stared at the bowl. “Because the only stories you hear about those who attempt to use the bones are about those who fail.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Duty and Debt
A garden of paper flowers had bloomed on the table by the time Haruto had finished recounting the events of Toshio’s visit. He mindlessly folded a kusudama flower and planted it at the end of a row, balancing it on the table’s edge. It fell off and landed by Hana’s feet.
Hana picked up the flower and handed it back to Haruto. “Did it work? Were you able to make paper out of the bones and fold time?”
Haruto crumpled the flower in his fist.
“Haruto?” Hana prodded.
He began to fold another sheet of paper. “It worked perfectly.”
Hana clutched his wrist, stopping him in the middle of a crease. “Haruto, please. Tell me what my father saw.”
He set the paper down. “I cannot.”
“Why? Because my father made you promise to keep his secret? What use is a promise if he is dead? We need to find him before it’s too late.”
