"Hidden Spiritual Vision?"
"An entry-level technique for initiates," Mrs. MacNeil explained in detail.
"The principle is simple: stop ’staring’ straight at things."
"...If I don’t stare, how do I see?" Richard managed to ask.
"Just borrow something to see through. It’s the same as using a mirror to see what’s behind you."
The carriage fell silent for a moment as Richard began to quietly contemplate this.
"When you used Spiritual Vision before, you would push Ether out from the Throne of the Sun, wrap it around your target, and then read it as it returned.
That push and pull creates a disturbance, no matter how small."
"Hidden Spiritual Vision uses a different Walking Technique. The environment itself already has Ether flowing within it.
The wind, sunlight, dust motes drifting from cracks in the walls, the airflow stirred by people’s movements—each of these contains a faint amount of Ether."
She gestured out the carriage window.
"Don’t push your Ether out. Instead, follow the things that are already flowing.
Let your inspiration be like a thread in the water, catching the current and drifting with the flow."
Richard followed her gesture and glanced out the window.
"How do I do that, exactly?"
"Don’t lock your gaze on any specific thing. Let your vision go unfocused, like when you’ve just woken up but haven’t opened your eyes yet."
Richard did as he was told.
The details inside the carriage, which he could normally pinpoint even with his eyes closed, blurred in his sight.
Mrs. MacNeil’s voice sounded as if it were coming from behind a layer of cloth:
"Don’t try to fixate on anything. Just let yourself flow with the air in the carriage."
She intentionally used her own Ether Field to guide Richard’s tendrils of inspiration, helping them move naturally with the environment.
Richard followed that Ether Field, not focusing on anything specific.
But he could feel something constantly Breathing inside the small wooden box on Mrs. MacNeil’s lap.
He immediately averted his gaze.
"...The box on your lap."
Mrs. MacNeil showed a hint of surprise.
"You were able to read it?"
"A little."
"What, specifically?"
"...Something is asleep inside."
She gave the small wooden box on her lap a half-turn, neither confirming nor denying his words.
Time passed quickly as they practiced.
The carriage stopped at the entrance to the Hallbrook Textile Factory grounds.
Two men in top hats were standing at the entrance.
One was middle-aged and stout, with a mustache curled up at the ends. This was Holbrook himself.
The other was thinner, with a slightly stooped back—the manager.
"Mrs. MacNeil." Holbrook tipped the brim of his hat to her. "We’ve been expecting you."
"Mr. Holbrook." The Spirit Medium returned his greeting with a nod.
"And this is?" Holbrook’s gaze shifted to Richard.
His eyes paused on the buttons of Richard’s suit jacket, his collar, and his leather shoes.
"My assistant."
"His age..."
"He’s more reliable than other boys his age."
Holbrook didn’t press the matter, simply extending a hand in a gesture of invitation.
On the way to the workshop, Mrs. MacNeil casually inquired about the history of this piece of land over the past thirty years.
Holbrook’s answers were perfunctory at first, but when he got to the part about "the land for the night-shift workshop used to be a vacant lot," he swallowed hard.
"What was there before it was a vacant lot?"
"An old warehouse." Holbrook’s voice grew heavy. "My father’s generation tore it down."
"Why was it torn down?"
Holbrook hesitated for a moment before answering.
"In my father’s day, the factory still used child labor."
He was quick to distance himself from the practice, adding, "It wasn’t illegal according to the laws at the time, but a child had an accident inside the warehouse."
"What kind of accident?"
"He went to take a nap in a pile of cotton."
Holbrook wiped the sweat from his brow.
"The workers didn’t see him inside when they changed shifts. They just followed procedure and kept piling cotton on top. It wasn’t until roll call the next day that they realized someone was missing."
His father’s generation had torn down the warehouse.
Holbrook continued, "It was vacant for over twenty years. Last year, I decided to use the land and built the night-shift workshop. Before construction..."
He quickly added, "I had the Parish Priest perform a consecration, as is proper."
"Which priest performed the consecration?"
"Reverend Hawkins of Saint Andrew’s Parish."
Mrs. MacNeil’s expression didn’t change. She just hummed in acknowledgment.
Richard knew what that sound meant.
A parish consecration is almost useless against true Evil Beings, a fact Reverend Hawkins himself was likely well aware of.
But for the factory owner, the procedure was a formality. It allowed him to say he’d "called in the clergy" to outsiders, and it gave him some peace of mind internally.
When they reached the entrance of the night-shift workshop, Mrs. MacNeil stopped.
"My assistant and I will go in first to take a look. Please wait here, Mr. Holbrook."
"...You don’t need me to accompany you?"
"We don’t need clients present when we examine a scene. I will give you a full report when we’re done."
Holbrook frowned, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded.
"Then... be my guest."
Inside the workshop, the day shift was still in operation.
Carding machines were lined up one after another along both sides of the workshop. The noise from dozens of machines was as dense as a torrential downpour.
Mrs. MacNeil stopped in the center of the workshop and glanced at the carding machine at the very back.
"Is it this one?"
"Yes, that’s the one," the manager’s voice called out from behind her.
Holbrook, unable to hold back after all, had followed them to the doorway.
Mrs. MacNeil said no more, giving Richard a slight nod.
Richard knew what the nod meant. He began to let his tendrils of inspiration drift with the airflow.
Through his Spiritual Vision, he saw a slight blockage in the Ether Flow at the base of the wall behind the rearmost carding machine.
Richard looked away and took two steps toward Mrs. MacNeil.
"At the base of the wall behind the last carding machine, there’s a mass that isn’t flowing."
"...Density?"
"Comparing it to the measurement notes you showed me before, this mass shouldn’t meet the standard for Evil Beings."
"Shape?"
"I can’t read it clearly."
"Mm," Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "You’re only a beginner with Hidden Spiritual Vision. It’s natural that you can’t read much. You’ll get better with practice."
"Now, it’s my turn."
The Spirit Medium knelt at the base of the wall and took out her Tarot Cards.
She took out only the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana.
"Come here. Watch this closely."
Richard drew closer.
She instructed him as she shuffled:
"When you’re practicing, you can shuffle however you like. It’s your question, your heart—you read for yourself.
But when you’re working for someone else, you must read for them."
She passed the cards from her right hand to her left, and back to her right, repeating the process three times.
"The key to shuffling is to distinguish between ’the question I want to ask for myself’ and ’the question I’m asking for someone else today’.
If you can’t separate them, the cards you read will only reflect yourself."
After the final shuffle, she placed the stack on the concrete floor in front of her and drew a card.
She turned the card over.
[The Hanged Man·Reversed]
Richard’s chest tightened slightly.
"...Someone trapped between two points, wanting to come down but unable to."
Mrs. MacNeil said, addressing the card on the floor.
She placed her hand on the face of the card.
"A child, suffocating in a pile of cotton, with no one to hear his cries.
No one answered, so he just stayed there, endlessly counting the numbers he counted in his final moments."
She drew a second card.
[The Moon·Reversed]
"An illusion. An illusion within an illusion."
"...What does that mean?" Richard couldn’t help but ask.
She didn’t answer immediately, instead drawing a third card.
[The Star·Upright]
"The reversed Hanged Man is his state: trapped."
She pointed to each of the three cards in turn. "The reversed Moon is the reason he’s trapped. He thinks he’s still alive."
Richard’s breath hitched.
"...He doesn’t know he’s dead?"
"He knows he’s in the dark. He knows he can’t move, that he can’t get out.
But he refuses to admit that he’s dead, so he’s found something to do."
"Counting."
Mrs. MacNeil’s fingertip rested on The Moon card.
"After counting to one hundred, all he remembers is that he ’still hasn’t finished counting,’ so he starts again."
"...For thirty years?"
She pressed her finger on the third card.
"The upright Star is the exit."
"An exit?"
"He built a cage for himself."
"He built the cage, and he holds the key. All he has to do is admit it once, and the key will appear."
"Admit what?"
"Admit that he has finished counting."
She gathered the three cards and shuffled them back into the deck.
"Our job today is to tell him just that."

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