Baccano! - Volume 13 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

THE BOY MAGICIAN EVOKES SMILES WITH LIES

Voyage, day one Night, in a certain suite

Red.

Red…and warm.

As she hugged the change of clothes in her arms, Celice thought vaguely to herself.

After they’d laid her down on a bed, she’d regained just a little of her sanity.

Around her, she could see the interior of an opulent room. A miniature chandelier hung from the ceiling, and she could tell the light was turned as low as it would go, softly illuminating the room.

She understood the situation she was in, but she couldn’t get past that.

She’d regained her senses. Her sense of self was hers again.

What should I do?

The answer didn’t come. She couldn’t even try to think of it.

The harder she tried to recover her sanity, the more something else encroached on her mind.

Her memories.

What she’d witnessed replayed itself over and over, eating up her working memory.

They were as vivid as if they’d occurred only five seconds ago and yet as vague as a prenatal sensation…

With that vague feeling, the images dimly seeped into her mind.

“Yes, yes, for now, there’s no need to make our move yet.”

In a corner of her consciousness, she heard a voice.

Bride’s voice.

According to official records, he was just a stranger.

According to the group’s doctrine, he was her husband.

And as far as Celice herself was concerned, he was a murderer who would probably kill her.

I have to run, she tried to think, but her thoughts froze halfway through the sentence.

She could feel the sights replaying not in her head but all through her body.

It made her skin crawl.

All she could do was endure the nightmare and let what Bride and his followers were saying go in one ear and out the other.

“Yes, that’s right. Viralesque is on the Entrance, and he’s reporting every detail of the situation over there. We’ll be careful about the plan, and sometimes we’ll be more bold. Granted, if we choose the bold approach and inflict no damage, there won’t be a single victim. However, if we need to be careful, it’s probably best to sink the entire ship and every passenger who isn’t one of us.”

Despite the violent topic, the meaning didn’t register in Celice’s mind.

At present, she was a puppet that moved as Bride directed her to.

Celice had gotten through the immigration inspection by doing everything she was told, and she had been admitted to the ship in the role of “sickly fiancée.”

Whatever the others thought of her in this state, they didn’t seem to care that she was present during the discussion of what was probably confidential information.

“That said, hurting and killing uninvolved parties goes against our doctrine, so I’d like to act boldly.”

“But, Leader—Bride—do you think it’s possible the immortals have noticed our presence?” asked one of the two women who were always at his side.

The pair called Bride “Leader,” and they attended him in secretarial roles.

Despite that, they had no particular distinguishing traits. At a glance, that lack of individuality made them seem like twins or sisters, but it wasn’t clear whether they really were.

“Maybe so, and maybe not.”

“The ‘child of calamity and light’ was originally one of us. Even if it has been three hundred years, he may pick up on something.”

“He might. Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. We’ve been prepared for uncertainties all along. Ha-ha,” Bride replied impassively, wearing his usual smile. “Let’s enjoy the situation. Enjoy life! After all, that is the greatest unshakable tenet of our faith! —Uh, th-there I go, talking big again. I’m sorry. Ha-ha.”

Though the leader was as awkward and unsure as ever, the women silently bowed their heads. Smiling at them, Bride got up from his chair, swept his gaze around the room, then paced back and forth and drank in the luxury around him.

“Well, the other ship is setting sail a day after us, so let’s take it easy and enjoy the voyage until then,” he mumbled to himself. “I—I know! With some quality husband-and-wife alone time, for example…!”

And then—he whirled back around toward the bed where Celice was and tried to leap on top of her like a wrestler attempting a flying body press.

…But his jump didn’t take him far enough, and he ended up slamming his side into the corner of the bed.

“Ghagh…!” His grunt almost qualified as a scream. He got up as if to hide his embarrassment, then awkwardly tried to recover his dignity. “W-well, travel is liberating, you know? Besides, uh, this is the first time I’ve ever had such a mature, grown-up woman as a wife, so I can’t really help getting, y’know, turned on.” Waving his hands nervously, the discombobulated leader went on. “After all, I mean—I don’t have a thing for little girls, so this is nothing like before. My other wives were ten-year-olds, and I only married them right before they died, you see?”

He looked down, muttering in a strangled sort of way. Then he coughed once, clearing his throat, and extended a hand to Celice like a perfect gentleman.

“Come, Miss Lucotte. Let’s go to the party. It’s all right; it’ll improve the mood.

“You’ve only got a few more days as my wife. Until your death, feel all the agony you can manage, please.”

Thirty minutes later The party hall

“Well, we got to our room, but I didn’t see anything that might have been a message from Huey…,” Sylvie murmured, raising a glass of wine to her lips.

The reception celebrating the first night of the voyage was currently underway.

Much like the banquet venues annexed to hotels, the party hall was huge. Sometimes it was even used for celebrity weddings. At one of the tables within, Elmer, Sylvie, and Denkurou were working their way through their meals.

A live orchestra was playing on a stage, and a troupe of acrobats was performing in time with the music on several small platforms that had been scattered among the tables.

“Well, it isn’t as if I didn’t expect that.”

Keeping his eyes on the odd combination of classical music and dance, Elmer replied to Sylvie with a smile. “He may not look it, but he likes to make a dramatic entrance. You never know; he might appear out of a top hat in the middle of tonight’s magic show.”

“Magic show?”

“Yeah! It’s about two hours from now, at a place called Ristorante Cuculo, near the center of the ship. He’s a kid named Rookie Warlock, and I tell you, I got quite a shock when I saw his bio.”

“Why? Someone you know?”

“No, unfortunately. I hadn’t heard of him until now.”

Elmer took the pamphlet that had been in their cabin out of his jacket, opened it, and showed it to Sylvie and Denkurou.

“Says he’s from Lotto Valentino.”

“Huh?!”

“Hmm…?”

The profile was in a corner of the pamphlet, written in English. When they saw the name of his hometown, Sylvie and Denkurou looked at each other.

Lotto Valentino.

That was the name of a port town in southern Italy, relatively close to Naples.

The town was famous for its many libraries, and stone houses lined the slope from the port to the top of a modest hill. It had many buildings of historic value as well.

However, the average person would hardly even know that. Unlike major cities such as New York, London, Paris, and Tokyo, the size of this particular town meant that not even many Italians would be familiar with it.

But in the memories of the three people who were sitting at the table, it was an important location.

To Elmer, it was one of the places he considered a hometown.

To Denkurou, it was the site of several significant incidents and where he had met a few friends, long ago.

To Sylvie—it was where her lover had been born.

Sylvie held her breath for a moment—but just a moment. Then she smiled.

“…That brings back memories. Maybe I’ll go take a look.”

“Hmm… I find it rather intriguing as well. Still, I believe we should refrain from inviting Nile. At one point, he was determined to burn that town to the ground. Were he to recall that memory now, I fear we may find him troublesome.”

Elmer gave a satisfied smile at their replies—

—and so the three made plans to attend their own enemy’s show, blissfully unaware that the performer was an adversary.

Meanwhile In a certain semi-suite cabin

“Let me just say this: I am bored.”

Reluctant to destroy the mood at the party, Nile had opted to stay behind in the cabin alone.

“Tch… He summons us only to inflict this tedium upon us. How should I express my displeasure, should the scoundrel ever show himself?”

Showing no particular interest in the room’s TV, he’d gone out onto the small balcony and opened his luggage. The bulk of its contents consisted of clothes and about ten spare masks.

Each mask was a different color. As he polished them with a cloth he kept for that specific purpose, Nile gazed out over the starlit sea.

“Hmm… Well, I suppose the eternally shifting waves have a charm of their own.”

Sitting on the balcony’s little chair, Nile kept polishing masks and watching the water.

And then he spotted a shadow zipping across the waves.

“Is that…a boat?”

For some reason, all the vessel’s lights were dark, and it was gradually moving away from the ship.

How peculiar. The sun has set, and yet they sail without lights. Well, I doubt they are pirates, if they are moving away from us, he thought, then impassively resumed his polishing.

Behind his mask, he wore a rather dangerous-looking smile.

That said, the arrival of pirates would at least put an end to this boredom.

Meanwhile In a certain suite

After the boat Nile spotted had gone—

The object the vessel had left behind was snagged on the balcony of a certain room.

“Yeah, that’s how it’s done! Good catch. Death should’ve been on board in person, but he went off and kicked the bucket, so we gotta make do.”

The cabin was a good distance from Nile’s. It was currently occupied by Aging, who’d shucked off her jacket and stripped down to a tank top, and the row of Mask Makers behind her.

“Right. Well. Let’s get this stuff hauled up ASAP.”

“It’s still pretty early for that, Aging. Shouldn’t we wait till later at night?”

“Hey, this is a good time for it. Pretty much everybody’s at the reception. If we leave it hangin’ here like this, the cable could break. And besides—”

Aging shot cursory glances at the balconies above and below hers, making sure there was no one around. Nile was polishing masks in a distant cabin, but neither could see the other.

Once she’d finished her check, she set her hands on the hook caught on the railing of the balcony, then hauled on the attached cable, pulling it up.

As she reeled the cable in, it gradually grew thicker, and when it was about as thick as a decent rope—several huge boxes emerged from the ocean.

“—won’t even take a minute.”

Hauling the boxes toward her without much effort, she drew them up over thirty feet into the air.

“There.”

Holding the cable with one hand, she used the other to pass the boxes dangling on the end to the comrades behind her. One of the men accepted a box, about twenty inches square, and—

“Gwuff?!” He immediately staggered under the weight, and the people around him rushed to steady him.

“C’mon, it’s only a hundred and seventy-five pounds or so.” The gigantic woman cackled with laughter, drawing up waterproof cases one after another.

“Damn… What is she, a Terminator?”

Cracking jokes, the Mask Maker men split into teams of two and carried the boxes into the room.

Although their attitudes seemed flippant, their hands were practiced. They opened the lids on the boxes one after another, then dexterously assembled what was inside.

The cases held the tools of their trade—and a lot of them.

All sorts of equipment were inside, including a plethora of standardized guns, multiple hand grenades (or something similar), and items whose purpose wasn’t clear at a glance. It was enough to make you wonder if they were about to go to war.

And as a matter of fact, they were.

“Gah-ha! Whoo, look at ’em all! The president pulled out all the stops! If somebody from room service shows up now, they’ll cuff the whole bunch of us and march us down to a basement storeroom together!”

As she cackled, the men rolled their eyes and kept assembling guns at a brisk pace.

“Or we could just have the room service guy take a nice, seasonally appropriate dip in the ocean,” commented one of her comrades.

“Hmm…,” another mused. “Well, real pros don’t let themselves get spotted in the first place. Sure, you might look like a badass popping off an average Joe witness, but any group pulling a stunt like that is a buncha boneheads without a real plan.”

“…Do you actually know what we’re about to do?” asked a third wearily. “Depending on how things go, we might—”

But Aging laughed even louder.

“Gah! Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh, I know, all right! We’re all a buncha numbskulls for even tryin’! I swear, ain’t no other group this reckless and planless and lawless! I’m havin’ the time of my goddamn life!”

“Well, as long as you do your job, I guess.”

With that, the Mask Makers went back to work.

They tended to see Aging, Life, and Illness more as tools than as companions. That didn’t mean they looked down on them; as tools, the three of them were vital. If guns were weapons for a fight, then Aging and the others were munitions for a war. Just having them on their side gave them a certain feeling of security.

Aging and the others acted as their shields, slaughtering without blinking. The other Mask Makers hardly felt superior; in fact, they respected them.

Although, given the idiosyncratic personalities of the two female members, they didn’t really look up to them all that much, either.

Aging didn’t give a damn about their attitudes toward her. She was unpacking her own dedicated equipment from the third box, which was longer than the others.

First, she took out a pair of night vision goggles that combined night sight with heat vision—and casually tossed them onto the bed.

“Hey, careful with those!”

“Yeah, well, I almost never use ’em. Unless it’s actually pitch-black, I can let my eyes adjust. Feels better and doesn’t cut off my periphery. The latest goggles might be different, but this old night-vision gear ain’t much better than the naked eye.”

“…That’s, uh, kind of a big deal, don’tcha think?”

Ignoring her comrade’s comment, she took out a matte-black infiltration suit, lifted the inner lid, and picked up her weapons from the storage area underneath.

The first was a thick Kukri knife with a blade as long as a human arm.

Also called Gurkha knives, these blades were used as everyday tools, and sometimes in combat, by people known as Gurkhas.

The knife had a distinctive blade that curved in the opposite direction from a Japanese katana, bending sharply in the middle, with the cutting edge on the inner side of the curve. However, the one Aging was holding was large enough that sword seemed to be a more appropriate term than knife.

The enormous knife weighed just under ten pounds, and its blade alone seemed to be about two and a half feet long.

If you let it fall naturally, the weight of it might have been enough to sever an arm. As she checked this dangerous blade, Aging handled it as lightly as a bamboo sword, and when she slid it into its leather scabbard, she was humming to herself.

At last, the components of the weapon that accounted for more than half the weight of the box appeared.

“Whoa. Hey,” said one of the Mask Makers, turning pale when he saw them.

The components were pure metal, not black so much as dull silver.

They were obviously for some sort of gun, but it was no gun like the ones the other Mask Makers held.

“That’s…the heavy machine gun Schwarzenegger used in Terminator 2, isn’t it?”

“Hmm? Oh, y’know, you could be right. The guy with the beard had one in Predator!”

It was a type of heavy machine gun called a minigun. It was a smaller version of a large gun intended to be mounted on helicopters; despite being heavy weaponry, it was known as a “minigun” because its weight had been reduced to a little under forty-five pounds.

“This ain’t a movie, guys…,” one of her comrades muttered, more in pure shock than in any sort of chagrin.

People carried guns like this around in games and on TV as if that were a normal thing to do, but it wasn’t actually used that way. At less than forty-five pounds, it looked manageable for someone with strong arms, but it required a cartridge belt and needed a battery to run it.

The minigun had a terrifying firing rate of four thousand rounds per minute. The ammunition required for that single minute would weigh nearly ninety pounds all on its own—and if you added the weight of the battery and the auxiliary equipment, the weight could easily reach two hundred pounds and then some.

And with a weapon of that caliber, its recoil was a force to be reckoned with as well, and if you were aiming it by hand, it was nearly impossible to control the sight. Meaning it really wasn’t a weapon that humans could carry, and yet—

Aging picked up the box—which held a full set of components, gun belt included—as if it weighed almost nothing, then carried it over to an empty bed.

Don’t tell me she’s seriously… No, there’s gotta be a gun mount or something in there, too, right? Right? It’s for intercepting a police helicopter if it shows up, right?

Ignoring her companions’ dubious stares, Aging cackled and waved a hand.

“Hey, don’t worry! I wouldn’t use a minigun as is! This one was made just for me, special order! It’s lighter, and they cut down the weight of the battery, too!”

“I-is that right…?”

“The recoil’s way tamer, and the firing rate was dialed down so the gun belts last longer… Or so I was told, but I learned all the fiddly little details later on by actually using it. I don’t remember the other stuff too well!”

“Don’t sound so proud of it! And, uh, I’m not sure you’re seeing the issue here…? W-well, I mean, somebody with a build like yours might be able to use it, but…”

The men acted convinced, although they weren’t, really.

Oblivious, Aging gave an openhearted smile and told them, “Well, I had them tweak the shape so I can shoot it with one hand!”

“…”

The Mask Makers found this claim incredibly difficult to accept, so they pretended they hadn’t heard it.

Aging often acted irresponsible, but she wasn’t incompetent. She wouldn’t lie on the job.

Therefore, if she said she could do it, she probably could.

Her companions believed this, and they weren’t exactly a well-ordered military unit anyway, so they let the matter slide.

That was the kind of group they were.

But Aging didn’t notice any of this and kept blabbing away.

“Yeah, this is about what you need for backup guns. After all, the Gurkha knife might break if I used it against bullets from enemy machine guns!”

Even though the men struggled desperately to ignore the guffawing woman’s words, they whispered to one another in spite of themselves.

(“So, wait… That monster of a machete is her main weapon?!”)

(“What about a gun?! A normal gun?!”)

(“Whoa. This is the first time I’ve ever worked with her, but now I get why she’s usually solo.”)

(“Yeah. It’s hard to put it into words or process it—you just know.”)

(“If we fight alongside her, our lives are gonna be in danger!”)

(“Does, uh… Does she know what backup gun means?”)

(“What was she gonna do with enemy bullets again?”)

“Hey, c’mon now, don’t whisper about a gal behind her back. Man up.”

At the woman’s words, the men turned around—to see she’d already finished assembling her special-order minigun.

“I tell ya, every starry-eyed dame dreams of blazing away with a heavy machine gun one-handed!”

Who the hell’s a starry-eyed dame?!

The whole group mentally screamed at once, but—

—as the giantess twirled around with a Gurkha knife in her dominant hand and a minigun in the other, nobody had the courage to say it out loud.

Two hours later In Ristorante Cuculo, an Italian restaurant

The show was indeed nothing short of magical.

There were strings and other tricks behind it all; this was an immutable fact, one that everyone in the audience knew, and yet they were still fascinated by the whole thing. More than the mysterious phenomena before their eyes, perhaps the deception itself was the spell, a real one with no tricks or strings.

The place was a shipboard Italian restaurant that managed to be simultaneously cozy and high-class. On the small stage within, man-made miracles were unfolding.

Casino medals welled up from the palm of his hand when he placed it over a cup.

A round table tilted without being touched, spinning like a top.

Setting one hand on the wall, the magician slowly levitated himself into the air.

A top hat appeared from the wings of a dove, and several eggs rolled out of it.

He squeezed one of those eggs, and it instantly turned into a baby alligator.

All the cards in his hand were transformed into tiny balloons.

The balloons burst one after another, turning back into cards, and the card chosen by a member of the audience appeared from the last remaining balloon.

The red wine he poured into an audience member’s cup turned to milk as soon as it left the bottle.

When he poured for someone else, the wine was white.

The magician on the stage ran through everything from illusions like these to basic tablecloth magic.

He made excellent use of a wide variety of conjuring tricks, striking a careful balance in the order in which he performed them so that the audience would be pleasantly deceived, gradually building the surprise.

The one who wielded all this magic and had the hearts of the audience under his spell—was a boy who still seemed to be a long way from adulthood.

His light-blond hair swung in a bewitching way, and his fingers danced over the table, occasionally controlling the entire stage.

He was known as Rookie the magician.

His stage name, Rookie Warlock, didn’t even sound like a proper noun, but the legerdemain he demonstrated wasn’t the work of a beginner. It was highly polished, in both technique and stage presentation.

During performances, he hardly spoke at all, but he knew how to smile and when to manipulate the audience. Sometimes he would reassure them, sometimes unsettle them.

In addition, the calm smile he showed when applause broke out after a successful trick seemed so genuinely childlike, people would forget he was the one who’d just performed a miracle.

Meanwhile—

“Whoa! That’s incredible! How do you suppose that’s done?!”

—a man in the audience was acting as giddy as a child, too.

“Hey, I just had an idea. What if that boy is only pretending to be a stage magician…and he’s actually a real warlock?”

“…You think like a kid.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sylvie. If I could use real magic and started casting my spells everywhere, I bet I’d upset people from all sorts of religions, and then not everybody would smile for me. But if I told them it’s stage magic instead, I could make money and be popular, and it would all work out, see?”

“Typical Elmer. You didn’t even consider the idea of withdrawing from human society and living as a hermit.”

Responding with a smile and a sigh, Sylvie kept her attention on the stage and the boy’s performance. She hadn’t even touched the spread of desserts on the table.

Meanwhile, Denkurou had at first expressed open admiration for the boy’s magic tricks—

—but then he suddenly seemed to notice something.

“Hmm… Perhaps it is my imagination, but he appears to be taking particular note of our table from time to time.”

“You think so? I bet it is your imagination. Even if it’s not, I think it’s normal for stage magicians to scan the tables every so often.”

“I see… Now that you mention it, you may be right. My apologies for casting doubts.”

Denkurou’s expression softened, and he chose to simply enjoy the rest of the show.

Meanwhile, the boy on the stage was internally sweating buckets.

What is with the Asian guy?

His eyes… I felt like a wolf was staring at me until a moment ago.

Still, I never thought getting a good look at them would be this easy… Did the pamphlet catch their interest? I wondered whether that would do it.

He’d hoped mentioning his hometown of Lotto Valentino would pique their curiosity and encourage them to come, and indeed it had.

However, the Asian immortal who was with them—Denkurou Tougou—was apparently a tougher customer than he’d anticipated. Rookie had been subtly keeping an observant eye on them during his performance; had the man noticed? Partway through the show, Denkurou’s gaze had sharpened into a knife piercing right through him.

If it had been a mistake on his part, and Rookie hadn’t been paying any more attention to their table than the others, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Meaning that if Rookie reacted to it now—

He’ll know.

He didn’t know exactly what it was that Denkurou would know, but Rookie couldn’t let them suspect him of anything at this point in time. They would end up in conflict sooner or later, but he couldn’t afford to make them wary.

Since he’d written down where he was from, they might try to meet him after the show.

He’d been prepared for that, but he’d never dreamed they’d try to start something now.

Cover it up, hide it.

Play it cool, turn your heart to ice…

No, that’s not it.

Focus.

Right now, you’re a magician.

Concentrate on the magic. All the audience members at your stage are the same. All you have to do is thrill them, impress them, and make every one of them smile.

As the show reached its climax, the magician cleared the table and moved it to the side of the stage.

Smiling wordlessly, the boy approached the table where Elmer and the others sat.

After a chivalrous bow, he knelt and held out a hand to Sylvie.

“Huh…? M-me?”

Long ago, she’d taken the stage as a singer in taverns not unlike this one. But this time, she was caught completely off guard, and her eyes darted around in bewilderment.

Slowly rising to his feet, the boy took Sylvie’s hand and gestured elegantly toward the stage.

Until then, the eyes of the audience had been riveted on the performer, but they gulped when they suddenly saw Sylvie. Her beauty was so perfect that the idea that this encounter might be staged never occurred to them.

Some began hastily flipping through their pamphlets, thinking she might be a singer or a model who would be appearing at a different event, while others finally pulled out their video cameras and started filming.

As the restaurant began humming with excitement—the boy silently handed Sylvie a sword.

Sylvie found herself holding a gleaming silver saber. Although its blade was probably blunted, its weight, the feel of it, and the way it gleamed were just like a real weapon.

The boy dragged over a box that had been sitting beside the stage. It was about as tall as he was, reminiscent of a locker for cleaning supplies.

The height, width, and depth of the large cabinet could have been tailored to the boy’s measurements. If he climbed inside, it would probably be so cramped that he wouldn’t even be able to turn around easily.

There were softball-sized holes scattered around the cabinet, and a little above its center, there was a mark in the shape of a heart.

The box was set on casters, and the boy magician rotated it with its door wide-open, showing the audience that there was nothing out of the ordinary about it.

Then he shut the door of the empty cabinet and wrapped a chain around it and locked it.

What on earth was he doing? the audience wondered. Wasn’t he going to get inside? But then they noticed a ring attached to a long piece of fabric like a curtain had appeared around the base of the cabinet.

The boy picked up the ring, slowly stepped inside, and then flung his arms above his head.

The cloth rose to hide him from the audience, but only for a few seconds.

The ring and its cloth fell to the floor to reveal the chain-wrapped box—and the arms of the boy magician protruding through the small holes in its sides.

“Oho…”

At that, even Denkurou gave an involuntary murmur of admiration.

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the trick. As Sylvie stood on the stage in shock, the boy spoke to her from inside the box.

“Now then, my beautiful lady,” he murmured in Italian, his voice ever so slightly bashful, “pierce my heart, if you would.”

Although Sylvie was bewildered for a moment, she steeled herself and slowly turned the tip of the sword toward the cabinet.

There was a moment’s pause.

Then Sylvie gently slid the sword into the box through the heart-shaped mark at its center.

A moment later—the boy’s hands twitched, and something slipped from his fingers to land beside the box.

It was the key to the chain around the cabinet.

While Sylvie was picking it up, the boy’s arms withdrew into the cabinet, and complete silence fell over the stage.

Sylvie was rather anxious. Hastily unlocking the chain, she opened the door, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, countless flower petals spilled out of the box.

Dancing, twirling through the air above the stage, the blossoms created colorful accents to her silver hair, pale as the wind.

The audience broke out into thunderous applause. Startled, Sylvie stared blankly at them.

A hand touched her back.

The boy magician who’d vanished from the box was standing there, smiling innocently.

“May I have the key?” he asked, and Sylvie hastily handed it to him.

The boy closed his hand around it, instantly transforming it into a single rose.

“Have a wonderful voyage.” With a gentle smile, the boy magician held the rose out to Sylvie.

Sylvie accepted it, then left the stage.

She realized she’d begun to smile.

Maybe it was from relief that the boy she’d stabbed was unharmed, or maybe she’d simply been charmed by his performance. She knew it was a mere trick, but—

Sylvie’s movie-perfect face wore the smile of a young girl, and the whole restaurant showered her with generous applause.

With the adulation in his ears, the boy took the center of the stage to announce the end of the show.

His smile was warm and genuine, exactly like Sylvie’s.

“Did you see that? Did you see what just happened?”

A man sitting on the opposite side from Elmer’s group murmured, his face expressionless, as Sylvie returned to her own table with a smile.

“Marvelous, isn’t it? What a smile. Even after three hundred years on this earth, she isn’t tired of living. She’s lost her lover and her chance to avenge him, and yet her heart is still alive. Yes, it’s magnificent. Don’t you think so, Lucotte?” he mumbled rapidly, drowned out by the audience before anyone else could hear.

The woman who sat next to him responded, but her eyes seemed to have strayed into the space between reality and fiction.

“…Y-yes.”

“All right. I’ll make copies of that video later.”

It wasn’t clear whether he’d heard Celice’s response. With a fond expression, Bride removed the videotape from the camera and stowed it inside his bag.

“After I’ve made her my wife, forcing her to watch the bygone days when she was happy will make for a splendid prayer.”

Thirty minutes later

The boy wasn’t consciously sleepy, but everything around him had started feeling strangely unreal. The rocking of the ship should have been nearly imperceptible, but it kept messing with his mind.

After the show, Rookie sat in a corner of the closed, deserted restaurant, drinking coffee by himself. True, he’d cut a special deal and slipped onto the ship at the last minute—but the proprietor of the restaurant didn’t know about the Mask Makers.

The man, a good-natured fellow as far as Rookie could tell, had wordlessly made him coffee out of appreciation for his show.

The idea that he was using the unwitting proprietor made guilt well up inside the boy. However, he promptly buried that emotion and calmly considered what came next.

For now, I can leave contacting the rest of the team to Aging. Even if the Mask Makers become public knowledge, they won’t connect me to them right away.

If that happens…I’ll have to capture him. Even if it means doing it myself.

I’ve ensured I’ll be able to leave the ship in the middle of the voyage. Now I just have to grab that chance, take him, and…

As the boy was thinking to himself, a visitor appeared.

The sign on the door was turned to CLOSED, but a man had walked in and begun talking to the proprietor.

After they’d conversed for a while, the proprietor left the man waiting at the entrance and came over to Rookie, who was drinking his coffee.

“The gentleman over there says he’s from your hometown, Luchino, and he wants to thank you for the magnificent show.”

“I don’t mind. I was just thinking I’d like to talk to somebody myself.” With a false, childlike expression, he told the proprietor to let the man through.

He’d recognized the man the moment the door opened.

It was the very one he’d half feared and half hoped to see.

“Hi there. We haven’t met before…I don’t think? I’m Elmer. Elmer C. Albatross.”

“Luchino.”

The man introduced himself with a nonchalant smile, and Luchino quietly extended a hand to him.

“Thank you very much for today. Please give the woman who was with you my thanks as well.”

“No, no! If anything, I should be thanking you! That was a fantastic show. Thank you.”

The moment the man gripped his hand, tension ran through Luchino from head to toe.

An immortal, hmm?

Even looking right at him, even touching his skin, Luchino didn’t feel anything particularly odd.

But the man in front of him was definitely not human.

Firmly reminding himself of that fact, the boy put on his mask of a smile and said, “I’m told you’re from Lotto Valentino as well, Elmer.”

“That’s right, although I haven’t been back in a while. I spent about six years there when I was a kid.”

“I see. Then do you know the story about the womanizing count who spent his entire life in love with thirty maids?”

“Thirty-seven, actually. I see, I see, so rumors about Speran—uh, Count Boroñal have made it all the way to your generation, too.”

“Oh, come on, Elmer. There can’t be more than ten years’ difference between us.”

Even Luchino thought the remark was shameless. If the story he’d heard was correct, the man in front of him had actually lived in Lotto Valentino during the lifetime of the real Count Boroñal.

Rookie made that spiteful jab despite knowing this.

However—

“Actually, just between us, I’m older than I look. By about three hundred years.”

“…That’s a joke, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t be a vampire.”

“A vampire, huh? I dunno. I know somebody who reminds me of one, but I’ve never actually checked. Say, do you think they exist?”

“…I, um… That’s a good question,” Rookie evaded, rather absently. If immortals existed, it wouldn’t be strange if vampires did, too—but more importantly, this man’s behavior was confusing him.

What is this? What’s wrong with him? Does he even understand his own position?

He’d assumed immortals would do everything in their power to hide their existence from others.

The people around them would fear them as monsters, and the stories about being snatched by black-suited government agents would cease to be fiction.

Even without those potential issues, he’d never dreamed the man would volunteer the information that he was immortal so easily.

“Aaaanyway, your magic tricks were terrific! As a fellow Lotto Valentino native, I’m proud. Maybe I’m riding your coattails a bit, but being from the same town as an amazing kid like you is enough to put me over the moon… And so I speak for everyone who felt that way when I say, with heartfelt gratitude, thank you very, very much!”

Elmer thanked the younger boy with genuine feeling and no apparent ulterior motives whatsoever.

What is this?

Meanwhile, Rookie was gradually managing to calm down, but the calmer he got, the clearer one question grew.

Is this guy…really…uh…immortal?

It wasn’t as if he’d had a firm mental image of what immortals were like, but wasn’t Elmer a little too cavalier?

Keeping his bewilderment in check, the boy decided to observe the other man and listen patiently to what he had to say.

He froze his heart in ice to keep all unnecessary emotion out of the exchange, then masked it with a smile.

In the end, the conversation was unexpectedly short. After ten minutes or so, they’d run out of things to say to each other.

They could have had a lively discussion about their hometown, except that the towns the two of them knew were three centuries apart. They got along fine when talking about the land, historical relics, and traditions, but when it came to recent minor changes, the conversation fell flat.

Finally, when silence had fallen for the umpteenth time, Elmer got up, smiling.

“Whoops. You’re busy, and here I’ve been chatting about nothing at all. I’m sorry.”

“No, what you shared with me was very beneficial. If you ever get the opportunity, please do come visit the town again!” the boy said with a grin.

Behind that smile, his true feelings remained hidden:

After this voyage, you’ll be coming back with me whether you like it or not.

Elmer gave a little smile of his own and gazed steadily at Rookie’s face.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll think about it… By the way, you kinda look like a friend of mine, so I hope you don’t mind me being a little forward before I go.”

“What is it?”

The phrase You look like a friend of mine had made his heart skip a beat.

He’d heard that this man had been acquainted with his ancestor Monica. Was Elmer saying he resembled an ancestor from three centuries ago?

Don’t tell me… He can’t have meant…Huey…can he?

The thought concerned him, and the idea that it might be true was downright irritating, but he kept both emotions hidden in his heart and made an effort to see the other man off with a smile.

Only in the next instant did he learn that all his efforts had been in vain.

“I think you’ll find happiness someday.”

“Huh…?”

Elmer’s remark was completely unexpected. “Every smile you’ve shown me here has been fake, but…”

“…!”

He’d spotted it.

He’d figured it out.

He’d seen right through to his heart.

Instantly, an alarm began to sound in Rookie’s brain.

How much had the man noticed? Did he know everything, right from the start, before Rookie had even made contact with him?

If so…what should I do?

Even as anxiety threaded through his veins, Rookie kept his expression unchanged, waiting for the other man to make his move.

Elmer must have noticed the shift in the boy’s mood anyway. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Yeah, I’m good at spotting these things. But, you know…that smile you had when you were doing magic? Now, that was the real thing. I haven’t seen such a fantastic smile in a long time,” he said kindly, with an expression as though he was savoring some nostalgic memory. Maybe he was remembering that evening’s show. “If your magic tricks can make you smile like that, I’m sure they won’t betray you.”

“…”

“And so…keep believing in your magic, too.”

With that bit of advice, the immortal who was nothing like what Rookie had imagined started walking out of the restaurant.

“If you do, I know you’ll be able to smile a lot.”

It wasn’t clear whether he’d realized just how cruel those words were.

Elmer left without another word, and as Rookie watched him go, he didn’t say anything, either.

What… What is up with that guy? The boy tried to calm his heart again—and realized there were tears in his eyes. Are you telling me he was like that three hundred years ago, too?

He didn’t understand what had made him cry. He didn’t even try to think about it. Instead, a furious question rose inside him with increasing strength, as if to distract him from those tears.

If so, then why… Why didn’t he stop him?

When Huey killed Monica…why didn’t he do anything?

Dammit… Dammit to hell…!

But there was no one around to answer the boy’s question. The only sound reaching his empty heart just then was the clinking of the cooks washing dishes.

Clatter-clatter clank-clack

Clink-clink click-click

And so the first day passed without incident.

…To all appearances anyway.

Gradually, the malice incarnate that had boarded the ship revealed more of its true colors.

Slowly—and steadily.

In a certain suite

“Well, now… We should act around day three of the voyage.”

Bride impassively but casually outlined the situation to a few believers who acted as his liaisons with the rest of the group. He took his red-and-black lab coat out of his luggage.

“Until then, let’s enjoy the cruise… Or so I’d like to say, but there’s nothing better than getting the prep work out of the way early. Let’s spread our colors over this ship little by little, starting tomorrow night or so. Only if we can, I mean. If we can. Ha-ha.”

With a hollow, noncommittal laugh, he unfolded the red-and-black lab coat and began to put it on, then thought for a bit, decided he’d wait awhile longer, and refolded it.

As he did, Bride approached Celice. She was still standing in a corner of the room looking as if she’d misplaced her soul, as she had been the whole voyage. He softly combed her bangs up with his fingers.

“You could die anytime now, so, erm, well, I want to make sure this gets said… I’m really, well, you know—I’m quite partial to you.”

Averting his face as if he was embarrassed, Bride spoke as if he didn’t give a damn.

There was no malice or hostility in his face, but there was no good will there, either. He simply smiled in a bashful way and whispered to the woman who was currently his wife.

“And so, uh, Miss Lucotte, I’d love to see your beautiful suffering.”