Baccano! - Volume 15 - Chapter Ep

EPILOGUE C

The young man had sensed something wasn’t quite right, and so he made his discovery.

When he was putting the sheaf of parchment away, he noticed the base of the chest seemed just a little too shallow. It bothered him, and he decided to try taking the chest apart.

As he’d anticipated, it had a false bottom. Inside it was yet another sheaf of parchment.

However, the story it told…was despair itself. The truth betrayed the youth’s prayer entirely.

The Memoirs of Jean-Pierre Accardo

What I will set down beyond this point is the truth, and my atonement.

…My true atonement.

Why, oh why could you not have left well enough alone? Why did you have to find this memoir, too? Had you thrown it away instead, my crime would have gone unexposed.

You, my unseen reader—you, whom I will doubtless never meet—I despise you with all my soul. You have exposed the past I wished to erase for eternity.

I also thank you.

…For I am no longer a coward who fled until the bitter end.

In the memoir that I expect you’ve already read, I said I was not contemplating suicide. That was a lie.

Once I have finished writing this, I will end my own life. I will leave this memoir for posterity, as my farewell letter.

Please, I beg you, remember.

This is the will I left behind me, and my hope—and a self-inflicted curse.

1710

She ran and ran and ran.

Her legs were weak from her long confinement, and she nearly fell several times, but she kept running desperately across the deck.

I’ll finally see Huey.

I want to talk to him.

Huey is there, right there, right in front of me.

Driven by that simple, pure thought—she finally reached him.

However—

—the voice behind the mask could not possibly have been Huey’s.

“Did you really believe it would go that well?”

Her skin crawled, and she shuddered.

The unfamiliarity of the voice overwhelmed her, yes, but even worse was the astonishing human emotion in it.

It wasn’t hatred, or sadness, or lunacy.

The brief remark had been saturated with genuine enjoyment.

Like a child stomping on ants, or spectators watching people killing each other in a coliseum, or a group that shouts in pure triumph after achieving some great objective.

It was joy. It was delight. It was pleasure. It was ecstasy.

The short comment had been filled with sheer happiness. For Monica, it was indescribably eerie. Then that sinister feeling manifested.

And a silver blade slid through the lower half of her field of vision.

If she had been in top form, the reflexes she’d cultivated as the Mask Maker might have allowed her to evade the attack.

However, her hope at the prospect of seeing Huey had blunted her sense of danger.

Her long days in captivity had physically weakened her.

And due to another factor, she was nowhere near as strong as she had been when she was at her peak.

All the different elements came together.

That was all it was.

For that simple reason, she wasn’t able to dodge the blade, and—

“This was fun. Thank you.”

—as the man gave these indifferent words, the silver knife plunged deep into her flesh.

Ironically—just as another weapon had done ten years earlier, when she had stabbed and killed a man.

The blade tore mercilessly through Monica’s abdomen.

“Still… Don’t you think digging up some stranger’s bones from the public cemetery was going too far?”

“…I’ll take the blame. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I bet Monica’s going to care, but… Well, I guess it’s not so bad. You and Monica will match now. You’ve both sacrificed the corpse of some kid you don’t know.”

With that insensitive comment, Elmer carried a large sack onto the black ship.

“I hope somebody else’s burned bones are enough to convince the Dormentaire people.”

“If we’re lucky, the ship will sink.”

Multiple Mask Makers had boarded just as Dalton left, and they had already taken Carla and the others off the ship. Now all they had to do was access the nobles’ private quarters. No one had gone in there yet.

“I hope Monica hasn’t inhaled that powder and passed out— Hey, Huey!”

Huey was already headed into the ship at a run, leaving Elmer behind.

But what he found was—

—an empty bedroom that showed no sign of recent use.

“…? Monica…? Where’s Monica?!”

As confusion swept over him, he imagined the worst.

Were they been too late? Had the clothes been a feint to hide how long ago they’d—?

As he nearly lost himself in hopeless imagined scenarios, a yell from Elmer, up on deck, pulled him back to reality.

“Huey, there’s trouble! The ship’s burning!

“Not this one! A ship across the way just set sail, and it’s on fire!!”

When Carla opened her eyes, she saw a mild, bespectacled face.

“Are you all right?”

“…Where…?!”

Remembering what she’d seen just before she collapsed, she sat up hastily. Her limbs still felt slightly numb, but she didn’t have time to worry about it.

Instead of the ship’s deck, she was now on the cobbled pavement of the port, where the ship had been moored.

She scanned her surroundings, including the man in front of her—and saw the vessel she’d been on a short while ago was floating in the harbor a short distance away.

Even more incomprehensibly, smoke was rising from another ship a little ways beyond theirs.

“?! What?! What on earth is happening? Answer me, Maiza Avaro!” she barked.

The man spoke slowly, as if trying to soothe her. “Calm down, please. I only just arrived here myself.”

She was focused on the ship that was pulling out of the port, and she wasn’t listening to Maiza.

“So this…is Lotto Valentino’s answer…?” she murmured, narrowing her eyes.

Gravely, Maiza asked, “What is that ship? The one that’s on fire?”

“It’s a used vessel. We purchased it here in town to accompany the main ship. The only ones who know about it are myself, some of my subordinates…and the spy.”

“A spy? What are you really attempting to do here?”

“We’re—” She came to herself with a jolt. She was casually giving away information to someone who wasn’t even part of her group—perhaps the drug hadn’t fully worn off. “…What’s the point of asking? Do you really think I’ll answer?”

It wasn’t rational to direct her hostility at the man in front of her.

She knew this, but her agitation added a harshness to her voice anyway.

“We and Lotto Valentino are enemies now. There’s no need for me to answer or make any attempt to get along with you.”

“Carla…”

As Maiza tried to restrain her, she gave him a warning.

“Remember this. You people have made an enemy of the House of Dormentaire. You may not be aware of it. You may know nothing at all… But Lotto Valentino has made that choice.”

“…”

“Don’t expect this town to still exist in a year.”

Carla’s words were closer to a threat than pressure, but just a little of her true feelings still surfaced.

“So…tell the townspeople. They should start preparing to flee, right now.”

Huh?

What’s the matter with me?

I feel weak.

Monica’s mind was hazy, but she could feel a terrible heat welling up from the center of her body.

While clinging to the railing of the ship, she thought, Oh. I’m going to die.

As her fate became clearer to her, a realization slowly crossed Monica’s mind: Will I finally be able to atone for my crime, then?

She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she still wanted to make amends.

Not to the man she’d killed, but to the nameless girl who had been sacrificed in her place.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know what to do.

Maybe it was wrong of me to find happiness.

Or should I have tried to find enough for both of us?

Her consciousness was gradually fading—but then she heard a voice on the wind, pulling her attention back just a little.

Hmm?

That’s Huey’s voice.

Gripping the railing, she slowly raised her head.

What she saw was an enormous, black vessel, heading toward her—

—and a man, standing on its deck. He was dressed as the Mask Maker, but he’d removed the mask. He was shouting her name, over and over.

…

Huey.

He came.

Oh, I’m so glad.

She didn’t care whether he was a vision or the real thing. She knew she was dying—and she was truly glad that Huey was the last thing she would see.

Um.

What…was I…? Huh?

What was it I had to do?

As her mind struggled, she saw her friend standing beside Huey and yelling.

Oh, Elmer’s here, too.

I’m glad to see him.

Looking at his face, Monica remembered what it was she’d resolved to do when she met Huey again.

And so—

—she smiled.

As her mind darkened toward death, Monica looked at Huey and Elmer, and she smiled.

Her smile was bright and powerful, filled with overwhelming gratitude.

Look, Huey. I can smile.

You too, Elmer. I’m not faking.

I can smile for real.

I know how to now.

It’s all thanks to you, Huey. I was happy, you know.

The black ship was drawing nearer. It didn’t frighten her anymore.

If Huey was onboard that ship, what was there to be afraid of?

But his expression made her a little sad.

You mustn’t look so upset, Huey. Elmer will stick his nose in again.

And then I’ll get jealous again.

Like a candle burning low, her heart summoned up the last of its strength.

I won’t die, Huey.

I’m just going away for a while, that’s all.

I’m sure we’ll meet again someday.

So—so Huey, you smile, too.

Thank you, Huey.

Good-bye, Huey.

…Let’s meet again.

At the very end, she murmured something.

From the faint, ever so faint motion of her lips, it looked as if she’d said, Let’s meet again.

If there was a miracle that happened that day—it may have been that her last words managed to reach Huey and Elmer.

The ships were on the verge of making contact.

Monica’s complexion revealed she was at death’s door, yet she was smiling cheerfully.

It was the most radiant smile Huey and Elmer had ever seen.

Still wearing that smile—

—Monica slowly leaned over the edge of the ship and plummeted toward the heaving waves.

Huey didn’t even have time to call her name, but the sight was strangely slow, a moment severed from the rest of time.

Her smile never faded, not even at the very end—

—and as the blood poured from her chest and dyed the water red, she disappeared between the rolling waves.

“      —   — —”

Screaming soundlessly, Huey tried to throw himself into the ocean, possibly in an attempt to save Monica.

If Elmer hadn’t jumped on him and held him back in the nick of time, he probably would have drowned as well.

“Let me go… Let go of me, Elmerrrrrr!”

Huey pressed his right hand to Elmer’s stomach, and a little flame erupted from it.

A burn appeared on Elmer’s stomach, and the smell of scorched flesh spread across the ship—but he didn’t release Huey.

Huey tried to hit him next, but Elmer still didn’t let go. He said nothing, only holding him back. He knew there was nothing he could say.

Until the other Mask Makers came over to them, wondering what was going on, and restrained Huey, Elmer stood his ground while his friend lashed out.

When they finally had him under control, Huey briefly fell silent, all his emotions gone—

—and then, with a scream of unfathomable anguish, he fell to his hands and knees on the deck.

That scream…

Was he calling Monica’s name?

Elmer sadly looked down, thinking. In his heart, he was grateful to Monica for her last moments.

Thank you, Monica.

Next time, I swear…I’ll be the one to make Huey smile.

So…if there is an “other side”…I hope you can smile and watch over us.

Even as these thoughts went through his mind, the deck was shaking with his friend’s cries.

This was the one and only time Elmer ever saw Huey scream.

In all his eventually immortal life, this was the first time, and the last.

Fortunately or unfortunately for him…Monica’s body never washed up anywhere, even though she had fallen into the water near the port. In the end, they couldn’t even confirm she was dead.

By a strange coincidence—

—it was just like Huey’s mother, who had been plunged into a lake in order to prove her innocence, never to be seen again.

Long ago, the girl committed a crime.

The entire world conspired to hide it, heedless of her wishes.

And so she lived on.

She lived in peace, without a care.

She never aspired to be happy.

She never desired to atone.

She simply didn’t know what she should do. That’s all.

That was why—I extended a hand to her.

I never thought about what the results might be. I never even noticed the precipice just ahead.

After all, I couldn’t have cared less about the precipice.

I extended a hand to her, without knowing what I should do, and—followed my instincts.

I simply gave her a little push. And that’s all it was.

What lay just ahead of her might have been a cliff, or it could have been the arms of her beloved.

I would not have minded either one.

After all, I was going to stab her in the back anyway.

Well, that was a rather enjoyable little game.

I am a little tired, though. I’ll go see Czes; the boy’s face is like a balm for the soul.

The Memoirs of Jean-Pierre Accardo

Yes, you are correct.

A few parts of my first memoir were fabricated.

Niki did not find me. Naturally, the part about my becoming a member of the Mask Makers was a falsehood. I was never tortured by Huey Laforet.

I told Monica that Huey had told me to come…because Lebreau had told me, If you tell her that, she’ll trust you and follow quietly. And I believed him.

This alone, I hope you will believe: I truly did intend to save her.

According to Lebreau, I was in danger, and the Mask Makers would retaliate by killing me. If I wanted to avoid that fate, I had to personally save Monica and declare to the other group that I was not their enemy.

In retrospect, that was all far too convenient, but I was too frightened of what I’d done to doubt him. And I trusted Lebreau too deeply.

I really did revise the end of the play, again at a suggestion from Lebreau. If I showed to the townspeople that the Mask Maker had stabbed her, they would not glorify that terrifying band of criminals—or so his logic went.

I can see the strangeness of it now. Why did I just accept it? Even as I write, I cannot say.

Yes, I know what you are thinking. You are exactly right… The statement that Monica survived was also a lie.

She died. I might as well have killed her myself.

You should hate me. Revile me.

It was not until years after that day that I understood the whole truth, but that is no excuse.

After all, no matter how many excuses I make, it does not change the fact of her death.

There is just one thing that I will set down here.

That girl, Monica Campanella, did not pass away without leaving anything behind.

There was a reason she had needed new clothing just a few days before we took action. And her clothes were not the only items purchased at the fabric shop.

…When she turned herself in, she had been with child.

I doubt I need mention whose child it was.

It is unclear whether she knew this when she surrendered herself, but…

…she truly did leave something in this world.

Proof that she had lived. A connection between herself and Huey.

“Say… Lebreau? What happened on the deck back there? She was so happy; why would she commit suicide?” Jean asked.

“I haven’t yet come to terms with it myself,” Lebreau answered sadly.

It was the day after the ship and the town had burned. After the incident, when a crowd of the Mask Makers had swarmed onboard from the black ship, the two had slipped in among them and returned to the mainland that way.

What a terrible twist of fate. She’s killed herself… How could this have happened?! Lebreau had said. Confused, Jean had done as he was told, and they had concealed themselves in the smoking ship and waited.

Inwardly, he had felt something wasn’t quite right. But doubting Lebreau wasn’t yet an option for him, and he had greater concerns at the moment.

“…So, uh… What are you going to do with Monica’s baby?”

Jean’s voice was filled with unease, but Lebreau replied firmly.

“I’ve discussed it with Carla and her subordinates. I will keep the child.”

“I see… Is that all right?”

“I’ve told Begg that the baby is an orphan, the child of an acquaintance who died of an illness. Sweet little Czes was simply delighted to be a big brother. Niki will probably be the main caregiver…and I intend to inform her when the time is right. That the infant is Monica’s, I mean.”

“Oh… Of course. Niki and Monica knew each other, didn’t they?”

Even in his deep depression, Jean was relieved that Monica had left a little hope behind. He clung to it, using it to buoy his spirits.

Watching him, Lebreau thought:

Well, now. This has produced some intriguing results.

At first, I just happened to spy someone who’d been in the village during the witch hunt, and I simply meant to tease him a little… I never dreamed things would become this entertaining.

Oh, those screams of his on the ship were a masterpiece. I didn’t expect Monica to be smiling there at the end; that was truly excellent. Her strength of will could have cleansed my heart as well.

As he mused matter-of-factly to himself, the villain spent yet another day reveling in life.

In his heart, though, he felt the tiniest piddling doubt.

I thought Huey Laforet was more of a pessimist. Who’d have guessed the leopard could change his spots? Certainly not me.

…Is it because of that Elmer fellow who was with him? That smile of his makes my skin crawl.

Was this the first time in his life that anyone had made him feel that way?

He felt just a trace of doubt over the feeling—then promptly decided to forget about it.

Lebreau Fermet Viralesque.

Neither Huey nor Elmer knew the man’s name yet.

He was the source of all the trouble, and the murderer responsible for Monica’s death—but it would be a little while longer before they discovered this.

And in the grand scheme of the eternity they would eventually obtain—it was a very short while indeed.

The Memoirs of Jean-Pierre Accardo

Lebreau Fermet Viralesque.

If you have read my memoir up to this point, I urge you never to forget that name. It is the curse I have worked into these pages, and it is also hope.

Why do you suppose I related the anecdote about immortality at the beginning of my tale? It was not in order to clarify the House of Dormentaire’s objectives.

Just the other day…Lebreau came to visit me.

The intervening ten years had changed him not a bit, and he inhabited an immortal body!

Yes, over the decade we were apart, I finally came to recognize the malice in him, rather like a spell slowly lifting from my heart.

…However, when he showed himself to me, it was because he knew that to be the case.

He said he had come simply to see how I fared as I lived on peacefully, in the full knowledge of the mistake I had made.

I despaired, resolved to write this memoir—and end my life.

My unknown reader, he gained eternity.

You and I will never meet. After all, once I have finished writing this, I do not intend to live further. The other day, a son was born to me…and I have no intention of killing the child along with myself. However, should his line continue into the future, and the reader of these memoirs be one of my descendants—

Beware Lebreau Fermet Viralesque.

You must not approach him, nor must you take your eyes off him.

I simply urge you to pray and pray he never takes an interest in you.

In closing…I do not feel I will have atoned for my sins when someone reads this. But if it means my death will not have been in vain, if it saves someone from Lebreau’s clutches, then I will be satisfied.

I thank you. I am truly grateful to you. Though I despise you, I still thank you.

If I may, I would like to make just one more prayer to the future.

Huey Laforet and Monica Campanella.

I wrote this once in my first memoir, but I ask that you remember these two genuinely did love each other. Will you do that for me? I want one person to know the truth of them, at least.

That is the only lingering regret I will leave in this world.

To my unknown reader,

Jean-Pierre Accardo

2003 Lotto Valentino

After the young man had read the entire document, a question rose in his mind.

Had this man, Jean-Pierre Accardo, really killed himself?

The youth had to know.

The house had no computer, so he hopped on his bicycle and rode to the largest library in town. He’d visited it several times as he decoded Jean-Pierre’s memoirs; it was an elegant place with a sign that read LOTTO VALENTINO THIRD LIBRARY.

The old, historic building was flanked by newer structures. The young man stepped inside, borrowed a book on the town’s history, and began to comb through it for information regarding his ancestor—

—and just three minutes later, he found it.

Jean-Pierre Accardo had been blessed with a large family, including grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and had passed away at the age of ninety-eight.

You coward.

You coward! You coward!

The young man was on the verge of yelling out loud, but he thought better of it.

This was partly because he was in a library—but also because he’d realized he wasn’t sure he would have been able to die if he had been in the same position.

Looking further into the town’s history, he determined the House of Avaro, the House of Boroñal, the House of Dormentaire’s interference, and the great fire had all been real.

In addition, in 1711, there had been a war with the House of Dormentaire—

As he was researching it, a man spoke from behind him.

“You’ve been visiting us quite a bit lately. Are you looking for something?”

It was an elderly gentleman with white whiskers and a sturdy build. On his chest, he wore a tag that identified him as the chief librarian.

Remembering this place was called the Third Library, the young man wondered whether this man might be Dalton, the immortal—but then he realized the man had both hands and discarded that idea.

“We’ll be closing shortly, you see. Oh, I’ll put the books away for you.”

The old gentleman was rather intimidating, but his attitude was kindly. Thanking him, the young man left the library.

After he watched the youth go, the elderly man picked up a book from the table.

Apparently, the visitor had been researching Jean-Pierre Accardo, and the Dormentaires’ involvement with Lotto Valentino. Skimming the pages, the old gentlemen reminisced about the affair.

That takes me back.

I wore a hook for a little while back then, didn’t I? Rubbing his right hand, the old chief librarian thought, Modern prosthetics are so well-made.

At the same time, he remembered the death of one of his students, and he lowered his eyes for a few moments.

If there is a next life, Monica may be unhappy. After all, her beloved Huey will never join her there.

Silently, the Third Library’s chief librarian closed the book, then disappeared into the depths of the building.

Leaving its records and memories inside one library—

—the town of Lotto Valentino quietly continued creating its own history.

Swallowing up every sin committed in the past…

Baccano! 1710—The End