Baccano! - Volume 17 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

THE LAUGHTER OF THE INFLUENTIAL

Once, in a certain town in Italy, there was a girl named Niki.

Everyone knew her simply as Niki; she had no family name. She might have had one once, but she didn’t know it, and she had no way of learning what it was anymore.

She had been sold by a slave merchant to a certain town—and the townspeople had very nearly burned through her life and discarded her.

She’d never known hope of any kind. Her life had been full of darkness so deep that she couldn’t see the road ahead. She saw only death.

But then she’d been saved from that darkness, and more than once.

The first time was when a murderer known as the Mask Maker had shown her hope in the midst of death.

The second was when a womanizing lord had shown her human kindness.

The third was when young alchemists had shown her a way of living that certainly couldn’t be called “just.”

That second time had marked the beginning of a miraculous few days.

She used to believe the rest of her life would be nothing more than a cycle of pain, and she’d hoped death at the Mask Maker’s hands would finally set her free. But her values had been overturned with incredible ease—well, perhaps ease was not the right word, but in terms of the time it had taken relative to how dramatic the change had been, it was fair to say her world had turned upside down all at once.

Had that change made her life brighter, in the end?

Or had it propelled her toward a greater hell?

Even she didn’t know the answer yet.

At present, the girl was working as a servant for a certain group of alchemists. Her life here was far richer than it had been when she was a slave—but a fulfilling life hadn’t been what she wanted.

She’d been looking for her own place to die.

Before the town’s reform, scores of other slave children had died…while she herself had been fortunate enough to survive.

How should she approach the remaining days she’d been given? While the girl was feeling uncertain about this, a certain boy had spoken to her.

Keep living in order to find your place to die, and once you find it, you should die smiling, he’d said. If you do, it’ll make me happy.

What a terribly self-centered thing to say.

However, that very self-centeredness was what had convinced Niki, and she understood that he really meant it.

That boy had been one of the people who’d saved her, and as he’d said, she’d kept on living her modest life for the sole purpose of finding a death she could be satisfied with.

Time went by—and then a notice reached her.

One of the young alchemists who had dragged her out of the darkness and given her a reason to live—had died. And yet even when she was informed of this loss, she didn’t despair.

The death of a benefactor—someone whose life, she’d thought, had far more value than her own—made Niki even less certain of her place to die.

Furthermore, that confusion was her only strong reaction to the news. While she did think it was sad, she wasn’t able to cry and wail, and she was quietly ashamed of herself for it.

Even though nobody reproached her, she held on to that hatred of her own heart.

And so time flowed quietly on, leaving the girl who couldn’t find her place to die far in the distant past…

1711 Lotto Valentino, the Italian Peninsula

“Not too much farther, eh, you old codger?”

Dark clouds hung over the plain, ready to spit rain at any moment. A highway ran through grass that streamed in the sea wind, and two horses were slowly plodding along it.

“Well now, time to find out what terrors lie in store for us.” The man on the right, who seemed to be pushing thirty, grinned at his scowling, elderly companion next to him.

The older man didn’t react, and his voice was flat as he responded. “Nothing that will cause any trouble. An understanding has already been reached, as you might recall.”

“I dunno. After all, I hear this place has quite a few…quirks.” The young man went on, smiling with genuine enjoyment. “For one, Lotto Valentino is technically under the jurisdiction of the viceroy of Naples, but it’s mostly isolated from all the surrounding countries. The church has almost no influence there, and the war has hardly touched it. Meanwhile, it’s a stone’s throw from Naples, it’s got room for plenty of big ships to anchor, and it’s perfect for a trading hub. What a strange town.”

“I’m already aware of that; you don’t need to tell me. Or are you saying you can’t trust your own memory, and you wish for me to confirm your recollection?”

“Come on, don’t be so sour. I’m so excited about the job that I want to review everything we’re about to do. I’m like a boy waiting to go on holiday.” Lowering his voice slightly, the young man went on, chuckling. “An uncanny town, and then inside it, you’ll find murderers and drugs and counterfeit gold besides. Doesn’t get more thrilling than that, eh, Szilard?”

Szilard just shook his head, still frowning.

“I told you before we left. We’re simply doing our job. Curb your curiosity, Victor.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You’ve got no dreams, Szilard.” The young man, Victor, tried to shrug in response, but he wasn’t able to make the gesture obvious enough on horseback.

“Only a novice alchemist would allow himself to be manipulated by something as nebulous as dreams. And for an envoy of the House of Dormentaire, you’re mediocre at best.”

At the mention of the name “Dormentaire,” Victor clicked his tongue in irritation, softly enough that the older man wouldn’t hear it.

The two were alchemists whose research was funded by support from the House of Dormentaire, an influential Spanish noble family.

Victor apparently had a few thoughts regarding that position, but he didn’t verbalize any of them. He just rode on, wearing the same smile as before. “Of course a novice like me looks mediocre to someone like you, Szilard. But we’ve never visited this town before. If you go in with too much confidence, you might regret it in the end. You won’t catch me dropping my guard. I don’t care who these Mask Makers are or what mysteries lie in the shadows of this place. I want to see it all with my own eyes, lay it open, and strip it bare.”

Despite the ominous nature of the town they were approaching, Victor’s voice was filled with hope.

Szilard gave a thin, scornful smile. “Have you considered that it may be you who has too little confidence in the House of Dormentaire?”

“What?”

“There it is.”

When they crested a small hill, the port town sprang into view.

Lotto Valentino was a small city, with a population of fifty thousand. The stone structures on its hillsides had been built to overlook the ocean, and the townscape between the sea and the mountains formed a beautiful image with the land.

The Tyrrhenian Sea, part of the Mediterranean, was its usual vivid blue that day, and it colored every single view like a picture.

“…Huh?”

But there were several elements all over the town that completely spoiled that picture. Victor grimaced when he saw them.

In front of the buildings—particularly important-looking shops and studios, and even fine mansions that seemed to be aristocratic residences—hung signs and banners bearing the same crest.

The emblem’s design was not ugly, but the golden hourglass was something Victor was very used to seeing. It was more than enough reason for him to feel disappointed about the situation in the town.

“I warned you, didn’t I? You shouldn’t get too curious,” the old man murmured, gazing at the town that had been overrun by the Dormentaire crest. “No matter what it is, everything falls into the House of Dormentaire’s hands.”

Lotto Valentino was already under the family’s control—but instead of stating the obvious to his young colleague, Szilard spoke with some irony.

“If you are harboring hope for such a thing, you are an incorrigible daydreamer indeed.”

Meanwhile The special reference room of the Third Library Lotto Valentino

“You’re certain you won’t regret this, Maiza?” asked an elderly man illuminated by a lantern flame. “The Advena Avis will arrive in port this month. We’ll have put ourselves firmly in the debt of the Mars Clan, but the House of Dormentaire won’t touch it. Not until it leaves port, at least.”

“Thank you very much. That’s enough.”

“On the other hand, after you’ve set sail…you won’t be able to return to this town for several years at the very least. Several decades if you’re unlucky. I trust you’re taking that into account when you say you have no regrets, Maiza. No doubt you’ll lose your noble status and your place at your father’s deathbed.”

Even though it was still daytime, the room was so dark that neither would have been able to make out the other’s face if it hadn’t been for the lantern’s glow. In its flickering light, the other man reflected on the grave admonition, then nodded firmly.

“Yes. I have no attachment to my rank. If something happens to my father, I’m sure my younger brother and cousin will handle it. I never had any intention of reconciling with my father.”

When he heard the bespectacled youth’s answer, the elderly man responded with some irony in his voice. “You certainly had a lot to say. It proves that you do still have feelings for your relations.”

“…I am human, after all. I can’t rid myself of emotions regarding my family so easily.”

Even as he acknowledged the old man’s barb, the young man wore a rather forlorn smile.

By the entrance to the room they were talking in, there was a sign that read SPECIAL REFERENCE ROOM.

Indeed, this room held a wide variety of articles—fossils and ancient stone tools, original manuscripts of a certain type of book and other rare volumes, the seeds of non-indigenous plants, and other things harder to easily identify—that lent it a peculiar atmosphere.

In its center, there were chairs for visitors, and at the back, there was a magnificent wooden desk. The dignified elderly man seated at that desk created a picture that seemed more appropriate to a director’s room rather than the special reference room.

It was true that the man in that chair was the person in charge of the library—but this room had no direct connection to the library’s duties. Some might say it was where the director showed his other face.

Dalton Strauss was an alchemist who carried himself like an all-knowing magician. The wooden prosthetic which served as his right hand creaked as he took another look at the young man’s face.

“Because you’re human, you say? If you get your wish, do you suppose you’ll consider yourself human afterward?”

“……”

Dalton’s question was pregnant with meaning, and Maiza fell silent.

“You don’t appear to know the answer to that yet.” Smiling thinly, Dalton stood from his chair and continued, picking up a fossilized shell from the shelf. “It doesn’t matter, though. If I told you to feel what this shell is feeling, you wouldn’t be able to answer. If I asked you what the shell thought, assuming it was still conscious after being fossilized, no doubt you wouldn’t even be able to imagine it. This change may seem as drastic as a transformation from a human into this fossilized shell. I trust you’re prepared for that, Maiza?”

Gazing into his apprentice’s eyes, Dalton went on to make sure he understood.

“That…is what it means to become immortal.”

Immortal.

The word seemed fanciful, and yet it was very familiar to anyone studying alchemy.

Among alchemists, there were many who considered immortality and the creation of life as their ultimate goals, or as points along the way to their ultimate goal.

In addition, Maiza knew:

Dalton was one of those who had sought immortality.

And he had actually obtained it.

“When I look at you, Maestro Dalton, I can’t think you’re as far removed from humanity as you say.”

“I’m not so certain. I may be a monster who only carefully parses human speech to better imitate it.”

“You jest.”

“I certainly do not. Would an ordinary person attempt to teach another how to become immortal? After a century or so of life, anyone with a proper mind would understand that immortality is no great gift and would probably hide that method away. They would fear exposure to inquisitive eyes and try to hide the fact of their immortality.” Dalton gave a small sigh, then resumed his seat, still holding the fossil. “And yet I don’t sincerely try to hide the fact that I am immortal. Here I am teaching you how to become so yourself.”

“Why did you teach me?”

“Mere curiosity. My interest as a researcher, or perhaps as an immortal, simply outweighed my sense of ethics as a human being.”

As if to say he had nothing to hide, Dalton went on solemnly.

“There is a good possibility that becoming immortal will make you unhappy. I haven’t hidden that fact from you. Yet even then, I can’t tell you to give up on it—which only proves how my mind has come off its hinges. That is what I’m saying. I’ve even lost the desire to sell that knowledge to the aristocrats and make a fortune… As an individual alchemist, however, I would like someone with your talents to live a long time.”

“You overestimate me.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” After flatly rejecting Maiza’s attempt at humility, Dalton studied the fossil somberly. “I regret it constantly.”

“You do?”

“Yes. When you live a long life, you have that many more errors to drag along behind you… One recent regret is that I overlooked someone who should have received immortality sooner.” The man who had once slit his own throat and then regenerated in front of Maiza gazed into empty space, muttering with little emotion in his voice. “You know about Elmer and Huey and their friend Monica, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Those three names seemed like an abrupt addition to the conversation. They belonged to young people who had studied alchemy under Dalton at this library.

Elmer was the only one Maiza spoke to often. He wasn’t very familiar with the other two, but he did remember their names clearly.

Dalton had called Huey Laforet a genius at every turn, and so the name had been impressed on his memory. Maiza wasn’t a jealous person by nature, but that was also why he hadn’t tried to learn more about Huey.

The other, Monica Campanella—

He’d heard that she’d died in an accident involving the House of Dormentaire one year ago.

Maiza knew it wasn’t an accident or anything like it, but he hadn’t pressed the issue. The continued effects of the incident did trouble him, however.

“Has it already been a year since then?”

“It has. I keep thinking…if I’d given immortality to Monica—to all three of them—perhaps Huey Laforet’s ability would not have been extinguished.”

He’d phrased himself in a roundabout way, but Maiza understood what he meant.

After all, he knew one more piece of information about them.

A short while after Monica’s death…

…Huey Laforet had vanished from Lotto Valentino.

It had been quite a while since he’d gone missing, and a rumor to the effect that he might have chosen to follow Monica to the afterlife was circulating among the students who studied alchemy at the library. Maiza suspected the same.

“That day, the town unmistakably made an enemy of the House of Dormentaire. I’d suspected they were involved in that event somehow, but…”

“I won’t be the one to tell you. The proper way would be to ask Elmer directly.”

“Yes, I don’t intend to reopen old wounds. I imagine it’s painful for Elmer to talk about it.” Saying no more on the subject, Maiza shifted the conversation back to its original topic. “All that aside, I have no lingering attachment to the town itself.”

“Are you saying the place is done for?”

“No doubt it has a future, if only under Dormentaire control. When you think of it that way, the locals may become better people than they were when they forced slaves to make that drug, but…”

“‘It matters not what happens after I’m gone’?” Dalton murmured ironically again.

Maiza neither confirmed nor denied the remark. There was a complicated emotion in his smile. “…If I manage to become immortal during my travels, I’ll come back here again someday.”

“Oh?”

“Unlike our father, my brother, Gretto, is an honest man. He does tend to be a little cowardly, but I believe he’ll be able to create real change. If I can visit secretly and see what comes of it, that will satisfy me.”

After that remark, Maiza left the room.

For a little while, Dalton silently cleaned the fossil with a feather duster, but then—

Sighing deeply, he murmured to himself, “‘It’s painful for Elmer to talk about it,’ hmm?”

He wasn’t remarking on Maiza’s resolution for the future, but something that had come up during their conversation’s detour.

“Apparently, he doesn’t yet understand that eccentric completely.” Dalton picked up a sheet of parchment from the desk with his left hand and studied it.

It appeared to be a list of names, most of which belonged to alchemists who were moderately famous in Lotto Valentino.

“Now, then… How many more people will end up traveling on that ship…?”

Glancing at his prosthetic hand, Dalton reminisced about his past. Only those who had found immortality the way he had would understand what he said next.

“I hope one of them will be able to entertain that demon a little.”

Meanwhile In Lotto Valentino The Avaro residence

“Enough of this, Gretto! Are you trying to drag my name through the mud?!”

A man with a short, evenly trimmed beard was shouting at a youth with a boyish face.

The young man seemed troubled as he answered. “No, Father, that wasn’t my intent.”

The man and his son were in a certain aristocrat’s mansion, in the beautifully furnished office of the master of the house. The shelves were lined with imported, obviously expensive articles, and the ornate, even ostentatious decor seemed to be an especially forceful attempt to broadcast the power of the family patriarch.

The personality of the room fit the nobleman perfectly as he bore down on his son. This was not the virtuous rebuke of a parent, but something more like the anger of a boss berating a subordinate.

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions are!” the head of the House of Avaro said harshly to his youngest child, Gretto Avaro. “Either way, the result is a stain on my name! Now of all times… Those Dormentaire scoundrels are already on the verge of taking over the town! Are you trying to hand them the House of Avaro’s weakness?!”

Lotto Valentino was gradually falling under the control of the House of Dormentaire, a Spanish noble family.

Their power was worming its way into every corner of the city, and they were attempting to dominate both the legal and the illegal sides of its economy.

Lotto Valentino had never been a very religious place, so they hadn’t used the power of the church to infiltrate it. Instead, the House of Dormentaire had let their money speak for them, and their reach extended from the town’s small shops all the way to the purses of certain members of the aristocracy.

The cause of it all had been an attack by the Mask Makers, a local criminal group, on the House of Dormentaire’s envoy.

Originally, “the Mask Maker” had been the name of a mysterious murderer, but by now, it had turned into the name of an entire criminal organization.

They had set fire to military posts and a Dormentaire ship that had been anchored in the port, they had stolen resources, and they had attacked a certain “criminal” who was being held on the ship.

Their target had apparently died, but the head of the House of Avaro didn’t know any of the details. He assumed the Mask Makers had simply silenced one of their companions, and he didn’t take any further interest in the matter.

What concerned him was that the House of Dormentaire, one of Europe’s most distinguished families, might retaliate against Lotto Valentino itself for the Mask Makers’ attack.

His worry had proved entirely accurate.

While they hadn’t literally destroyed the town with their warships’ cannons, they had dispatched many times more personnel on the pretext of conducting a search for the Mask Makers. By now, it was hard to tell whether there were more actual residents or Dormentaire men in town.

The changes that had occurred here in only a year made the nobles shudder. At the same time, they couldn’t put up a resistance economically, so they spent their days in fear and anger.

Gretto’s father was one such noble.

“Just turning down an offer of marriage or two won’t drag your name through the mud, Father,” the young man said, looking away. “The House of Dormentaire isn’t going to care that I did, either.”

“True. The problem is why you turned it down.”

“Well… I wish I could apologize to her family, but I really didn’t think I could make it work. What choice did I have? This isn’t a strategic marriage to improve our social status, is it?” Gretto still couldn’t look at his father, seeming rather uncomfortable.

His father snorted and flatly rejected his son’s statement. “Didn’t think you could make it work? Don’t be ridiculous. You never had any interest in her family or her face or the content of her character, did you?”

“What are you talking about, Father?”

“Do you think I know nothing about my own son?”

“…?” Gretto was dubious.

Wearing a furious, derisive smile, his father tore into him. “Did you honestly believe I hadn’t noticed, Gretto? How you let our housemaid’s coquettish glances turn your head?”

“…!” Gretto blanched.

It was true—he hadn’t rejected the offer of marriage his father had brought him because of the woman herself. He’d already been in love with someone else.

To be more specific, he was not only in love, but he was loved in return.

His beloved wasn’t a noblewoman or a merchant, but one of the maids who worked at the mansion. There were some Lotto Valentino nobles who wouldn’t have cared about her position, but the current head of the House of Avaro was adamant that his own son—even if it was his second son—must not be wedded to a maid.

Meanwhile, Gretto knew about his father’s nature, so he had kept his affections a secret. He was stunned to realize it hadn’t been a secret at all, but he had to deny one of his father’s remarks.

“Don’t say she seduced me, Father. I only fell in love with her, that’s all. I’m the one who spoke to her first!”

He may not know which maid it is yet.

Still harboring that hope, he’d avoided bringing up his sweetheart’s name, but…

“Nothing you can say will save Sylvie Lumiere.” His father shattered Gretto’s hopes easily. “You’ve been taken in by the honeyed words of a serving girl. You may try to cover it up, but I have decided that those are the facts. If you’d prefer, we can say that Sylvie ‘prepared’ you, and you lost your senses.”

“Father…what…are you saying?”

This so-called preparation was most likely the drug an alchemist had manufactured under Lord Avaro’s direction. This drug had been made in an attempt to get the town under his thumb, and Gretto had long ago lost all affection for the man. Unlike his older brother, Maiza, though, he hadn’t had the courage to publicly rebel against him. With no specific way to resolve his situation, Gretto had simply abandoned himself to his affection for a girl named Sylvie Lumiere.

He’d known from the very beginning.

The only member of his family who might bless their love was his brother, Maiza.

Unlike his father, his grandparents had been uninhibited as nobles went. If they’d been around, the story might have been different—but Gretto’s grandparents had already passed on. His mother’s parents were still alive, but they had practically no influence on his father. The bohemian behavior of the previous Avaro head had weakened the family, and it was the current head, Gretto’s own father, who was trying to reclaim their former glory by going completely against the example of his predecessor. Knowing this, Gretto had developed very mixed feelings.

In the end, he’d waited.

Maybe Father’s nature will change overnight.

Maybe something will change gradually while I’m keeping my love with Sylvie a secret.

Maybe my brother will talk him around.

Maybe Father will get sick and die. If only Mother is left, I may be able to persuade her.

If my brother takes over as the head of the family, I’ll be able to leave it.

Maybe there’ll be a revolution, and our aristocratic rank will lose all meaning.

Maybe this world will suddenly belong to me and Sylvie alone.

Even the things I think are impossible may be reality someday.

If I wait, something’s bound to change. I mustn’t act yet.

Not until something changes. Until it changes. Until it changes.

What if…nothing changes?

No, that’s impossible.

Things have already changed.

The drug vanished from the streets.

The townspeople stopped trading slaves.

My brother lost some of his rough edges.

Yes, change is possible.

It’s all right. If I wait…something will definitely change!

That thought had taken over Gretto’s heart.

And so he had done nothing.

He’d taken refuge in the act of waiting.

Meanwhile, the first thing he’d gained by taking a chance had been Sylvie’s love. He’d fallen for her completely, knowing it would never pay off. It might have been the only time in his life that he’d ever “taken a step forward.”

He had worked up the courage precisely because he’d had nothing to lose. But now that he was afraid of losing her, the fear kept him frozen in place. The pleasure of his relationship with Sylvie might really have been as addictive as a drug to him.

And now that he knew his father had discovered everything, the threats terrified him and left him powerless.

As his son gasped in fear, the father did not think about how pitiful he was. Instead, he was satisfied: Now that’s the proper attitude. His anger softening slightly, he smiled.

“Hmph. Either way, you’re never to see Sylvie again. Of course, even if you were inclined to disobey, you may find it difficult to do so.”

“What…?”

“Didn’t you find it odd that you hadn’t seen her at all today?”

As the meaning of his father’s words sank in, Gretto shouted in spite of himself. “Sylvie… Father! What have you done with Sylvie?!”

“I sold her to another noble. One you’ll have absolutely no influence over.”

“No… Not to that lecher on the hill?!”

“Mind your tongue, Gretto. No matter what sort of man he is, he is the lord of this town.”

Lord—when Gretto heard that word, a dark cloud briefly covered his vision.

Esperanza Boroñal.

He was a nobleman who’d been granted the title of “count” by the Spanish royal court and who governed this small city as his territory. The town of Lotto Valentino should have been under the jurisdiction of the viceroy of Naples, but due to some peculiar circumstances at play, it had been specially placed under his jurisdiction instead.

His unique appearance had made him an object of scorn among the aristocrats, who called him the Clown Count. Here, he was despised even more for his alleged satyriasis.

It was said that he had hardly any male servants in his mansion and that he’d collected a large harem of maids for himself. Gretto’s brother, Maiza, had called the lord a rake, and while Gretto had outwardly shown due deference, he had despised the count for as long as he could remember as a greedy snake who spent his wealth collecting women.

When he heard that Sylvie had been sold to such a man, anxiety, fear, and anger welled up inside him. The idea of that buffoon of a lord having his way with Sylvie sent a powerful wave of nausea up from the pit of his stomach.

“How could you…? Father, have you no mercy?!”

“Mercy? You say I have no mercy? Don’t be a fool! Few men are as merciful as I am! Be grateful that sow didn’t end up dead! But I cannot even guarantee that if you continue to defy me. I can always buy Sylvie back from the lord and do away with her on the way home. It would be a simple matter to lay the blame on the Mask Makers.”

“How dare you! How dare you even suggest it, Father… What about my brother? You’re too frightened of him to do anything like this to him!”

Having no way of resisting his father personally, Gretto instinctively brought up Maiza. The thought of his own cowardice and immaturity nearly made him despair, but his anger at his father’s treatment of Sylvie won the battle inside him.

His father slammed a hand down onto his desk and shouted furiously back at him.

“Silence! Do not speak of Maiza! I thought he’d finally learned some human decorum, and then he abandoned himself to that alchemy nonsense… Don’t you understand that I’m keeping unworthy pests away from you because I consider you my heir?!”

“You are in no position to talk! Not when you destroyed the town with the drug those alchemists made!”

“Enough! Alchemists are mere tools! A son of Avaro attempting to become one is a risible idea! …I don’t have time for this foolish argument! You are forbidden to leave this mansion until I change my mind! You are not to set a foot outside, do you understand?!”

“Father, wait! I love Sylvie! I’m serious!”

“Oh, you’re serious, are you? That changes nothing, you idiot!”

No sooner had he shouted those words than the head of the House of Avaro summoned his servants. Gretto refused to back down until he was removed from the room by force.

Heaven help me. That whelp’s still just a boy; he can’t even tell the difference between sexual gratification and marriage. Blathering on about love… Ridiculous.

Afterward, the Avaro patriarch irritably tapped the end of his pen on his desk.

Maiza has no respect for me, and he tends to underestimate the barriers between the nobility and the rabble, as Father did. I mustn’t let him inherit. Gretto has merely let his lust get the better of him. If I discipline him now, I expect he’ll maintain his dignity as a nobleman…unless Maiza interferes.

Maiza… He may be my son, but he’s nothing but a nuisance.

Before long, he stopped tapping on the desk and murmured something very unpaternal.

“I wish he’d go on a journey and never return.”

The port

“What the hell? Is this a joke?”

Out in the sea wind, Victor was standing stunned. He was not merely astonished; he was appalled.

“It can’t be much of a shock, surely,” Szilard murmured dully, chiding the younger man. “Our employer is the sort who goes to extremes. You must have been aware.”

“I know that, old man, but this isn’t simply impressive. It’s ludicrous.”

“Everything looks ludicrous when taken to extremes.”

As the two conversed, they stared at an odd sight.

They were looking at ships.

They were large vessels—warships. But if that was all they were, no one would have been surprised or appalled. The problem was how many and where.

Several dozen ships of the largest class in Spain covered half the harbor, to the point where they were all Victor could see.

That wasn’t all. Even more ships were lined up behind the ones moored to the pier, burying the port itself. The ships had been specially modified to connect to each other, building an entirely different structure with this fleet as its foundation.

Far later, Victor would look back on this memory.

Lemme see, it was like, uh, Kowloon Walled City? …Infinite annexes and additions? I mean, it wasn’t that chaotic… Imagine the same thing, only logical. Like a ridiculously huge ship or a floating fortress. Technically, I think Kowloon Walled City was just a regular fortress back then, but whatever.

At the time, Victor couldn’t possibly have formed that impression. He was simply stunned by the indescribable sight in front of him.

“What in—? What is this? It’s on water, isn’t it? What do they do about the waves?!”

Waves were rising and falling below each of the ships, but the ships themselves didn’t appear to be moving. However, when he looked at the fleet as a whole, it did seem to be moving gently. It was probably safe to consider it one ultra-gigantic ship made by combining several dozen ordinary vessels.

…Just as he was about to come to that conclusion, Victor shook his head hard.

“No, no, no, no! That’s just absurd! Isn’t this too heavy to float? What about high and low tides? What if a storm comes through? Won’t it fall to pieces? There are so many things wrong with this monstrosity, I’d never stop listing them!”

The sight in front of him was like a house of cards, ready to fall apart and sink at any moment. Actually, for the sake of his nerves, it might have been better if it did. As he was thinking these things, a woman spoke beside him.

“My apologies, Victor. We use this structure, and even we don’t understand how it’s put together.”

At a glance, the woman could have been mistaken for a man. Her face wasn’t especially masculine, but her short-cropped hair and men’s clothing made an impression on people when they first met her.

Her name was Carla Alvarez Santoña, and she was the leader of the envoy that had been dispatched by the influential Spanish noble family, the House of Dormentaire.

At present, she was in charge of supervising the Dormentaire personnel who were staying in town, and she was already acquainted with Victor and Szilard.

“O-oh? You don’t know either, then, Carla? Who designed this ridiculous hulk?”

Victor had always known Carla was a woman, and nothing about her appearance struck him as strange. However, he remembered scoffing at her and paying for it dearly when they first met, and he still had a tendency to lose his nerve around her.

“An engineer from the Strassburg family. Our orders were to build according to his design, and we simply followed the instructions. Even those on site don’t have a full grasp of the engineering behind it…”

“Ah, the mechanist from that island up north. I know his name.” Victor knew he worked with technologies that were slightly different to the ones alchemists used. He shrugged and surveyed the structure again. “I see. If he can come up with this monstrosity, he’s even more of a madman than the rumors say. What do you think, old man?”

“I think your astonishment is unwarranted. The power of the Dormentaires made this a reality. That is what is worthy of your awe.” Clacking his walking stick against the ground, Szilard questioned Carla regarding another matter. “And? Haven’t those Mask Maker fellows been apprehended yet?”

“We’ve caught several apparent members, but they’re all just ruffians. No one seems to know who the leaders really are.”

“…Ruffians, hmm? Did someone who would associate with ruffians really make this?” Szilard took a gold coin from his purse.

To be accurate, it wasn’t a gold coin, but a counterfeit made from a material that bore an extraordinary resemblance to gold.

The Mask Makers were the shadow side of Lotto Valentino. The mission of the Dormentaire representatives here was to analyze the manufacturing method of this false gold, which was said to have been made by someone in that organization, and secretly steal the technique for House Dormentaire. Szilard and Victor had been sent to perform the analysis.

“Yes, that’s nearly certain. The drug was originally made by a nearby alchemist, working on commission for some members of the nobility; at present, there’s almost none in circulation. Over the past year, the amount of collected gold has also been gradually dwindling.”

In response to Carla’s report, Victor shrugged. “Meaning the alchemist who was doing the metallurgy is either dead or long gone.”

“He may merely be lying low. Either way, our work begins only after your people unearth a clue. Until then, we shall do as we please,” Szilard told Carla. He promptly boarded the ship, leaving his companion behind.

As Victor watched him go, he sighed. “‘Do as we please,’ he says. With the town draped in Dormentaire flags, it’s as if we never left home.”

Then he noticed that some of the House Dormentaire men scattered across the port were wearing anachronistic metal armor.

“For God’s sake. Did this town never leave the Middle Ages? What is this, the set for a play?”

“…You may not be entirely wrong about that.”

“What?”

“Aside from the theater, there is no entertainment in this town,” Carla murmured as a shadow fell across her face. The word play seemed to have some special meaning for her.

Victor didn’t press her for an explanation. Instead, he asked her a question, his own face tensing slightly. “Never mind all that. I’m going to take a little stroll around town. Any local taboos I should be aware of? I don’t want to start any trouble if I can help it.”

“There appear to be several things the townspeople would rather not talk about, but…from our perspective, there’s only one rule that could prove troublesome. Although I doubt you’ll need to worry about it, Victor.”

“Hmm?”

After a little hesitation, Carla averted her eyes slightly and went on.

“Don’t show contempt for women in front of the lord. That is all.”

The Boroñal mansion Lotto Valentino

Lotto Valentino’s elevation increased rapidly from the sea to farther inland.

The residences of the aristocrats were built at a slightly higher elevation than the rest of the town, their fine mansions proudly overlooking the commoners. At least, until a year ago.

At present, the mansions seemed to have retreated onto their hill, fearful of the town glaring back at them after the Dormentaire intrusion.

All except for one grand, towering manor that was unswayed by the mood of the town—the residence of its lord, Esperanza Boroñal.

Around the predominantly white manor were landscaped gardens that harmonized beautifully with the views of the town, creating an environment so fantastical that fairies and other creatures would be right at home flitting about.

Still, it wasn’t fairies that were hard at work inside the manor, but its multitude of servants. The majority of those servants were women, who created a charming atmosphere around the manor as a whole, becoming part of its ornate scenery as they toiled away at their tasks.

However…

At present, a girl was standing in front of its gate with a gloomy expression that didn’t match the manor’s atmosphere.

The clothes she wore weren’t suited for an aristocrat’s mansion, and yet her spectacles were very obviously expensive.

Her name was Sylvie Lumiere. Until just yesterday, she’d been a servant of the Avaros, who lived a good distance away.

Starting today, she would be living and working here, in a manor even larger than her former place of employment. Ordinarily, one might assume this was cause for rejoicing.

But anxiety churned in her heart. Half of it was because of the master of this mansion and his lecherous reputation. The other half was worry about Gretto Avaro.

Sylvie and Gretto weren’t simply a servant and her master’s younger son. They were a man and woman who were passionately devoted to each other. In a word, they were lovers.

Their love was forbidden by class boundaries, and perhaps that sense of impropriety had generated a pleasant tension between them. For better or for worse, they had been bound together by a love that had left them intensely dependent on each other—until Gretto’s father summarily severed it.

Having become aware of their relationship, the head of the House of Avaro had forced all the blame onto Sylvie and used his aristocratic connections to sell her off to the Boroñal residence.

It was essentially human trafficking, but almost no one saw it as a problem. This was less a product of the era than the town’s own vice; until a few years ago, the slave trade had been normal among the ordinary residents of Lotto Valentino, and hardly anyone would bat an eye over the sale of a single servant to another aristocrat.

As a servant, she hadn’t been able to defy her master. To make matters worse, he’d told her, What can a nobody like you do for Gretto? You’ll only weaken his status and make him miserable. And that she couldn’t deny.

It was something she’d wondered about herself. If their relationship continued, would she only destroy Gretto’s happiness?

Gretto had said a way would open for them someday, somehow, if they just waited, but Sylvie wasn’t such an optimist. And once she knew the truth, she wasn’t wicked enough to ignore it for the sake of her own pleasure.

This was a good opportunity.

Gretto had spoken gently to someone of her low station.

From that moment until now, her life had been a dream—both a kind and a cruel one.

What frightened her was the idea that Gretto’s father might be punishing him somehow. That anxiety and those last remnants of the dream lingered inside her, but she had no way to know for sure.

Even if she had been certain, it was doubtful whether she could have stopped it.

“……”

As Sylvie looked up at the mansion once again, her expression was clouded with doubt.

Behind her was an Avaro carriage—and several sturdy men, Avaro messengers, who stood in front of it to keep an eye on her. They were watching to make sure she didn’t run for it instead of entering the mansion.

No one had bound her hands and feet to bring her here, but one of the more vulgar messengers had leered at her. We were told we could do whatever we wanted with you if you tried to run. We’d love for you to try it, he’d said. She was timid, and the remark had become a psychological chain that immobilized her.

The manor of the lord who was said to keep a veritable harem of women.

Sylvie had heard that rumor as well, and to her, the high wall and sturdy gate seemed intended more to prevent escape than to keep out invaders.

Before long, someone would come to fetch her, and that gate would open. Once she stepped through it, she would not be able to leave easily.

But even if I did…I wouldn’t be able to see Gretto again…

If she did see him, wouldn’t it only make the situation worse? They still had no solution, so wouldn’t she only bring him more unnecessary misery?

Various thoughts rose into her mind and vanished again.

It was a dream. I’ll just pretend it was all a dream.

Standing still in front of the gate, Sylvie desperately tried to convince herself that it had never been realistic for someone of Gretto’s station to treat her as an equal. She’d forget everything. Start a new life. They were doomed from the start.

Simply thinking such things was easy.

However, when she tried to act on it, to believe that it was the right course of action, her memories of Gretto got in the way.

The moment she emptied her heart, endless waves of regret poured in.

I still haven’t…

I didn’t even tell Gretto good-bye…

Seeing him would only have made it harder to leave, she knew, but she couldn’t stop trembling.

As she stared at the ground and shivered, the Avaro men called to her.

“I’m sure you know already, but you really shouldn’t try to escape from the mansion.”

“You’re not the only one who’ll be punished. There’s no telling what the family head will do to young Master Gretto.”

“…I…I know.” Even her voice was trembling, and she couldn’t enunciate properly.

She tried to force a smile so that they wouldn’t be suspicious—but her throat tightened, and a dull ache kept her expression from changing.

Gretto.

Forget.

I’m sorry, I—I…

Forget.

I haven’t repaid you for anything…

Forget.

I don’t want this.

Forget everything.

No, I can’t do that.

You should forget now, for Gretto’s sake as well.

……

She had to wipe out everything; she had to forget all of it. She told herself over and over, but the belief that it couldn’t be true was like a weight suppressing that line of thought. In the end, she didn’t even know which of the two was correct, and she was bound by an invisible chain in front of the gate.

The weight of those contradictory thoughts slowly squeezed her heart until it began going numb.

Her expression crumpled, and she began to cry. As she twitched, trying to fight back the tears, one of her guards appeared to notice and spoke from behind her.

His words were far from comforting.

“Now, now, no crying. We can’t have people gossiping that we sold an unwilling woman to the lord for money. Just you try getting him to fire you on the spot. I really don’t know what the lord would do to young Master Gretto then,” he said quietly. He leaned back against the carriage, wearing a sadistic smile.

A new emotion welled up inside Sylvie—not the hot flames of anger, but the murky black thorns that were best termed hatred, an emotion she had no way to vent.

Why had Gretto’s father sold her off to this man? He wanted more than to tear her away from his son. If he’d only banished her, Gretto might have persisted in trying to see her. And she might not have given up on him.

But what if she was violated by a man who outranked the House of Avaro—by the governor of the town itself?

As Sylvie realized this was a hideous scheme to separate them both physically and emotionally, a quiet hatred was born in her heart—but right now, she didn’t even know who to turn it on.

That included herself, for accepting this flow of events without a fight, and for being capable of nothing but resentment and grief.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Someone was speaking to her from behind.

Enough already. Don’t fill my head with more worries.

“Hello? Um, hello?”

Even as Sylvie replied in her mind, she realized that the voice speaking to her didn’t belong to any of her guards.

It might be a messenger from the lord’s mansion. She turned, forgetting to wipe away the tears that had pooled in her eyes.

There she saw a young man who seemed to be a little older than she was.

“Oh, that expression doesn’t suit you at all. It would be better if you smiled.”

“…Huh?”

It was a random thing to say, and she couldn’t understand what he meant. Somewhat dazed, Sylvie took another look at the young man.

He wasn’t particularly handsome or especially ugly; there was nothing striking about his face at all. Nothing except his bright smile, even when she was desperately trying to hold back tears. Rather than irritating her, it made her feel oddly unsettled.

Sylvie didn’t recognize him at all, and she was frozen. In her place, one of the guards called to him.

“You, boy. Are you connected to this mansion?”

“Well, something like that. Spera…er, His Excellency called me again today, so I came by.”

“Perfect timing. Show this maid into the mansion, would you? She’s new. She’ll be working here starting today.”

“Oh, I see. His Excellency loves girls, so I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

What a cruel thing to say with that smile on his face. Sylvie flinched, while the guards climbed back into the carriage with expressions that said, That’s one job over and done with.

Then, once they’d seen the smiling young man open the gate, one said, “She’s all yours,” and the carriage set off.

But I’m still outside.

Startled at how sloppy the guards had been about their job—they hadn’t even asked the young man’s name—Sylvie realized this might be her last chance.

Could I trick him and make a run for it?

…And then what?

However, her thoughts found themselves back in the same old dead end. No matter how perfect a chance presented itself, she was incapable of seizing it.

As she stood there, petrified, the young man spoke to her.

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to go in?” he asked candidly, and Sylvie faltered.

“U-um, I…”

“Oh! That’s right, I haven’t introduced myself yet. Of course you’re suspicious. Wouldn’t normally expect to find someone like me in a lord’s manor, would you?”

“N-no, I don’t suspect you!”

She hastily tried to deny it, but the man talked over her with his own self-introduction.

“I’m Elmer. Elmer C. Albatross. It’s good to meet you.”

As the young man spoke, he was still wearing that carefree smile.

Caught in his momentum, Sylvie responded in spite of herself. “I’m Sylvie…Lumiere.” Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

But the young man had heard, and his smile grew even bigger. “I see! That’s a lovely name! So, what do you want to do now?”

“Huh?”

What do I want to do?

The abrupt remark hadn’t made any sense, and for a moment, Sylvie stopped crying entirely.

“I’d like to start by asking why you look so sad, but I won’t force you to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just thought I might be able to help you out with whatever it is that you want to do next.”

?

???

Until a moment ago, Sylvie’s mind had been filled with sadness, regret, and hatred, and now those emotions were being beaten down by a parade of question marks. Elmer’s comments were too sudden for her to easily parse his intent.

“Um, wh-what do you…mean?”

“About what?”

“‘About what?’ …Erm, we’ve only just met, haven’t we?”

“Really? Well, that’s not important. Let’s start with a simple question. Two choices: Do you want to work at this mansion or not?”

The young man kept on speaking at his own leisure, then shut his mouth and waited patiently for the girl’s answer.

“I don’t…want to work here…” Sylvie didn’t know what she should say, and she unwittingly told the truth. “Oh! B-but it’s not as if I dislike the mansion. It’s only, um… If I work here, there’s someone I won’t be able to see again…”

When she’d gotten that far, she hastily shut her mouth.

She knew bringing up Gretto’s name would cause an awful lot of trouble. On the other hand, she also understood that she was weak when people pressed her, and she wasn’t confident she could effectively hide the truth if he pursued the issue.

The timid girl began to tear up again while Elmer beamed at her.

“Ah, I see. Shall we go, then?”

“Huh?”

The young man had abruptly taken her hand. Bewildered, Sylvie tried to resist, but—

“You want to see this person, don’t you? It’s fine, don’t worry! I’ll make up something for Speran—er, the lord—and I won’t tell a soul who it is you want to see!”

“…!”

Then, spotting a maid who was working in the garden, Elmer shouted to her. “Oh! Hi there. This girl says she’ll be starting work here today, but I’m borrowing her for a bit!”

The maid turned their way, giggled, and shouted back. “My, my! It’s nice to be young, isn’t it? I’ll tell His Excellency for you, so just relax and go enjoy yourselves!”

“Thanks!” Elmer waved to her vigorously, then turned back to Sylvie and grinned. “There, see? Problem solved. Now it’s my fault you’ve gone outside.”

“……”

Things were going so smoothly that Sylvie was bewildered, and she followed the young man, blinking in astonishment. He was so bold and forceful; she watched him curiously, thinking that he was a completely different type of person from Gretto.

But she would never develop any inclinations to be unfaithful or believe he was some destined replacement for Gretto.

Although she did think he and Gretto were different types—the young man’s proactiveness gave her the same eerie, vaguely inhuman feeling that she’d gotten when she’d first seen his smile.

“So, who is this person you want to see? If you’d rather not say, just tell me where you need to go, and I’ll help you get there.”

Even though Elmer had asked her, she couldn’t bring herself to give Gretto’s name to someone who unsettled her so. That said, she also couldn’t work up the courage to tell him to leave her alone. For the moment, Sylvie chose to give him the information in a roundabout way.

“Um, do you know the Avaro mansion? I worked there until yesterday…” As Sylvie wondered what she could say next to put him off the track—

“Oh, Maiza’s home? Of course I know it,” he answered easily, so easily that Sylvie was bewildered again.

“You’re acquainted with Master Maiza?!”

Maiza Avaro, the nobleman who was her lover’s older brother.

The moment she heard his name, it was like a shock in Sylvie’s heart.

This young man, Elmer, was dressed as a commoner, but could he be a member of the nobility after all? Sylvie couldn’t hide her surprise.

The mysterious youth went on nonchalantly. “Well, I guess I know him a little… Huh? Wait, is Maiza the one you want to see?”

The familiar way Elmer spoke of Maiza gave Sylvie a glimmer of hope. The vague uncanny feeling hadn’t faded. She couldn’t put complete confidence in him, and yet…

“Oh, no… It isn’t Master Maiza… It’s his brother, Gre…Master Gretto.”

Her answer was rather incoherent, and she was flustered at having accidentally said Gretto’s name as the young man overwhelmed her again. But she’d come too far to turn back now.

“Master Gretto has…been very good to me up till now, and I desperately wanted to thank him…”

That’s a lie. I don’t want to thank him. I don’t want to tell him good-bye.

I want to run away with him.

Sylvie was considering a more active plan than Gretto was.

No, that’s wrong!

I don’t care about running, or what happens after this!

I just…I just want to see him!

She didn’t say these private thoughts aloud. She only let those strong emotions show through in her voice as she spoke.

“No matter what… No matter what, I want to see him. Just once, before I go to work at the lord’s mansion…I want to see him!”

When Elmer heard that, he paused for a moment, then asked her a question:

“Only once?”

“Huh?”

“Will that satisfy you enough to let you smile? …Oh, sorry. Maybe you’re thinking ‘Nobody asked you’ or ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ but, well… It’s kind of an important issue. It’s going to affect how enthusiastic I am about this.”

The young man was making as little sense as ever, and Sylvie looked perplexed.

“That’s, um… I don’t think I’ll know until I’ve seen him… I’m sorry.” She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet her apology seemed completely sincere.

“Oh, sorry, I’m sorry! You’re completely right! You certainly won’t know until you see him! Well then, I’ll work hard to make sure it’s the best meeting ever! …So cheer up? Smile, smile!”

Leading Sylvie by the hand, Elmer went on smiling. A little ways from the gate, he examined the road around them and thought to himself. “Let’s see… In that case, um… Maiza’s seemed to be sort of busy with Maestro Dalton lately, so… Oh, right! I think I know some people who may be able to get into his house!” he cried happily, then broke into a run, pulling Sylvie along behind him.

She trotted unsteadily down the unfamiliar road after him. The rather comical pair looked a bit out of place in a town controlled by the House of Dormentaire.

However, their meeting, and the actions they took thereafter, would have important consequences for Lotto Valentino.

Maiza Avaro.

The moment the name of their common acquaintance had come up, the gears of the pair’s relationship had meshed and begun turning powerfully.

That was how Elmer C. Albatross and Sylvie Lumiere first met.

And their meeting was only the first of several encounters that would occur that day.

Would those meetings and reunions bring fortune or misfortune? The results were something no one could predict, but—

—at that moment, the shadows of Lotto Valentino began their work.