Baccano! - Volume 17 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

THE VISITORS’ PLEASANT CHAT

Lotto Valentino The port market

Around the time Elmer took Sylvie’s hand and started running—

—at the port, a certain incident was about to occur.

A deafening noise.

That afternoon, a sound reminiscent of falling rubble echoed across the market.

Taken by surprise, everyone turned to look. Meanwhile, the people who’d been watching the source of the noise gave little shrieks and turned away from the scene.

The cause of the noise was a person.

With the speed of a gliding hawk, a knight in thick plate armor had crashed into a material storage site. The wooden shelves collapsed noisily, sending out a moderate wave of destruction into his surroundings.

Naturally, the man hadn’t dived into the shelves voluntarily. Someone had thrown an armored adult at them as if he weighed next to nothing.

“……”

The man responsible stood tall in the market, without a word. His skin was brown, and he was obviously foreign. He seemed to be anywhere from his midtwenties to thirty or so, but since he and his two companions were from overseas, the people around them weren’t as familiar with how to judge their ages.

And those people weren’t interested in observing the men more closely, instead falling over themselves trying to get out of there.

This wasn’t because they were afraid of the physical strength of the man who’d thrown the knight, or of what he’d actually done. It was because they’d seen that the knight’s armor bore the Dormentaire crest.

If he was intentionally walking around in armor in this day and age, when musketeers were more common than swordsmen, this was probably intended as a demonstration of power by the House of Dormentaire. The townspeople were aware of this, so when they saw armored knights on patrol, very few approached them for any purpose other than to sell them something.

The only reason they hadn’t moved until they saw the crest was due entirely to the thought that nobody could possibly be stupid enough to pick a fight with somebody from the House of Dormentaire. It was simply common sense. But an outsider had indeed picked a fight with one of the knights, so almost no one even considered staying to watch. After all, if they were careless enough to get involved, they might be punished unfairly.

“Ghk… Gah…!”

The knight got up from the debris of the shelves, glaring at the brown-skinned man.

“You scoundrel… Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked in Spanish.

The other man cocked his head, his face still expressionless. Apparently, he didn’t understand the language, but that didn’t matter to the knight.

“You sailors may as well have spit on the House of Dormentaire! I don’t know who you work for, but we’ll destroy both you and your employer!” the knight shouted. He was still in pain, but he was trying to gain a mental advantage over the other man.

Drawn by his voice, several men rushed to the scene.

They were a diverse group, ranging from knights in the same sort of armor to men in guard uniforms with guns at their hips, but they all had the hourglass crest on their shoulders or collars.

“You may not be able to tell what I’m saying, but you understand your situation, correct?”

Certain that his advantage was unassailable, the wounded knight smiled as he faced down the brown-skinned man.

“Who is this man? What happened?”

In response to his companion’s question, the wounded knight sent a hate-filled glare at the foreigner.

“How should I know?! The crazed bastard just kicked me across the way, out of nowhere!”

“Whaaat?!”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Don’t tell me they’re with the Mask Makers!”

The knights all asked their own questions, but the assailant didn’t respond.

He also made no move to run. Bold as ever, he stood facing down the group of knights and gunmen.

“Come with us.”

One of the knights carefully approached the man and grasped his arm, but—

“…? …?!”

H-he’s not moving…

It was like tugging on a tree whose roots were firmly planted in the earth. If he wanted to move the man from that spot, he’d have to be strong enough to physically pick him up.

“Why, you…! Do you intend to resist?!” Impatient, one of the knights threw a punch at the man’s face.

However—the brown-skinned man countered it with a headbutt, and the knight was knocked into the air and rolled across the ground.

The next instant—

—the most lightly equipped of the assembled men drew a stiletto from his belt and started toward the foreigner.

The onlookers watching the scene play out from a safe distance were certain that the brown-skinned man was about to die.

The man was a member of Carla’s personal bodyguard, and his skills were beyond comparison with the knights around him. In addition, if a Dormentaire soldier fatally stabbed a sailor, they knew it wouldn’t cause any trouble.

But betraying their expectations, the foreigner evaded the stiletto by a hair.

The blade had grazed his throat, and finally, a hint of emotion showed on his face.

“<Well done.>”

He smiled faintly, muttering something in a foreign language.

With the momentum of his twisting torso, he tried to backfist his opponent, but the bodyguard nimbly dodged it, then signaled to one of his companions with a glance.

Without a word, the other bodyguard drew his sword and lunged at the darker man.

Now two blades were striking from different directions, but the mystery man avoided them at the last second and grabbed the arm of one of the bodyguards.

Then, twisting around with all his might—he threw the bodyguard with the strength of his arms alone.

He’d thrown the man at the other bodyguard.

But both of these men really did seem to be more skilled than the earlier knight: One lightly sidestepped his incoming companion, while the bodyguard who’d been thrown rolled on the ground to soften the impact and got to his feet.

The bodyguards and the brown-skinned man faced each other and stayed deadlocked at that same distance for a few moments.

The surrounding knights and gunmen shared glances, wondering whether they should join in—but before they could find their answer, the fight began again as the bodyguards and the foreigner closed in on each other rapidly.

But neither their fists nor their blades reached each other.

Two intruders came between them and blocked their attacks.

One of the men had black hair and olive skin, and he seemed to be Asian. His hands were clamped around both of the guards’ wrists; the tips of the stilettos had stopped just short of sinking into his chest.

Meanwhile, the brown-skinned man’s fist had been stopped by an even darker man, who’d put him in a nelson hold from behind.

“…It seems you failed to heed our warning, Nile,” said the Asian man in faintly accented English.

The darker man spoke next. “Calm down. We did not come here to kill.”

The man they’d called Nile tsked quietly, then spoke in stiff, formal English. “I believe I do not have to tell you, but let me just say this: …Stay out of my way.”

“It is you who are impeding us, Nile.” With a sigh, the Asian quietly opened both his hands and bowed to the bodyguards. “My companion has been very rude to you.”

Now that someone they could talk to had appeared, the bodyguards wordlessly sheathed their stilettos.

“Hmph. What a bore,” Nile grumbled, still in English, when he saw his opponents didn’t plan to continue the fight.

The bodyguards stayed silent; it wasn’t clear whether they’d understood what he said or not.

As if speaking in their stead, the knight who had been attacked raised his voice. “What country are you louts from?! Don’t think you’ll get away with this!”

Apparently, he was giving at least token consideration to diplomatic matters as he attempted to learn their affiliation.

In response, the Asian man—who wore a katana at his waist—frowned.

“While I am unsure how to respond to an inquiry regarding my country, my name is Denkurou Tougou. I am not under the protection of any particular nation.”

Denkurou Tougou was an alchemist who was studying under a master in Western Europe.

His was a checkered life. After being rescued by a trading vessel while he was adrift in the Far Eastern ocean, many subsequent twists and turns had led him to begin studying alchemy in Europe.

His master had sent him to Lotto Valentino with orders to contact an alchemist known as Dalton.

On his previous visit, he and his friend Zank had been on their own. The man they’d brought this time, Nile, was notorious among their fellow apprentices for his hot temper. Previously, Nile had developed an intense anger against this town due to a certain matter. After that matter had been resolved, his fury seemed to have abated, so he had joined them at Denkurou’s discretion, but—

The result had been this fight, just after they arrived in port.

Denkurou had taken his eyes off him for a moment, and he was ashamed of that error. Still, he held nothing against Nile. He was definitely violent, but Denkurou knew he wasn’t the type to exercise that violence unfairly.

After introducing himself, Denkurou went on impassively, keeping an eye on the situation around them.

“Now then, would you explain what happened, Nile?”

Without looking the least bit apologetic, Nile gave the Dormentaire men a disdainful glance.

“It does not need to be said, but I will say it. I saw a fool who arrogantly kicked down a child and was about to stomp on his head. So I followed the man’s example and kicked him. I have not yet stomped on him.”

When Denkurou looked around, he saw a frightened boy watching them from the edge of the market.

If the knights insisted they had done nothing of the sort, that would be that. Even Denkurou, who’d just gotten here, knew the people of Lotto Valentino were afraid of the hourglass crest. If the townspeople and the child in question refused to talk out of fear, Nile would simply be treated as a bully.

Denkurou believed Nile was telling the truth, and apprehension held him in its grip—but barely two seconds later, his worries proved to be for nothing.

“Oh, shut up! What’s wrong with kicking a brat who cut in front of me?!”

The man had confessed easily, and the feeling that went through Denkurou was half relief and half worry of a different sort.

Are they nobles of some variety? We had trouble with aristocrats the last time we came to this town as well. I would like to settle this peaceably if we can, but…

In Denkurou’s homeland, there had been a custom that anyone who passed in front of a feudal lord’s procession must be summarily cut down for their insolence. Therefore, he worried this town might have a similar law with regard to striking down rude individuals.

But the knights in front of him didn’t appear to be conquerors with the status of a feudal lord or his procession. Even if they were aristocrats, they lacked dignity; the only ones who had anything resembling that character were the bodyguards who’d managed to stand against Nile a moment ago.

“Denkurou and Zank, you heard him. It is natural and proper for me to kick these men,” Nile said.

It was an arrogant thing to say, and Denkurou realized, If this man took a disliking to it, he might very well attack a feudal lord’s procession all by himself. He secretly hoped the man would never set foot in Japan.

In the past, Nile had blustered that he struck anyone who displeased him, no matter if they were an aristocrat or a royal, and he had actually done so a few times. The fact that he’d survived this long without being executed was partly due to Nile’s own strength, but also in large part to the connections of their master.

Even if the knight who was shouting right now had been the son of a royal family, Nile would have only said, No king would trample a young child, and kicked him down with no hesitation.

Hmm. I would prefer not to cause trouble, but…

Remembering his fight at the port when he’d visited this area six years previously, he decided to accept the situation as fate.

“We have only just arrived here, you see. Our personal values do not allow us to overlook a knight kicking a child to the ground, but if that does not align with the values of those who live here, then we will apologize. We would prefer to settle things peacefully.”

“What are you saying, Denkurou? This whole band of rabmmrglff.”

Zank was even bigger than Nile, and he covered his companion’s mouth to cut him off.

Denkurou was about to continue negotiating, when—

“Don’t be a fool! After an insult like that, I won’t be satisfied until I cut that man down!” the offended man shouted.

At the open hostility, Zank let go of Nile. “What will we do, Denkurou? I would not mind a bit of a skirmish here.”

“I can’t have you taking Nile’s position as well, Zank,” Denkurou replied with some exasperation as he weighed their options.

When they’d been involved in a fight here six years ago, Aile, the leader of a group of delinquent youths, had appeared and defused the situation. They weren’t dealing with delinquents this time, though.

Denkurou wasn’t knowledgeable about aristocrats, but even he knew the name of Dormentaire. It wasn’t safe to quarrel with them.

He doubted an appearance from Aile, the leader of the town’s thugs, would fix this situation.

Hmm. Should we force our way through? Suffer ourselves to be apprehended temporarily…?

The Dormentaire men did not immediately leap into a fight, perhaps watching to see what the three visitors would do as well.

But if the standoff continued, it was very likely that the numbers of the Dormentaire group would swell, worsening their disadvantage.

That was when a sound broke their deadlock.

It was a light, rhythmic noise: the sound of clapping.

“All right, all right, that’s enough of that. Stand down, all of you.”

The man who was walking toward them and clapping was someone Denkurou and the others had never seen before.

Meanwhile, the knights turned pale and respectful as soon as they recognized him.

“Master Victor! You’ve already arrived, sir?!”

“‘Master’? I’m nobody’s master. I’m just an alchemist. There’s no need for knights to bow to me,” he replied as he came closer, though the knights were no less deferential toward him.

An alchemist?

Denkurou, Nile, and Zank exchanged looks. Why were the knights being so respectful to a man who was in that line of work?

But before they could ask, this Victor fellow said, “Hello there. Are you sailors or merchants? I see you understand English. That makes things easier. I can speak Spanish and Italian, too, but English is easiest for me.”

Victor spoke casually, as if attempting to soften the mood.

Denkurou didn’t let his guard down completely, but he was a bit relieved to be talking to someone who wasn’t hostile. “I see. Well then, what will become of us now?”

Even if they were arrested for a time, if the one arresting them was this man, Denkurou had high hopes they could come to an agreement.

Somehow, this man reminds me of Aile, who quelled our previous fight here.

Having come to that conclusion, Denkurou mentally removed the option of force and resolved to hear the man out.

(“It appears that we are fated to have someone stop our fights here. How perfect it would be if this happened a third time.”)

Zank had spoken in Japanese, and Denkurou murmured his response in the same language.

(“I would rather there not be a third fight at all…”)

Victor waited until they’d finished their exchange, then went on. “Nothing’s going to become of you. Just go on with your work as if nothing happened.”

A stir ran through the knights and gunmen, but when the bodyguards glanced at them, they all fell silent.

“Oh? Then you mean to look the other way?”

“No need. I’ve seen nothing in the laws of this town that explicitly allows people to kick each other to the ground. You kicked the knight, and the knight kicked the boy. Just pretend you didn’t see each other. Now everyone is happy. How’s that?” Victor smiled.

Possibly because Nile’s anger was unsatisfied, he shot a glance at the knight and said something tactless. “Let me just ask this: Is there a law to the effect that one must not kick people down?”

Victor’s response was simple. “There may not be a law, but it’s not exactly a pastime for respectable people, is it? Especially hurting children.”

Shrugging, Victor looked at the knight behind him with a sharp glare.

The knight hastily looked down; his eyes seemed somehow afraid.

“They seem quite frightened of you.”

“Not of me. Of old Szilard.”

“Szilard?”

“Another Dormentaire alchemist. He’s not an unreasonable man, but he is intimidating. There’s a rumor that if you defy the House of Dormentaire’s personal alchemist, you may become a subject in human experiments.”

Victor spoke indifferently, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of laughter in the knights’ eyes.

It was likely that they genuinely believed that rumor. Either that, or it was more than a rumor.

They really wouldn’t be able to determine which it was without meeting this Szilard fellow in person, so Denkurou and his companions didn’t press the issue.

“You have our gratitude for your arbitration.”

“No need for all that. I just don’t want to deal with any trouble. Right, well, go on, then.”

“We are in your debt.” Denkurou started to leave, pulling Nile with him, but when he stole a glance at the child who’d been kicked by the knight, the start of the altercation, the boy seemed to want to say something to them.

But in the next moment, a woman who seemed to be his mother grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crowd. She probably didn’t want to get involved with outsiders who’d picked a fight with the House of Dormentaire.

When Denkurou turned back, Nile was watching the pair go with no emotion on his face. When he realized his companions were watching him, he gave a thin smile and began walking.

Well, I doubt Nile was hoping to be recompensed; he may have simply wanted to fight.

Nile had acted entirely of his own volition, and it was only natural for the mother to try to protect her child. On that thought, he began walking again.

However—

“Oi, you over there. The woman with the boy. Hold on.”

As the parent and child began to make a hasty exit, Victor called to them.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I-I’m terribly sorry! My son was outrageously rude a moment ago!”

Shaking, the woman knelt and tried to force her son to apologize as well.

Denkurou and the other two stopped, worrying there might be another scene.

“No, not that,” said Victor. “What’s it to us if you apologize? If you know he was rude ‘a moment ago,’ you must have been watching the whole thing. Which means you saw a man kick your son, and you didn’t even help him, much less try to protect him. You can keep your damn mouth shut.”

After he’d rebuked the woman, he bent down in front of the boy, putting himself on his eye level.

“Hey. You’ve got something to say to that scary-looking bloke over there, don’t you?” Victor indicated Nile with a glance.

The boy watched him, unsure what to do.

“Go say what you want to say. You’ve got my permission. All right?” Victor urged him, smiling kindly.

The boy trotted up to Nile and blurted out, “Thank you very much!”

He’d spoken in Italian, but Nile probably understood the sentiment being expressed.

He raised one eyebrow as if he was startled. Then he murmured a brief reply in English. “It was nothing.” After that, he turned his back on the boy.

The remark had been brusque, but as his longtime acquaintances, Denkurou and Zank understood that Nile was embarrassed. They exchanged smiles.

I see.

So even the House of Dormentaire has men such as this.

Turning to Victor again, Denkurou bowed to him. “I thank you for your consideration.”

“I wasn’t doing it for you lot. I only thought it might be eating away at him,” Victor replied. He seemed to have taken a liking to Denkurou and the others, and he raised a hand to them lightly, glancing at an inn on the outskirts of the port.

At present, the building had been reserved exclusively for the House of Dormentaire, and it had been remodeled into a military outpost.

“I spend my nights over there. If anything comes up, stop by and tell me about—”

Just as he was finishing his sentence—

A deafening noise.

The second loud sound of the day echoed through the market.

However, unlike the earlier one, it reached more than one small area.

The air itself shook with the violent explosion, and the noise raced all through the town.

The explosion had come from the very inn Victor had just pointed out. Part of the wall on the second floor had crumbled, and flames and black smoke rose from the building.

In the center of the market, which was now in an uproar, Victor muttered in a daze to the other three men.

“…Sorry. Seems I’m not staying there after all.”

This was how Victor and Denkurou’s group met.

And it also marked the beginning of a chain of incidents that would rock the town of Lotto Valentino.

Meanwhile In the heart of town, in front of the Meyer residence

“Huh? What was that noise?”

“It sounded like someone fired a cannon…”

At the sound of the explosion from the port, Elmer and Sylvie stopped in front of the wooden door.

But no other sounds followed it, and the buildings around the passage where they stood blocked their view of the smoke.

They didn’t know about the explosion at the port market, and although they were bewildered, they didn’t leave to try to find out what the noise had been.

After all, they’d just used the door knocker.

While they were still perplexed by the noise, the door opened, and a serving woman poked her head out.

“…Oh. It’s just you, Elmer,” muttered a girl about the same age as Sylvie. Her face was expressionless. But as she looked from Elmer to Sylvie and back, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is she your lover?” she asked indifferently.

“Huh?!” Startled, Sylvie followed the girl’s gaze—and only then did she realize Elmer was still holding her hand.

When they’d reached the house he’d seemed to be heading for, she’d tried to shake herself free, until the loud noise had distracted her.

“N-no!”

Hastily, Sylvie yanked her hand free. Immediately afterward, she felt guilty for two separate reasons.

The first was guilt toward Gretto, for letting a stranger pull her along by the hand. The other was having violently pulled her hand away, when the young man had brought her here out of kindness.

At the very least, the youth didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling at the serving girl. “Aw, I’ve been rejected! Will you comfort me, Niki?”

“No, not when you haven’t even been hurt. Did you come here to act like a spoiled child?”

“Agh, now I’ve been rejected by two people at once.” Even as he deflated, his smile didn’t flicker, and he changed the subject easily. “Oh, that’s right. I had a little favor to ask you today, Niki.”

“What?”

“I believe there’s an alchemist here who goes to Maiza’s home. There’s something I want to ask him about. Um, I’m pretty sure his name was…something… Mr. Something?”

Elmer was claiming he had something to discuss with a man whose name he’d completely failed to remember.

However, as if she was used to things like this, Niki sighed lightly. “You’ve talked to him a few times, haven’t you? It’s Begg. Begg Garrott.”

When she heard the name, Sylvie interjected in spite of herself. “What…? Is this Begg’s workshop?”

Begg Garrott.

Having worked for the House of Avaro until yesterday, Sylvie had shown an alchemist by that name to her master’s rooms a few times. The man had talked rapidly and volubly, and she vividly remembered how he would rattle off enough words to fill the script of a modest play in the time she took to show him in.

Sylvie had been dragged here without being told anything at all, and she finally understood what Elmer had meant when he’d mentioned people who could get into the Avaro house.

Elmer answered her blandly.

“Technically it’s the Meyer family’s workshop, not Begg’s.”

The Meyers were renowned alchemists, an illustrious family who’d had many apprentices. However, a few years earlier, the head of the family and his wife had died in an accident, and now the only surviving family member was a boy who was still quite young.

They had relocated to this house in Lotto Valentino.

They’d only moved in a few years ago, so their furnishings weren’t completely coordinated with the mansion yet—and the furniture wasn’t the only thing that didn’t quite seem at home. Czeslaw Meyer, the mansion’s young master, hadn’t integrated into the new town either, and his shyness was directed less at people in general than at the town itself.

This house served as both their living quarters and their studio, where several alchemists worked on the research they’d inherited from their master. A peculiar smell drifted up the stairs leading to the cellar.

Elmer didn’t have any connections to those alchemists. He only knew Niki, their servant—but for a servant, Niki seemed to have quite a bit of influence, and she immediately called Begg upstairs and made the introductions.

Czeslaw, the nominal family head, was currently out with another alchemist, so their talk was taking place under odd circumstances: a discussion of a tryst with the son of a town nobleman, held in a masterless mansion.

But Sylvie was a self-effacing type, and she couldn’t object to any of it.

“I see, yes, I understand everything about what you’ve just told me. I’ll tell you now before you become suspicious of me: I knew about young master Gretto and the young lady’s relationship, but Maiza seemed to be keeping quiet about it, so I didn’t betray your secret or anything like it, believe you me—but what exactly is it you need me to do?”

Begg Garrott, who had hardly paused for breath in his whole speech, was a man in his thirties with stubbly whiskers. His face looked patently unhealthy, and his eyes seemed rather hollow. Perhaps it was an effect of the drugs.

“Well, I was wondering if we could ask you to sneak a message to Gretto next time you go to the mansion. It might be better if you kidnapped him, really.”

Even though Elmer had only just met this man, he spoke to him as if they’d known each other for ages. But Begg didn’t seem to be the type who paid much attention to etiquette, either, and he responded rapidly.

“Whoa, whoa, if that’s what you want, it would be better to ask Maiza—but come to think of it, he’s terribly busy with the matter of the Advena Avis right now, so he almost never comes home. In that case, I’ll just have to…pitch in…and give…you…a—a hand…”

Abruptly, Begg’s speech faltered, like a clock whose spring had wound down.

As Sylvie began to panic, wondering what was wrong, he began to talk normally again.

“Ah, my apologies, my tongue’s begun stalling on me every so often; my guess is that it’s what comes of having tested too many of my drugs on myself, but if my body is a sacrifice I must make to perfect my research, it’s a small price to pay. All right then, young lady, if you have a message for the boy Gretto, let’s hear it. Think of something that will let me get him outside without any trouble.”

“Huh?! Oh, um, y-yes, sir!”

Sylvie was flustered, and Elmer racked his brains, trying to think of some sort of advice to give her.

“Hmm. Could we take a cue from Romeo and Juliet…?”

“If we want to invite tragedy.”

“Well, we don’t know, you know? If we say the afterlife exists in the world of the play, then after they both die, they could meet again and laugh together. ‘Oh, Juliet, you weren’t really dead?!’ ‘Oh dear, Romeo, you silly fool!’”

Niki was at a loss as to how to respond to this extremely liberal interpretation, but then—

“WAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaah! MeeeaaaAAAAAAh!”

Hearing a catlike wail from upstairs, Niki looked up, startled.

“Excuse me. I need to step out for a bit,” she said simply, and then she was climbing the stairs with little emotion on her face.

After she’d watched her go, Sylvie turned to Begg.

“There’s a baby here?”

“Hmm? Yes. Still crying all the time, even at a year old. It’s the child of a relation of one of our alchemists, but both parents are dead, so raising this young mind falls to us. Not…unlike…Cz-Czes.”

Begg’s manner of speech had changed again, and Sylvie was briefly bewildered, but the weight of what she’d just been told actually calmed her heart.

“Is that right…? No parents…”

“But…you…see…that alchemist is a very impressive individual, so the child’s bound for a good life. Niki acts unfriendly, but she’s kind to the baby. She’s well suited to the work.”

Then, as if he had remembered something, Begg looked toward the front door.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Speaking of being good with children, our little family head and that softhearted alchemist ought to be returning soon…”

While Sylvie and Begg were talking—Elmer, the very person who’d brought her here, had stopped listening to their conversation and had silently followed Niki up the stairs.

The Meyer residence Second floor

“Is that your baby, Niki?”

“That’s not even funny.”

Niki sounded disillusioned.

In her arms was the infant, who had finally managed to stop crying. At one year old, the child’s infancy would be over soon, and Niki’s petite arms made it appear especially large.

“I told you before, remember? This is the child of a relative of an alchemist who works here. Without any parents, the responsibility of raising it falls to us,” Niki replied.

Elmer nodded easily. “I know.”

Elmer had genuinely forgotten Begg’s name, so Niki had assumed he might have forgotten this, too. She narrowed her eyes.

“Did you actually mean that as a joke?”

“I thought it was funny…” Elmer was wearing a bashful smile for some reason, and Niki gave a big sigh.

“You really don’t change a bit. You try to make people smile, and yet you don’t understand a woman’s heart at all.”

“You think so? If you’re the one saying it, though, maybe you’re right.” Elmer went on, waving a hand in front of the baby, who’d stopped crying. “You’ve changed, Niki.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. You’re much more cheerful than you were five years ago. You were a little gloomy after what happened with Monica, but it seems like you’ve cheered up again recently.”

Monica.

The moment that name came up, Niki’s expression clouded slightly. She had owed a great debt to Monica and her friends, and Niki had been her friend, too.

The news that she’d died in an accident a year ago had given Niki a significant shock. As one who was looking for a place to die, Niki had never even dreamed that one of the people who’d given her the hope to keep on living would die before she did. Monica’s death had tormented Niki all the more for that reason, in many ways, and one of the things that had healed the wound was the baby she was caring for now.

She didn’t reproach Elmer for mentioning her friend’s death so bluntly. Instead, she slowly laid the drowsy baby in her arms into the crib.

After making sure she heard the peaceful, rhythmic breathing of sleep, she turned back to Elmer. “I see you still have no trouble saying the things most people don’t want to talk about.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“I’m all right. Besides, I think staying sad forever would be doing Monica a disservice.”

For one, Elmer had spent far more time with Monica than Niki had. If anyone else had casually brought up the dead, she might have found it unpleasant, but Elmer didn’t make her feel that way.

Still, she knew what his personality was like, so in her case, it might have been more accurate to say that she’d given up on him, among other things.

“…You still haven’t been able to get in touch with Huey?”

“Sure haven’t. I do think he’s alive, though.” Elmer didn’t seem concerned about his missing friend.

When she heard that, Niki lowered her eyes for just a moment. “I see…”

“He’s looking ahead, you see. He might be able to smile pretty soon.”

“I doubt he’ll recover easily. I think he and Monica really loved each other. They were friends with you and me, but they became a part of each other.”

“Hmm. I don’t know anything about romance.”

Elmer shrugged with disappointment. Then he asked Niki a question, smiling like a mischievous little boy.

“Is that what it was? Is that what’s made you more cheerful?”

“What do you mean?”

“R-o-m-a-n-c-e.” Elmer leaned against the window and went on, speaking like the young man he was. “Now that you’re able to talk about other people’s loves, I wondered whether it meant you’d found someone you liked, too.”

“You are incredible, Elmer, joking around like that when we’re talking about Monica and Huey.”

“You think so?”

“Even when Monica died, I bet you told Huey ‘Go on and smile’ without any trouble,” Niki murmured coldly.

“I did. I don’t think he heard me, though.”

“If he had, he would have hit you. He might even have stabbed you.”

“I think so, too.” A little sadness crept into his smile, but Elmer didn’t deny what he’d done. “Still, if it made him feel better and smile, I’d let him punch me or stab me as much as he wanted.”

“I’ll tell you now, no one would be able to smile doing that.”

“Are you sure?” Elmer argued, as casually as if this was just a bit of gossip. “My mother and father used to stab me and burn me, and they smiled when they did it, you know.”

“……”

I…think he just confessed something outrageous to me.

…Was he abused?

Niki was silent, and Elmer went on.

“And not only my parents. Whenever I was in pain or screamed, the people around us all seemed really happy, and they praised me. So I didn’t even question it. According to the soldiers who massacred my mom and the rest of them, it was actually an evil thing.”

A chill ran through Niki, and perhaps sensing it, the child began to whimper, eyes still closed.

“I don’t know if Huey’s the same type of person as the people who raised me, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility, is it?”

“…You probably shouldn’t share this with most people. With me, it’s all right, but still.”

Niki was uncomfortable, but the news hadn’t shocked her too deeply, and it hadn’t changed the way she thought of Elmer.

They’d met frequently over the last two years, but they’d hardly spoken about their respective pasts at all. Still, Niki had always sensed that Elmer’s life was peculiar in a way that was different from her own.

She’d never dreamed he’d tell her those things so easily at a time like this, and he had caught her off guard.

Perhaps reading her reaction, Elmer kept talking to her while he pulled funny faces and tried to make the whimpering child smile.

“I know. Since it’s you, I thought you might smile and forgive me if I told you. You didn’t smile for me, though.”

“I can’t smile about that.”

“That’s too bad. Well, back to the main subject: What about it? Is there somebody you like?”

He was asking out of sheer curiosity, and Niki smiled faintly. Even before Elmer could tell whether the smile was fake or genuine, Niki softly asked, “What would you do if I said it was you?”

“Is it?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said teasingly, then went on, unabashed. “I have nothing against you, Elmer, and I do feel I’m in your debt. But I could never have romantic feelings for you.”

“Ha-ha! You wound me. With me, it’s all right, but you mustn’t tease other boys that way, you know? They’ll call you a siren who toys with men’s hearts.”

Elmer didn’t sound wounded in the slightest, and Niki’s response might have been retaliation for earlier.

“It’s all right. I’d only ever say things like that to you. I am sorry, though.”

“Don’t you worry. In fact, I’m glad you weren’t serious. I think someone like me probably shouldn’t get married.”

Niki understood what he meant.

Even if Elmer did get married—if a stranger he’d never even seen before cried in front of him, in that moment, that stranger would matter more to Elmer than his own wife. On the surface, he might appear to have a strong sense of justice. But in Elmer’s case, if he needed to sacrifice his wife, his children, or even himself in order to make someone else smile, he would do it without a second thought.

As far as he was concerned, individuals were not the priority, but the smiles of which only humans were capable.

Precisely because Niki knew about Elmer’s character, she’d understood his self-deprecating remark.

“…That’s probably true,” she replied with some disillusionment in her voice.

There was no need to say anything.

There was no need to feel anything.

After all, Elmer hadn’t changed a bit since their first meeting.

If a woman who wanted to wed him existed, she would have to be a fanatic who could completely agree with the way he thought, an eccentric who liked sacrificing herself—or someone who had given up on everything. From a different angle, one could say that if she was constantly drowning in self-pity and despair, Elmer might spend his entire life trying to make her smile. But that relationship wouldn’t benefit either of them; it would only keep them bound together.

Niki thought past that point.

Five years ago, she wouldn’t have minded spending her life with Elmer.

If she was only living to find a place to die, then she could have done the same as him, offering herself over and over for the sake of strangers. Even sacrificing others. She might not have minded a love like that, the sort that transcended good and evil.

But she was different now. She was definitely not who she’d been back then.

As Elmer had said, she’d changed.

While she’d been looking for a place to die—she had found a man she’d like to join her in the search.

As it turned out, that man hadn’t been Elmer.

That was all it was.

“So who is this person you’ve fallen for, Niki? If there’s anything I can do to help you, I’ll do it.”

“It’s a secret.”

Niki smiled faintly. Elmer looked at her and knew her smile wasn’t faked.

The ability to tell fake smiles from genuine ones was a skill unique to him, a product of his long years of obsessing over the expression.

Ultimately, Niki didn’t seem inclined to continue that conversation, but it didn’t bother Elmer.

After all, to him, the important thing wasn’t who she was in love with, but her smile itself.

“I see… I won’t ask anymore, then. Look at this: bleh-bleh-brrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Elmer’s interest promptly shifted to the mewling baby, and he started to make funny faces, trying to coax out a smile. But the baby only seemed bewildered by this strange adult leaning in too close and remained just as querulous as before.

Just then—

“We’re home!”

—a cheerful voice echoed up from the first floor, catching the baby’s attention. The whimpering stopped; apparently, this sound was a familiar, reassuring one.

The voice was a child’s, too high to tell immediately whether it belonged to a boy or a girl.

“It sounds like the head of our family has returned.” Niki gave a faint smile.

When Elmer saw her expression, a vague thought crossed his mind.

What’s this? That’s the happiest smile she’s shown so far. The person Niki likes can’t possibly be…

He’d wondered whether the owner of that voice might be the secret answer, but a question immediately came to mind.

…But from what I heard, the head of the family is still only about ten, isn’t he? Does Niki go for younger men?

While he was busy speculating, he heard voices in conversation downstairs.

Begg seemed to be explaining about Sylvie in his usual rapid manner.

When she heard the voices, Niki gently took the infant from the baby bed and slowly started downstairs.

As Elmer followed her, two figures that hadn’t been on the first floor earlier came into view.

One of them was unmistakably a child, so that was probably Czeslaw, the head of the house.

Then, when he looked between Niki and the other man’s face, he was sure of it.

Oh, that’s him. That’s the one Niki likes.

“Welcome back,” Niki said to Czes and the man.

Then, in the moment her gaze shifted from Czes to the tall man—she felt relieved.

“It’s good to be home. It sounds as if there was an explosion at the port. Did you hear it here as well?”

“What? Come to think of it, there was a noise a little while ago… Are you both all right?”

“Yes, we were over in the library district.”

“I see. Thank goodness…,” she murmured, the relief in her face deepening.

Her smile hadn’t grown more intense; her cheeks hadn’t flushed with embarrassment. It was a slight emotional shift, the sort only a smile junkie like Elmer could have made out.

Her smile was real, a signal that the fire known as peace of mind had been lit in her heart.

As he looked at that expression, Elmer felt relieved as well.

She was definitely in love. That was what had given her such a smile, even as she kept searching for a place to die.

Elmer C. Albatross did not feel envy or loss upon learning a woman of his acquaintance had fallen in love.

He felt genuine gratitude.

The man’s mere existence had made Niki fall in love with him and smile.

Elmer was grateful to him.

To him, this was a perfectly normal thing. Conversely, no other thought occurred to him, not even in passing.

He took another look at the young man who was the object of Niki’s affections—and then, just for a moment, he felt bewildered.

Huh? What is it? This feeling is so odd…

The man was smiling at Niki as she welcomed him home.

It wasn’t a fake smile; Elmer was sure it was genuine.

Even so, he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation that something wasn’t quite right.

Oh, I see.

As he realized what lay behind the strange feeling, Elmer was relieved.

Oh. Is that all? It just reminded me of them…

Earlier, he’d told Niki about the smiles his father and mother and the people around them had worn.

The young man Niki was talking to wore a smile that was exactly like theirs.

That was all it was.

Ah yes, anyone raising a child would smile that way.

I see. So he must see Niki as a little sister or a child, then.

Thinking to himself, Elmer slowly reached the bottom of the stairs.

The young man slowly turned from Niki to Elmer, and his smile acquired a slightly different cast.

“Well, well… I don’t believe we’ve spoken like this before.”

“Hmm? Have we met?” Elmer was puzzled.

“I’ve seen you speaking with Maiza from time to time,” the young man explained. “You’re a student of Maestro Dalton’s, aren’t you?”

“Well, Maestro Dalton hardly teaches me anything, but yes. Oh, I’m Elmer. Elmer C. Albatross.”

“Ah, my apologies. I hadn’t introduced myself yet.”

The young man’s hair was long enough in front to hide his eyes completely, but as he quietly said his name, there was a breezy smile on his lips.

It wasn’t a fake smile. It was the smile of someone who was enjoying life so much he could hardly contain himself.

“Lebreau Fermet Viralesque. Call me what you wish.”

Evening The church

There was only one church in Lotto Valentino.

It had been built outside of town and without much care. Almost no one came to worship; the building was more of a facility used to dispose of corpses when someone died. This was an extremely irreverent way to treat a church, but the town had practically been built for the alchemists, and it was said that this had been a maneuver to weaken the influence of the church there. The result was rumors that some alchemists might be dabbling in summoning demons, which was one of the things that had widened the rift between the town and its neighbors.

But even among the people of this town, there was someone who piously mourned the dead.

The man who’d come to pray quietly raised his head.

The church was very old, and its interior wasn’t fully furnished. But the one who had been offering prayers was not nearly so desolate in his appearance.

In terms of age, he was somewhere between his late twenties and thirty. He wore an habit à la française—formal wear modeled after the French style—made from thin cloth. Although his coat was a color suited to worship, it had an unconventional flair that seemed more fantastical than not.

The quality of his clothes made it obvious he was a nobleman, though not necessarily a respectable one. Unusually for a man of his status, he wasn’t wearing a peruke—a noble’s wig—nor had he applied the cloth moles known as mouches that were fashionable among the European nobility. Instead, he wore a particularly dramatic tricorn hat pulled down low on his head. There were dark circles under his eyes, although it wasn’t clear whether he had painted them on or wasn’t getting enough sleep. Below them, he’d drawn small stars with cosmetic ink in lieu of beauty spots.

From his appearance alone, someone could easily have imagined that he was a clown who’d run away from a theater and was taking refuge in a church.

But no matter how eccentric his dress was, no one in this town would rebuke him for it.

Esperanza Boroñal was the young count who governed Lotto Valentino as his territory.

His unique appearance occasionally earned the Clown Count some jeers, but he was definitely the most powerful person in town.

Although, due to the interference of House Dormentaire, his status was weakening.

It was rare for him to come to church alone, without attendants. His carriage was stopped a short distance away, but even its driver didn’t know what business the lord had here.

Without telling anyone the reason for his prayers, Esperanza left the church behind him.

He would have preferred to stay longer, but that wasn’t an option under the current circumstances.

Apparently, there had been an accidental explosion at the port a short while earlier, and one of the inns the House of Dormentaire was using as a base had blown up.

Fortunately, no one seemed to have been hurt, but one false step and it could have been a huge tragedy.

In order to identify the cause, he’d have to light a fire under the town police.

Esperanza resumed his lordly bearing, and as he stepped into the light of the western sun over the church’s courtyard, he realized a young man was standing there alone.

“……”

Silently, Esperanza evaluated the figure.

His dress suggested he wasn’t affiliated with the church. The clothes were fine enough for nobility, but he didn’t carry himself like any of the local aristocrats.

Slowly, the young man crossed the embellished stones that paved the courtyard, approaching Esperanza. He was smiling gently.

Esperanza squinted, trying to identify the person walking through the sunlight.

He was around twenty years old—about the same age as Elmer, who was a guest at the Boroñal residence.

He didn’t appear to be only passing through, either, but Esperanza couldn’t sense any hostility or malice from him. If he was an assassin, then he was good enough to present himself as perfectly nonthreatening, and Esperanza couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would send someone so skilled to take his life. As he was mulling over these questions, the man slowly came up to him.

“Are you mourning your family?” he asked.

“…I am.” Esperanza had absolutely no interest in anything except women, so he responded curtly to the man.

“She meant a great deal to you, didn’t she?”

“…Who are you?” Esperanza took another look at the young man’s face.

He’d only acknowledged that he was mourning his family, and yet the youth had asked about her. And he was correct to do so.

The lord took just a little interest in him—and that was when he remembered.

A young man with glossy black hair and golden eyes—Elmer had told him about someone like that once.

As he remembered the name he’d been told, a complicated emotion welled up inside him. Before the young man could say anything more, Esperanza murmured a question of his own. “…Huey. Are you Huey Laforet?”

“Well, well. To think the lord would know my name. I’m honored, Your Excellency.” The young man bowed courteously.

The moment he knew he was dealing with Huey Laforet, the lord’s face went blank. He looked down for the space of a few breaths, then slowly raised his eyes again. “I see,” he said briefly.

“…Is that all?”

“What else would there be?”

“I’d assumed you would curse at me, strike me…perhaps even shoot me.” The young man smiled thinly.

Esperanza nearly considered the latter option, but he knew he didn’t feel strongly enough to do so. He quietly shook his head.

“A year ago, I might have. I shall tell you now, Elmer has told me that none of it was your fault. On the contrary, I did nothing. I am the one who deserves to be reviled or struck.”

One year ago…

His younger sister, Maribel Boroñal, had died—as Monica Campanella, the heinous criminal who had killed Esperanza’s parents and a nobleman from the House of Dormentaire.

Due to a complicated set of circumstances, Maribel Boroñal had already been declared dead. In exchange, she’d lived on here in Lotto Valentino, wearing the mask of Monica.

Until a visit from House Dormentaire had shattered her mask.

More accurately, it had forcibly plastered the shattered mask onto Maribel’s face and ultimately compelled her to end her life as the criminal Monica Campanella.

According to the report issued by the House of Dormentaire, she had died accidentally in custody. Immediately before the accident, a fire had broken out, and it was possible that the Mask Makers had killed her.

However, Esperanza hadn’t believed a word of it. He knew his sister was dead; while her body had never surfaced, in light of the circumstances Elmer had told him about later, it would have been difficult to imagine that she was alive.

What he hadn’t believed was that she’d been killed by the Mask Makers.

After all, Esperanza knew.

Over her mask as Monica, the apprentice alchemist, Maribel had worn yet another: that of the Mask Maker.

He also knew that others had worn that mask along with her.

Huey Laforet was an alchemist who had been deeply in love with Esperanza’s sister, and he had shared her identity as the Mask Maker. For the year following her death, he had been missing.

Esperanza spoke to him impassively. “Even though I know you aren’t responsible at all, a year ago, I would have taken you to task. I might have taken advantage of my authority as lord and forced you to bear all the blame. Although, had you been a woman, no doubt it would have been another story.” He gave a small sigh. “However, time is cruel. My unjust resentment toward you and the House of Dormentaire is gradually fading, along with my hatred of my own powerlessness. Only the sorrow and regret remain unhealed.”

This wasn’t the way a lord of the town might be expected to speak to a mere alchemist, but for a noble, Esperanza was rather eccentric. He considered all women to be above him and behaved accordingly, and he’d never been the type to care about rank.

Meanwhile, Huey was technically a commoner, but he spoke without any concern for the other man’s station himself. “If time doesn’t heal them, they may not be wounds,” the young man said with a trace of irony. He gave a little shrug. “Although I suspect Elmer would say a smile would heal them easily.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Imagining Elmer’s face, Esperanza smiled wryly. “Today is the first anniversary of Monica’s death, and yet he seems to have gone off to disport himself with a lady who was due to start working today. He didn’t put in an appearance on All Souls’ Day, either. I doubt he’s actually forgotten about her, but…”

“The new girl was probably having trouble smiling.”

“Yes, no doubt it was something like that. If I saw a woman looking sad, I would do the same thing myself.”

Unaware that the cause of Sylvie’s anxiety lay partly with himself, Esperanza took another look at Huey.

Still smiling, Huey averted his eyes. “The dead…may not interest him,” he said quietly, reminiscing. “He’s always been that way.”

“And what about you?” the lord asked.

“Me?”

“I won’t ask why you disappeared. However, I assume you didn’t come here to listen to me whining.” Esperanza remained thoroughly impassive.

He did want to talk about Monica more, and to hear what Huey had to say, but—

Huey’s smile nagged at him, and he wanted to confirm the man’s intentions. Not even the most generous interpretation of his behavior suggested he had come here to mourn the death of someone he’d loved dearly.

“I apologize for responding to your question with a question, but…” Huey turned to face the church’s main gate, gazing out over the distant town and the sea. “Where do you think Monica is?”

“…? What do you mean?”

“I don’t hold any vain hopes that she is actually alive. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have come back here. I’d be where she was.”

The young man’s expression wasn’t the least bit disturbed—just the same faint smile he’d had during this whole conversation.

“If you believe we have souls, then did hers reach the kingdom of God? Or is it suffering in purgatory for her sins?” Huey didn’t look at Esperanza; his eyes were fixed on the faraway town. “She had two faces—one as a criminal, and one as Maribel, who was innocent at her death. Has that left her wandering through the night, unable to reach either God’s kingdom or purgatory?”

“…Enough of this. I’m not in the mood for this sort of talk.” Esperanza quietly tried to interrupt, but Huey went on anyway.

“No churchyard has enough space to bury bodies now. They say one church kept moving the bones it dug up into its cellar, until the corridor was filled with skulls. Still, the dead that must be laid to rest physically exist.”

“……”

“But Monica’s body never surfaced, and she isn’t here, either. She’s nowhere—neither her body nor her soul. No one can confirm whether she’s dead or alive. She’s trapped in a place that’s no place at all.”

Huey paused, and once Esperanza was certain he had finished, he sighed heavily and slowly spoke to Huey’s back.

“Are you trying to make me angry? Or is this an attempt to comfort yourself by making light of Monica’s death with cheap poetry? If it’s the former, that’s unfortunate. While I do find it unpleasant, I don’t have the spirit to be angry anymore.”

Huey shook his head slightly. “It’s neither. I apologize for making you uncomfortable; I simply thought I should tell you, at least.”

“Tell me what?”

“About what I’m going to do in this town.”

“?”

The lord didn’t appear to understand what he was saying. Huey was still wearing that same faint, cold smile.

“When Monica…went into the ocean, her breast bright with blood…right before she fell, she said something to me.”

He paused for a breath, then closed his eyes softly. “…‘Let’s meet again,’ she said. To a man like me.”

As Esperanza listened to him, he felt cold sweat breaking out on his back.

Something is wrong. This is not the same man Elmer told me about.

Is this really Huey Laforet?

If so, then does this mean he’s changed?

One year—one could say it was either too brief to change a person, or long enough.

Where on earth had he vanished to during that time? What had he seen?

As questions rose in Esperanza’s mind, Huey slowly turned around—and told him.

“I’ve decided to look for her. For Monica.”

“…What…are you talking about?”

“She may not approve of what I’m about to do, so I wanted to tell you in advance. After all, you know her past more deeply than anyone.”

That was when Esperanza realized that Huey had something in his right hand. He was glancing at it from time to time as he gazed out at the town.

It was a pocket watch, he realized, one that was quite a bit smaller than the sort Esperanza was used to. So the young man was concerned about the time.

But why?

He almost asked that question aloud, but at present, he was more concerned about the rest of Huey’s sentence.

While Esperanza was wondering what to make of all this, Huey slipped the watch into his breast pocket and turned back to him, then finally finished what he’d been saying before.

“No matter what happens from now on…it isn’t Monica’s fault.”

“What…?”

“So you don’t need to trouble yourself about it, either.

“I’m just looking for Monica, on my own terms.”

In one moment, the townscape behind Huey changed.

“…?”

In several places between the town and the ocean, black smoke spread rapidly, and a few seconds later, explosions echoed across the courtyard, buzzing against his skin.

“Wha…?”

Hastily, Esperanza leaned out through the church’s main gate for a better view of what was happening below. Black smoke was rising into the sky from several locations, and the red light of flames flickered through it.

“Huey Laforet, what is the meaning of this…?!”

Flustered, Esperanza turned around, then fell silent.

Huey Laforet was no longer in the courtyard. All he saw were the figures of church personnel who’d come out to see what was going on.

However, Esperanza was certain. He didn’t understand what Huey meant by “looking for Monica,” but at the very least, he could imagine what he was planning to do in this town.

The House of Dormentaire had stolen his lover’s happiness and then her life, if only indirectly.

As the Mask Maker, or maybe just as a man, he meant to take his revenge.

Multiple explosions had occurred in town simultaneously.

Naturally, crowds of people had seen them happen.

One of the targets had been a Dormentaire transport ship lying at anchor in the port.

The ship’s hold had exploded. No one had been inside, but several people on deck had sustained minor injuries. While the entire crew had escaped, half a month’s worth of Dormentaire resources had been lost to the sea.

“Let me just say this: I care not how many of that lot’s ships go up in flames.”

“Don’t say that. We just found out that even the Dormentaires have some decent people, remember?” Zank reproved Nile for his ruthless sentiments.

They were watching the burning wreckage from another ship that was anchored a short distance away.

Denkurou stood beside them and listened, frowning as he watched the black smoke from the blazing ship. “It appears that the earlier explosion truly was no accident.” Gazing far out to sea, at the distant horizon, he murmured to himself, “…I suspect a storm is nigh.”

He was visualizing a lone ship appearing over that horizon.

“I hope it does not affect the departure of the Advena Avis.”

The Avaro residence

Gretto had been watching the smoke from a window in his room. He was trembling, eyes wide, and wondering what was going on. Before long, he remembered Sylvie and looked toward the lord’s mansion with worry.

Fortunately, no black smoke was rising from that direction, and he gave a small sigh of relief.

Sylvie was at the Meyer family’s studio just then, but he didn’t know that; he was simply reassured by the knowledge that the lord’s mansion was safe.

“What in the world is going on…?” Gretto eyed the town uneasily.

However, at the same time, a quiet elation was welling up in his heart.

Could this be an omen of change? Had his chance finally come? The one he’d been waiting for all this time, the one that would let him and Sylvie be together…

As Gretto impressed the image of the town in flames upon his memory…

The merest trace of the courage to act was beginning to grow inside him.

Another of the explosion sites had been a Dormentaire provisions storehouse.

The first places to explode had stored guns and gunpowder as well, but no fire was ever used in this particular place, and an explosion had seemed unthinkable.

“What on earth happened?!”

As Carla raced to the scene, her first thought had been the serial arson incident the Mask Makers had been responsible for a year ago. It had been a year to the day since then; it seemed impossible not to suspect a connection.

“Were we attacked?!” she asked the private soldiers who’d been guarding the provisions storehouse. They’d sustained light burns, and they exchanged looks before responding.

“N-no… During the time we were on guard, no one tried to… And if the criminal had been inside, he’d have been burned to a crisp.”

After hearing several more reports, Carla frowned and fell to thinking. Once the fire had been put out, the burn marks indicated that the explosion had occurred in the center of the storehouse. There were no signs that anyone had thrown an explosive in through the window.

If the arsonist had taken advantage of the guards’ shift change, they might have been able to sneak in, but would they have stayed in hiding until then? No one had seen any figures fleeing the scene, either, and no charred corpses had been found.

Thinking would get her nowhere. Carla turned to the two alchemists she’d brought to the scene with her. “Szilard, Victor, what do you think? Is there any device that could create a substantial delay before the explosion?”

Victor thought for several seconds before he answered. “If you wanted a device that would create fire by itself after a delay, then you could make plenty… But I’m more concerned about the way all the explosions happened at once. There’s no way to detonate them all at the exact same time.”

Victor lapsed into thought again.

Meanwhile, Szilard walked around the scene in silence, prodding various places with his walking stick. Finding something under the blackened fragments of a shelf, he picked it up without much of a reaction.

“What’s the matter, old man? What did you find?” Victor’s eyes were shining with curiosity, and Szilard snorted at him.

“…I expect it’s part of a clock.”

“Huh?”

“The culprit did something rather intriguing. He must have designed a device with both clocks and gunpowder that would go off at a precise time in different locations,” he explained briefly.

Victor visualized several different mechanisms. “But wouldn’t that make for a rather big device?”

“We won’t know until we investigate the other sites, but they were probably small enough to be carried in during an unguarded moment. The fact that he created explosions this large with an object of that size is impressive.” Szilard seemed to be commending the criminal as he smiled thinly beneath his thick whiskers.

Watching him, Victor felt a bit of a chill run down his spine.

However, what he was afraid of wasn’t the smile, but the fact that Szilard—an individual who took great pleasure in tearing other people down—had admitted that he was impressed by the man who’d done this. A man who was their enemy.

To digress for a moment—

Many years later, when he thought back over this time, Victor would tell his men:

“If I remember right, the world’s first time bomb was made by an inventor named David something in the late 1770s. But the culprit in this incident combined a clock and explosives into a proper time bomb more than sixty years before that.

“Huey may have been an actual genius, goddamn him… Especially when it came to fire.”

Naturally, Victor wasn’t able to deduce the criminal from the state of the scene back then. All he could do was shrug and offer a dryly humorous reply.

“…Bollocks. Who’d have thought this would happen on the day we got here? Ha, do you think we’ll be suspects?” Victor laughed in a self-mocking way, while Szilard responded dully.

“A better interpretation would be that this is a warning from the Mask Makers to the foreign alchemists who’ve come to steal their techniques.”

“…Then what happens if we ignore that warning?”

“The contents of our bags will be exchanged for articles that make exquisite use of clocks and gunpowder. That’s all. This is a group that is capable of everything from counterfeiting gold to arson. They could very well do anything.”

When he heard that, Victor spoke almost to himself. “I almost hope the ones responsible for this are a plain old evil organization.” He remembered the trouble the Dormentaire private troops had created that afternoon and tsked quietly. “After all, we’re the ones who appear to be the villains here.”

“What are you saying?”

“Whoever set these bombs may believe they’re acting in the name of justice.”

Scratching the tip of his nose, he glanced at Carla and didn’t mince words.

“Which means…I doubt some shallow attempt at persuasion will be enough to make them stop.

“To put it bluntly, I doubt this is the last we’ll see of them.”

His guess was correct.

After that day, the flames of terror enveloped the town of Lotto Valentino.

In the space of a mere week, thirty-six bombings occurred.

In the end, the House of Dormentaire’s private soldiers failed to catch so much as the culprit’s shadow. The citizens had once accepted the distinguished family’s control, but as they grew more and more afraid of the bomber, they began to distance themselves from the House of Dormentaire.

Meanwhile, the Dormentaire soldiers were watching the residents with near paranoia, and the friction between them grew even greater.

As if he was sneering at that situation, the criminal continued to destroy the town.

Slowly. And steadily.

As if he was declaring that Lotto Valentino itself was his enemy.