Baccano! - Volume 17 - Chapter Pr

And so they put out to sea, bound for a new world, which they knew only from stories—

—and unfurled the sail of alchemy to catch the winds rising in their hearts.

For Maiza Avaro, his wind was the pursuit of knowledge.

For Szilard Quates, ambition.

For Victor Talbot, duty.

For Begg Garrott, a spirit of inquiry.

For Denkurou Tougou and Zank Rowan, chivalry.

For Gretto Avaro and Sylvie Lumiere, escape.

For Nile, obligation.

For Czeslaw Meyer, the will of another.

Many other alchemists departed on a voyage across the vast ocean, swept along by their own winds.

Among them were two men who showed their winds to no one.

For Lebreau Fermet Viralesque, it was a wind of malice, so perfectly clear and transparent that no one else could see it.

And for Huey Laforet—

PROLOGUE

AFTERGLOW OF THE DREAM

2003 A maritime history museum Somewhere on the American East Coast

“And so this ship, the Advena Avis, finally arrived! Carrying scientists who had escaped persecution in Europe, the vessel introduced new seeds of wisdom and knowledge to the American continent. This ship was a critical part of history as we know it!”

As their guide’s voice rose with excitement, the visitors studied the old ship on display in the museum with a variety of reactions.

“Its duty completed, the ship was put to rest on the shore—and, in accordance with the wishes of its passengers, it has been preserved as you see it. In order to keep it as close as possible to its original state, damage from shipworms and rot has been left unrepaired, so it isn’t currently seaworthy. However, its value as a resource is immeasurable. If history is an ocean, then this ship’s place on our nautical chart is—”

With the guide’s incessant explanation in his ears, one young man was looking up at the ship, wearing a complicated expression.

Finally, the commentary ended, and the visitors were asked if they had any questions. The young man raised his hand.

“Um… Excuse me. The ones who were on this boat, the alche—er, scientists. Did they leave any documents on their research behind?”

“Oh yes, those are kept in the archives center.”

“Is it possible to go see them?”

“…Erm, my apologies. Many of those materials are currently undergoing analysis, and if I recall, they aren’t available for viewing. But I can introduce you to the manager of the archives center in a few minutes. Please fill out an application, and then ask him about it directly.”

This seemed to satisfy the young man. Without another word, he returned his attention to the Advena Avis, the museum’s largest exhibit.

The youth was a traveler. He hadn’t done anything particularly important with his life, and he wasn’t planning to.

However, he’d left Italy, the land of his birth, and followed a certain story all the way to this distant place.

What had led him was an act committed long ago by his own ancestor…

…and a peculiar fate that still lingered in the present, several hundred years later.

“I’m very sorry about the delay. These materials are usually restricted, so getting them released took some doing.” With that, the head of the archives center brought out a heap of old parchment.

At first, the request to study them had nearly been turned down flat—They’re currently being examined, so we can’t show them to you—but when the manager noticed the name on his viewing application, he’d changed his tune. Excuse me, but might you be a relation of Jean-Pierre Accardo? he’d asked.

The young man was all too familiar with that name. It belonged to his ancestor, an Italian poet and the reason he’d resolved to take this long journey, even though it had meant going into debt.

The poet and playwright had been born several centuries earlier, and he had departed this world long ago.

However, he’d left behind a large quantity of parchment that detailed the “confession of a sinner and criminal,” and that account had very slightly changed the destiny of his descendant.

When the young man had answered in the affirmative, the manager had promptly contacted the head of the archives, and now here they were.

“To tell you the truth, we’ve sent some of our staff to Lotto Valentino before, but they weren’t able to find anything significant about the ship,” said the head of the archives as he began to spread out the materials he’d brought in. “There’s a reason these documents are kept private, you see. Publicizing them could seriously damage the reputations of Lotto Valentino’s current residents. Some of the facts in here are just that extreme.”

He produced nautical charts, a sextant, a compass, other navigation tools—and a book.

It seemed to be a journal of sorts; when he opened it, its pages were covered with dense writing.

After flipping to a certain page, the head of the archives glanced at the young man.

“This book appears to have been written by a passenger, starting before they boarded and continuing through the voyage. Some parts of it are very odd, and we don’t understand what its intended purpose was. At first, we thought it was simply a travelogue, but the standard paper of the time was crude stuff made from rags, while the paper in this book is of very good quality. If you only look at the beginning, it almost seems to be a report to some unknown person.”

Breaking off for a moment, the man drew a deep breath, then went on slowly.

“…But then it starts talking about ‘immortals’ and a ‘demon’… The museum guide calls them scientists, but more accurately, they seem to have been alchemists. They say some alchemists did attempt to summon demons in the past, so the mentions themselves aren’t especially surprising, but—”

“Does it mention that they managed to make an elixir of immortality?” the young man interrupted. “Or that they actually became immortal?”

His remark seemed to startle the head of the archives. “So you do know something, then?! Did your ancestor leave something about it?!” he asked with excitement.

Before answering, the young man asked him a question of his own.

“…What makes you think he did?”

“I beg your pardon. I meant to explain it first thing… Look here.”

When the young man’s eyes found the spot the man was pointing at, near the center of the text, he gasped quietly.

Jean-Pierre Accardo.

His ancestor’s name was right there on the page.

He didn’t know what the surrounding context was, but the fact that the name was in the book at all meant his ancestor had some sort of connection to these documents.

“Accardo himself apparently wasn’t on board the Advena Avis, but it does seem as if a few of his acquaintances were. How exactly they were acquainted I couldn’t tell you, but…several of them mentioned him in the journals they left behind.”

“Huh? Several?”

Why would they just leave their journals on the ship?

Perhaps picking up on the young man’s unspoken question, the head of the archives cleared his throat, then went on gravely. “Yes, their voyage from Italy to America was far from smooth. One of the passengers killed several of the others aboard the ship.”

“He killed…his companions?”

“That’s right. The information we have only deepens the mystery. When I heard we might have lucked into some information from a descendant of someone who knew them, I could hardly contain myself. At least until a moment ago.” As he apologized, the director closed the journal, then returned to the subject of the Advena Avis. “After all, this ship was rather unique. It didn’t have a regular crew; the alchemists seem to have crossed the Atlantic all on their own.”

“No crew? Is that even possible?!” the young man asked with surprise.

The director nodded calmly. “Although they were alchemists, some of them seem to have had experience in navigation. The ship was full of quite unique individuals. It originally belonged to the House of Boroñal, which governed Lotto Valentino, but it was apparently donated to a certain school for alchemists in the town.”

“Why did the alchemists leave without hiring sailors?”

“One theory says it was to prevent their research from being exposed to outsiders…but I expect the truth of the matter is that they didn’t have time.”

“Huh?”

“According to the journal, they seemed to be fleeing the port,” the head of the archives said matter-of-factly.

The young man gulped. “Fleeing? From what?”

“Oh, well, it’s a long story, and we don’t know everything about the circumstances, either, but…”

The director’s response was as impassive as ever—which was why it sent a particularly eerie chill down the young man’s spine.

“From the town itself, you see. From Lotto Valentino.”