Baccano! - Volume 3 - Chapter 1

PROLOGUE VI

ALCHEMIST

Ye gods. Life is going so well, it’s almost frightening.

I’ve spent over two hundred years sneaking around and hiding, and just when the chance to “eat” them has finally come my way—I find myself simultaneously coming into possession of a large sum of money, one that will keep me living comfortably for quite some time. Incredible.

When I received Maiza’s letter, at first I couldn’t trust it. Szilard, “eaten”? I responded immediately, telling him I’d go to see him that winter. I’d had plans to visit New York in any case, so it worked out nicely.

The item I’d been researching… It was no more than a by-product, really, but it had been decided that I would sell those explosives to a certain organization in New York.

I’d initially considered negotiating with the military, but having my name made public would have been too much of a risk. This country’s military is no longer loose enough to allow one to transact with them without revealing one’s name. Since the “contract” renders me unable to use false names, as far as I was concerned, this was a lethal demerit.

With no help for it, I determined to sell the explosives to an organization in another country and had been conducting negotiations in secret.

Just then, I received two letters. Both were from old friends. Both had been sent from New York.

I panicked a bit, wondering how they’d known about me. According to the letters, both had learned my whereabouts from a New York information brokerage.

What a disaster. If even an information brokerage, in another city entirely, knew where I was, there was no telling when someone might attack and devour me.

I considered leaving that place immediately, but on reading the letters, I thought better of it.

One letter was from Maiza, a fellow alchemist. Apparently, he was acting as the accountant for some organization in New York, but he didn’t write about it in detail. His letter said: Szilard has met his demise, so rest easy and live without fear.

Szilard. The name of the blasted old fool who promptly betrayed us and began eating our comrades when we gained immortality two centuries ago. Thanks to him, we scattered, and most of us live quietly now, for fear of being eaten by one another… Myself included, naturally.

I tell you, what he did was completely uncalled for.

If only Szilard hadn’t been hasty back then—

—I would have eaten them all by now.

At the time, I hadn’t given it the slightest thought. However, the painful days after we scattered and began to live separately greatly altered my thoughts.

I lived with a fellow alchemist who’d fled with me, but that life was a horrible one. Living in poverty wasn’t what made it painful. After all, although immortals grow hungry, there’s no need for us to worry about death by starvation.

The problem lay in the companion who lived with me.

At first, he was kind to me, but gradually, his hideous true nature began to reveal itself.

About the time we had begun to settle into a life of hiding from Szilard…he began to be unfairly violent toward me, regardless of how good or bad his own mood was. In anger, in smiles, and even in sadness: It sank its roots into our everyday life, as an act that was just as natural as breathing or eating.

As the days passed, these actions only escalated. No matter how badly it was injured, my body would regenerate, and he continued to torment me physically, toying with me, occasionally experimenting on me.

Even though becoming immortal doesn’t deaden your sense of pain.

Even though he had to have known that, too.

He gave various reasons to justify his actions. At the time, I was easily fooled by his words… Or perhaps I wasn’t but simply figured that if I refused him, something even worse would happen. Back then, even if I’d tried to escape from that pain, I had neither the knowledge nor the courage to live on my own.

In the midst of those warped days, we received a piece of news.

It was a notice that a fellow alchemist with whom my companion had been secretly corresponding had been “eaten” by Szilard.

From that day on, his abuse of me grew worse. Initially, he’d tormented me with experimental tools, but from then on, beatings and other simple violence came to the fore. The cruelty of abuse conducted with tools grew until it was beyond comparison with what it had been before.

When I cast questioning glances at him, he grew more frightened than was necessary and strung together several times more excuses than he had in the past. I remember it felt as though he was trying to curry favor with me and that it was terribly ugly. When he registered my gaze, his face twisted even further, and he struck me.

One night, he tried to eat me.

It may have been luck that I was awake, or possibly I’d known that this was bound to happen soon. I shoved his right hand away with all my might, and a fierce struggle began.

Was it the result of my summoning up all the misgivings and hatred I’d accumulated? I was a moment faster, and my right hand caught his forehead. The next instant, my palm had absorbed everything he was. His body, his memories, and even his heart.

That was when my hell began. All I saw in his knowledge were his completely warped feelings for me and the terror that I might “eat” him someday. In other words, in the end, I’d been no more than an outlet for his twisted desires, and there hadn’t been a shred of trust between us.

The things I least wanted to see, visions that made me physically sick, ate into my mind as my own memories. I found myself forced to live with that sinister knowledge, as if it was a part of me.

The notion of having been betrayed, while holding the memories of the person I’d betrayed myself—to this very day, I’ve lived in the agony of holding these two incompatible things at once.

In accordance with the principles of immortality, my mind alone continued to grow.

As it did, I was shown just how cowardly, filthy, and stunted all those who live in this world are.

At some point, I even felt a sort of adoration for Szilard, who lived true to his own desires, but I’m sure the blasted old fool would have considered me nothing more than prey.

That was fine. I, too, decided to think of everything in this world besides myself as prey. In any case, if there was no one in the world I could trust, all I had to do was use the whole of it in order to live. I even began to dream of giving everyone in the world the same sort of body I had, then devouring them all.

In order for that to happen, I would have to eat all the companions who’d been on the ship with me.

I’d assumed Szilard would probably get killed by one of his intended victims someday. However, no doubt I’d be able to pick up where he left off; in fact, I was confident that I could.

My shipmates had been kind to me, and it was likely that they thought I was still the same person I’d been before. On top of that, unlike with Szilard, by the time they realized my intentions, I would already be devouring them. My intent could never be communicated to any other alchemist.

The idea of having someone else attack me was terrifying, but when it came to my attacking them, I was confident.

I responded to Maiza’s letter. All I wrote was that I wanted to see him.

I’d settled on the date and time for our meeting. Another letter finalized it.

The other letter was also from an old acquaintance of mine in New York. I’d thought he and Maiza had been in touch, but apparently, this was an entirely different matter. It was a letter requesting the explosives that were a by-product of my research.

This other alchemist seemed to be concealing himself in the Runorata Family, whatever that was.

It was a windfall. Not only would I obtain a large sum of money, I’d be able to eat him right along with Maiza. Not only that, but if I ate Maiza, I’d acquire all the knowledge Szilard had accumulated as well.

I imagined my wish coming true, and before I knew it, I was smiling.

I’d settled on a train to transport the explosives.

The Flying Pussyfoot. It was a unique train, operated by a corporation that was independent from the railway companies. A convenient train that smuggled liquor on the sly.

I scraped together what money I had at the house and succeeded in having a large quantity of explosives loaded onto the train.

The time had finally come to board. At the door, a conductor was checking the passenger list.

I tried to slip by him, but the sharp-eyed conductor stopped me.

“You’re riding by yourself? Would you tell me your name, please?”

Having people pay attention to me for a variety of reasons is both an advantage and a disadvantage of my appearance. Consequently, I tried to behave in ways that maximized the advantages.

As a matter of fact, the man I bumped into a moment ago didn’t make the slightest complaint. They were all so very easy.

Being unable to register a false name, however, is inconvenient. Making my expression and tone as childlike as possible, I politely gave my real name:

“—Czeslaw. My name is Czeslaw Meyer. Please call me Czes!”