“I don’t know,” Speeny replied.
Almost simultaneously, another voice said, “I thought this might happen.”
Ringing with both the composure of age and the power of youth, it made all the others turn in its direction.
“Oh!”
“Is that Curio the Preacher?”
“Has he joined us at long last?”
Courbet, Lucienne, and Speeny spoke in near unison, so afraid they couldn’t help but say something.
The figure in the doorway—which had stood permanently open since the automatic doors lost their power source—wore a hooded robe like the “missionary,” Courbet, but the color of his was a far more sinister vermilion, and he was shrouded in a weird air that left the group of freaks stunned and reluctant to approach him. Apparently he was one of the most powerful of the seven assassins.
As another figure on the floor was about to rise, he insisted in a tone overflowing with dignity, “Don’t.”
Coming down to the floor from the ceiling, Speeny said, “Well, then—why would D go to the village of Janos alone?”
“If you consider for a moment how they earn their daily bread in that village, the answer will soon come to you. Such is to be expected of the greatest man on the Frontier, with his nearest competition light years behind. Oh, but he’s a shrewd one.”
“How—how so?”
“I heard your plan through Speeny’s thread. From that, I can only assume he’s gone off to get Time -Bewitching Incense.”
A murmur spread from the mouths of the other three.
Time-Bewitching Incense—a scent that could turn day into night for the vampiric Nobility, it was a two-edged sword that at times saved their eternal lives from destruction, while at other times left them critically exposed during what should’ve been the inviolate night.
“Ah, so they’ll turn day into night?” Lucienne said, her tone carrying anger. “If they do that, then even by day they can have triple their expected numbers. I suppose even Count Braujou and Duchess Miranda have never seen a night so filled with daylight.”
“Well, then, we must do something to stop him,” groaned the other man in a vestment—Courbet.
“What can you do, wounded like that?” Curio remarked coldly. He looked down at the figure who lay on the floor. The person who’d lain moaning and groaning but otherwise unable to move since Curio’s identity had become clear was Jessup the Beheader.
“From what I can see, Speeny’s also been wounded, and Lucienne is hardly unharmed. As for those three—two of them are dyed-in-the-wool Nobility, and the other seems to possess power every bit as great as a Noble’s. The lot of you would have no easy time slaying them now.”
“But we can’t just stand back and do nothing. We were instructed to wait until you arrived, and now we have to strike a blow against them. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder what we’d do. Of course, if we had to, we could slay all three of them easily, but now that D’s alone, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to engage him.”
“Precisely. That rascal’s gone off to Janos alone in the hopes we wouldn’t notice. But now that we’re wise to him—”
These two objections were voiced by Courbet and Speeny, respectively.
In response, the figure in the vermilion robe said, “Callas is on the way there.”
There was an explosion of astonished voices.
“Oh—the Diva?”
“Has she been brought back, too?” Speeny said, and his joy was so great that as he descended from the ceiling head first, a victorious smile was already on his face.
“Her songs might do the trick,” Lucienne said, her voice not sounding pleased at all, but rather ringing with fear.
“And I’ll send along one more for good measure.”
“Who?”
The figure in vermilion moved, and a yelp arose from the floor. He’d delivered a kick to the plump shadow.
“You’re not wounded all that badly, you layabout. I’ve already notified Callas. Hurry off to Janos. If you don’t, I’ll treat you to a sermon.”
Shrieking, the fleshy figure of Jessup the Beheader leaped up without any further hesitation.
It was late at night when D entered the village of Janos. The moon glowed like a fire in the night sky. Still, it was nothing compared to D’s handsome features as he sat astride his steed. Though the moon merely glowed by reflected light, D’s beauty was the source of its own luminance.
Perhaps the villagers did their utmost to hide their presence from passing travelers, as the air was free of strange scents, yet D could detect the faintest traces of bromine that couldn’t be concealed. Rows of houses made of stone and Quonset-hut-styled buildings covered with vinyl awnings slumbered in the moonlight. The latter were domes for growing extremely poisonous herbs, the mere smell of which could spell death, while all the fields around the town also displayed lovely expanses of poisonous flowers and plants.
Taking the main street through the center of town, D halted his steed in front of a certain house. It was just an ordinary building, with nothing to distinguish it from any of the other houses.
Getting down from his horse and rapping on the wooden door, the Hunter had to wait a short time before a masculine voice cursed him through the wall, “Just what hour of the day do you think it is, you daft bastard? I’ve got a good mind to douse you with poison goo!”
“Sorry, but this is urgent.”
“Shut your hole, you—”
The wrathful voice faded away suddenly. It was like the tide quickly ebbing. When the man spoke again, it was in a tone of fear and surprise—and nostalgia.
“No, it couldn’t be—is that you, D?”
“I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”
“H'h-h-hold on. I-I-I-I’ll open right up.”
On the other side of the wooden door, there was a rattle and a great clamor that gave way to a cry of pain. Apparently the man had banged into something. The bar was lifted, and the wooden door opened inward with a creak.
The silhouette against the light quickly resolved itself into an unusually scrawny man with gray hair. His wasn’t the face of an old man. However, his dry and lusterless skin and exposed bones made him look terribly old.
“What in blazes is it? It’s been three whole years. Never thought I’d be seeing you like this.”
“I need a favor.”
“You need a favor from me? Fair enough, since it’s thanks to you I’m still alive. Not that I’ve done a hell of a lot with my life, but I never forget a debt. Go ahead and name it.”
“I want you to make Time -Bewitching Incense,” D said.
The man’s jaw dropped. It fell with a vigor almost unthinkable for a man in his condition.
Taking a step back, the man allowed D to enter his house. After bolting the door again, he led the Hunter to a cramped room. They sat in crude chairs on opposite sides of a round table.
“You ask the damnedest things, don’t you? But you being the man called D and all, I guess there’s no helping it. I’ll get started on whipping it up right away,” the man said, having finally recovered his calm.
But D told him coolly, “I’d like you to do something special to it.” “Really? What?”
After D had finished explaining what he wanted, the man inquired in a strangely soft tone, “When do you want it?”
“I have to bring it back to Marthias by noon tomorrow.”
“Which means I’ve only got tonight, until daybreak.” The man shrugged his shoulders, saying plainly, “It can’t be done.”
“That’s why I came to you, the Frontier sector’s preeminent toxicologist—Karim Mubbe.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” he said, donning a grin so intrepid it seemed he must’ve intended to help all along. “Well, I’m gonna hole up in my workshop. But my wife and kids are sleeping. Try not to make any noise.”
The man didn’t wait for a reply, but disappeared behind the only bronze door in the place. Once the door had be
en locked, he opened an iron panel set in the wall to the left of it and peeked inside. On a rustic bed, his wife was stroking the hair of their six-year-old son and four-year-old daughter. As Mubbe turned and was about to shut the iron panel, his wife shot him a glance.
“Dear...”
“It’s okay.”
And saying this, Mubbe closed the panel.
His workshop was lined with shelves filled with innumerable glass jars of poisonous herbs, and the greenhouse connected to the west wall was used for raising other virulent plants and insects. The jars and greenhouse were all made to double or triple thickness, because even the slightest crack could turn his entire house into a hell on Earth.
“Now then,” he said, taking a gas mask off the wall and putting it on so it covered his head and chest. Donning gloves, he opened the door that led to the greenhouse. There was an airlock just large enough to accommodate a single person. Entering it, he shut the outer door, and then opened the inner one. There was a second airlock. After he’d passed through a third airtight chamber, he finally reached the greenhouse. In there, the air itself was a toxin.
The profusion of fearsome flowers was a thing of beauty. This toxic hell was adorned with crimson and indigo, purple and pale blue, and luxurious shades of green that seemed like nothing that could possibly be of this world. But Mubbe didn’t even glance at these blooms, of which he never tired, going instead into the center of the greenhouse.
Roped off on all sides, there bloomed a stark-white blossom. Its soil was a strange hue, due to special care and nutrients. Though it resembled a lily, it had two petals more and a much softer overall impression. Even here in Janos, famed for its poisons, no one but this man knew the transparent sap that dripped from the stalk was a component of Time-Bewitching Incense.
“You only put out a stalk once in a hundred years—come on, baby,” Mubbe said, gently beginning to push the soil away from the plant with his gloved hands. The slightest scrape to the stalk or leaves would cause the components of the plant to change in an instant.
Gently, patiently, and with almost mechanical precision, he continued what he was doing, stopping only once to say the strangest thing: “I’m really sorry about this, D.”
II
A lovely sound drifted out of the depths of the night. Twined in the wind, pushed along by the moonlight, the sound took a long time arriving. Before the door to its destination, the sound let out a faint sigh but slipped in through a crack without the slightest pause.
In the room, a figure leaned against one wall. There was nobody else there.
Three o’clock in the morning. Everything was draped in a false death.
The figure against the wall suddenly opened his eyes. His pupils were so black, a dark gleam seemed to spill from them. Turning his gaze to the doorway, D quickly pulled away from the wall.
Once outside, he heard it clearly.
From the vicinity of his left hip, a hoarse voice said, “That’s a hell of a fine voice. I’ve heard of sirens singing to enchant captains and get them to smash their ships on the rocks, but this singer’s got them beat. Watch yourself, D.”
D was already advancing on foot. Had the hoarse voice’s warning been in vain? Had the nocturnal song already robbed him of his senses?
Advancing with silent footsteps, the vision of beauty in black was beckoned to the central square of the village. A well stood in the center of the cobblestoned expanse. And beside it stood a woman. Her seemingly naked form stood out in the moonlight. D’s eyes were able to see that her diaphanous dress was a pale purple.
Stillness descended, for the woman had shut her lips. She didn’t seem particularly proud of the song that had flowed thinly but deliberately all the way to Mubbe’s house, and D displayed no emotion at all.
“I am Callas the Diva,” the woman said, the black hair above her brow adorned by a golden circlet that glittered in the moonlight. Near its center, the circlet rose in a relief of a bizarre creature’s face, the eyes of which were set with blue jewels.
“But then, 1 can’t expect that you’ll answer me," she continued. “You’ve heard my song, after all. Haven’t you, D?”
There was no reply.
Perhaps taking this as proof of her spell, the woman formed her thin lips into a grin. It was a transparent smile.
“We’ve long since figured out what you’re up to. I’m an assassin sent to slay you. Normally, I’d have waited until the Time-Bewitching Incense was completed, but I happened to see you when you came into the village.”
A mysterious emotion resided in the woman’s eyes. Perhaps it was grief—or passion.
She continued, “You were simply too gorgeous. My heart threatened to burn down to nothing when I saw your handsome features. But that will prove to be your misfortune. Any man capable of inspiring love in me would surely attract other women as well. And if you’re truly a man, you’re bound to capitalize on that. Alas, that I couldn’t bear. Still, I can’t help but picture it. Laugh at me if you like, D. But I would rather do away with you than have you love any other woman. Here and now, without waiting for you to get the Time-Bewitching Incense.”
A dagger appeared in the woman’s right hand, both sides honed razor sharp. Raising it with an elegant motion, Callas hurled the
blade. It sped toward D’s chest, but halted a split second before hitting him.
“What?”
As the diva’s eyes went wide with shock, the figure in black told her, “I’ve heard of Callas the Diva. Now, tell me the name of the other assassin.”
“But you—didn’t you listen to my song?” the woman groaned in astonishment.
“I heard it.”
The Hunter’s answer came from midair. The bounding D swung down the sword he held overhead, and he seemed to slice the woman in half from the top of her head down to the breastbone— but she remained motionless in her dress while D’s blade narrowly missed her left shoulder, slicing only air. A second slash mowed through the night air and her torso, but the blade relayed no resistance to D’s hand, and Callas only laughed haughtily.
“It would seem that you did indeed hear my song. And having done so, there’s no way for you to strike me.”
Like the sailors bewitched by the sirens of legend, were those who’d heard Callas’s song drained of their souls without even realizing it... or perhaps left cowards?
“Take your own life,” the lovely lady whispered.
After the horizontal swipe of his blade, D had taken a stance with his sword held out straight at eye level, but he kept his eyes gently closed.
Disbelief squirmed into Callas’s expression. She’d gotten the impression the gorgeous young man who’d swung his sword with such deadly precision had suddenly become a completely different being.
“You’re...” ’
Before she could say another word, D opened his eyes. They gave off a blood light.
As the singer shrieked, the Hunter’s blade danced out over her head once again. It was exactly as before, but this time it would be the end of Callas.
However, a heartbeat later, D reeled wildly in midair. Fresh blood gushed from his back, falling on him like a heavy spring rain when he landed and dropped to one knee.
“Heh! How do you like that?” another voice laughed from the same direction D had entered the square. Grabbing the handle of the ax he’d driven into the ground, and still somewhat off balance was Jessup the Beheader.
“I just got here and was looking for a place to conceal myself, and what should I happen across but this scene! Callas, I hope you know you owe me for this. Sing me one of them songs that got you piles and piles of gold. Oof!” he grunted, finally managing to lift his ax but still unsteady on his feet—but D knew better than anyone how fearsome he was with an ax that never hit anything. The Hunter’s backbone was shattered.
Though this man appeared at first glance to be incompetent, he was truly worthy of being counted among the Ultimate Noble’s seven assassins if he could hack open D�
�s back, even if the Hunter had been entirely focused on his deadly battle with Callas at the time.
“But, you know,” the beheader continued, “you’re quite a piece of work too. I thought I’d completely blindsided you, but it seems you saw it coming after all. Normally, your torso would’ve been chopped in two.”
Jessup warped his lips into a smirk.
“Well, did you have a nice taste of the great Jessup the Beheader’s ‘dark-cloud chop’? I can cut you without even aiming for you,” the man declared.
Planting his unsteady feet, he raised his ax. Though his eyes were trained on D, his ax was pointed in a different direction.
“From this distance, not even you can reach me with your blade, D. But my ax can cut you. Hey, watch this, Callas. I’m about to take the best-looking Hunter on the Frontier and chop ’im to pieces! I’ll start with his right hand.”
In the moonlight, the Hunter’s coat spread like the wings of a black bird. D had pulled in one arm and leaped into the air. His fist was aimed at Jessup’s face.
“I’ll fix you!” Jessup shouted.
The ax limned a silvery arc. With a thunk, D’s fist was chopped off at the wrist. Black blood spouted out.
D kicked off the ground, just like a mystic bird soaring across the surface of the moon—or an enormous and exquisite bat.
Staggering, Jessup was still able to launch his next attack—this time at the Hunter’s left leg.
But down by that foot, a faint, hoarse voice murmured, “Figured him out?”
The reply to that was a flash from Jessup’s ax.
D’s thigh split open, and fresh blood gushed out. Blood from his right leg.
A flash of white light pierced Jessup between his surprised eyes, and something black sprayed out as the beheader tumbled backward. The man’s eyes were still wide with disbelief as they watched D turn to go after the diva.
“She got away?” the hoarse voice said from the ground as D approached it. Callas had vanished.
Sheathing his sword and retrieving his left hand with his right, D pressed the severed limb against the wound and let go. The wound vanished in seconds, and the surface of his palm rippled like water. What formed there was a little face with eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It looked like nothing in this world.
Vampire Hunter D 16: Tyrant's Stars Page 15