Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 3 Omnibus Edition

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Setsura leaned heavily against the wall. However effective Galeen Nuvenberg’s elixirs were, a few hours of rest were not enough to restore the body to complete functionality. His only consolation was that after he woke up, he’d made a call and learned that Nuvenberg and the doll girl were fine. But he hadn’t expected the old witch to have awakened from her sleep.

  “Please have a seat,” the doll girl said anxiously, offering him a chair.

  “Thanks,” said Setsura, sitting down.

  “The director has been treating me for a while now,” the old lady said with a smile. She patted her stomach. “Still seems to be holding a bit of it in here. Apparently the same amount of qi as you and the Doctor. But so long as the physician cannot heal himself, you and I are out of luck. That is the kind of damage four thousand years of Chinese alchemy can do.”

  “So he treated you and left it at that?”

  The old woman smiled thinly. “How very like him, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” Setsura said with a nod.

  To Doctor Mephisto, turning into a vampire, Nuvenberg would be one of his fiercest enemies. By simply restoring her to consciousness, he was acting against his own self-interests. And yet he’d somehow drawn a line. If it was Setsura, he could begin to fathom the reasons. But the rest was unfathomable. That was unlikely to change. The true thoughts of others remained forever an undiscovered country.

  “What of his wounds?” he asked the doll girl.

  “I observed nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I’d want to see for myself,” said Setsura, staring up at the ceiling. There was physical pain as well. An ongoing battle with the qi dammed up inside, not to mention the stab wound.

  “There’s a little something I would like to say first. The girl isn’t familiar with every aspect of the matter. Best to get it from the horse’s mouth. In any case, even so, when trouble like this strikes, you’re definitely the man of the hour. The man for this city and this season.”

  Her eyes were suffused with concern. Setsura responded with a self-effacing laugh. “So what brought this on?”

  A look of deep concern crossed the witch’s face. Setsura nodded. The sun was still high in the sky.

  The men dressed in gray appeared at the Shimo-Ochiai water treatment facility. The few pedestrians barely took notice. Most of the ten men weren’t visibly armed, but only carried aluminized fabric rucksacks. Even the couple sporting flamethrowers looked like a fairly ordinary monster eradication crew.

  They weren’t wearing ballistic vests or the all-purpose “sunscreen” that was equally effective against natural poisons. Whatever they were after, it didn’t look like it could put up much of a fight.

  After entering the abandoned facilities, they opened the front of their jackets, exposing their greatest hidden “weapon” to the sunlight—small golden crucifixes.

  They’d been distributed that morning in the hastily-established emergency underground command center. Their actual effectiveness, though, would only be confirmed after this.

  Strange colored weeds sprouted in abundance around the site. They advanced with unhesitating strides and soon arrived at the staircase leading down to the filtration plant.

  Two men wearing identical uniforms raised their hands. They were carrying, respectively, a heavy-duty flamethrower and bulky-looking laser cannon. These were members of the so-called “Cartography Division” that had the run of Shinjuku and was wont to be checking out places like this.

  They’d conferenced with the “Disposal Corps” that morning, but on orders from the ward mayor, this patrol had been on the prowl for the last two days.

  “What do you think?” said Tateoka, the squad leader, shifting the grip on the bag he was holding in his right hand. Up until the day before, he’d been a cop in Shinjuku’s traffic division.

  The younger member of the “Cartography Division” pointed at the widening pool of water below and the tunnel further in. “There’s a bunch of metal lockers floating in the middle of the pool.” He spoke in a hard voice.

  “Have you confirmed the contents?”

  “No. I’ll leave that up to you. Seeing how it’s pitch black in here.”

  Nobody laughed at such a bald declaration of spinelessness. Whatever they might have felt for their colleagues, the mayor had given them the cold, hard facts, straight and unvarnished. Not the kind of thing easily shook off.

  “Let’s go.”

  Tateoka had the team descend to the walkway ten yards below. With the flamethrower operator walking point, they advanced toward the tunnel. Along the way they came across the rotting corpse of a humanoid creature with webbed feet. One of them kicked it into the water.

  At the entrance of the tunnel, Tateoka ordered them to don night vision goggles. From his bag he took a large crucifix.

  During the day, the vampires would be sleeping in their “coffins.” But in the pitch black, they might be only taking a nap. And if somebody with insomnia became a vampire?

  They entered the tunnel and continued on two or three hundred more yards. The lockers bobbing on the surface of the water appeared in their night vision goggles. The doors of many of them were open. A look of concern passed across Tateoka’s face.

  “Let’s keep on our toes,” he said into his mike.

  The team opened their bags and got out their “disposal equipment”—a hammer in one hand, a plain wooden stake in the other. They had already taken note of the offensive odor permeating the tunnel. It seemed to be spilling from a bunch of lockers bobbing eerily there in the water.

  “What a stench,” said one of the men. He was a judo Fifth Dan, assigned from the Personnel and Accounts Division.

  “The smell of death.” This giant of a man stated the obvious. He’d been plucked out of the General Administration Division.

  “Round ’em up,” Tateoka said.

  The men waded into the water and pulled the lockers to the shore. The stakes trembled in their clenched hands. Not a few would have to pry their fingers free once the deed was done.

  “Start with the ones with the open doors.”

  These makeshift, jury-rigged vampire hunters one by one leaned over the steel cabinet caskets. Startled voices echoed around the airtight spaces, filled with the smell of the grave.

  “They’re dead!”

  “They all have their heads cut off!”

  “Open those cabinets!” Tateoka cried out in surprise. “Let me see!”

  The same scene revealed itself to his eyes. The bodies in the steel coffins had all been beheaded. They lay there like decomposing sardines packed in the broth of their own blood.

  “What the hell—!”

  One of the hunters reflexively reached out his hand to touch it and then jerked it back with a guttural moan. The tip of his index finger had severed as cleanly as a jelly bean under a razor blade.

  “Watch it! There’s something attached to them!”

  That warning aroused in all their minds the much-rumored name of a black-clad young man. Another hunter had visited these precincts ahead of them. The vampires had come home to their roosts and had lain down in their beds, unaware of the devil wire strung across their pillows. And so silently went to their deaths.

  “So what now? Burn them?” asked another soldier.

  “That’s the orders,” Tateoka said in a tired voice, peering into the adjoining locker. The body of what looked to have been a woman of twenty-two or three. The decay had not yet set in and her white face still preserved its original features.

  A peaceful face. They were all like that.

  “Burn them.”

  The orange tongues of flame and oily smoke consumed the lockers. All the men there closed their eyes and said silent prayers to their gods.

  “Immortals that have been around for four thousand years?” said Galeen Nuvenberg heavily. The demon qi lingering in her abdomen was probably not the only reason. “They are certainly a remarkable bunch. Princess, Kikiou, General Ryuuki, Sh
uuran—not to mention Kazikli Bey. To the extent that they keep abreast of the times, they need fear no enemy.”

  “The problem is the location of their realm,” said Setsura Aki, leaning back in the chair. “You don’t know either?”

  “Well, consider my current state. Though the right person in the know might have a clue or two.”

  Setsura leaned forward.

  “An authority on Chinese history—the old gray matter is getting sluggish at my age—let’s see, Tomoko is the name that comes to mind. A scholar who works outside Shinjuku. She comes here a lot. I’ve met with her on one or two occasions.”

  Setsura got to his feet. “Here’s to hoping you remember by the time I get back.”

  His next stop was Mephisto’s office. Mephisto was sitting in his chair. Setsura glanced at him and said, “So where’s the real you?”

  This Mephisto smiled thinly. “Downstairs in the Resurrection Room.”

  “So you’re doing rounds, eh? The director’s dummy pulling a fast one on your own patients—Mephisto Hospital sure has hit the skids.”

  A hurt expression came to the facsimile’s face. “I am doing as well as I can. I have no intent to yield in the exercise of skills to me.”

  “They were sufficient to cure Grandma Nuvenberg, I’ll give you that.” Setsura turned on his heel.

  “Wait. If you’re going downstairs, you won’t find me there.”

  “You’re getting annoying.”

  “I’ve got something to give you.” Setsura faced him again. “Here.”

  A white square of paper fluttered in his hand. A sheet torn off the receptionist’s memo pad. It was written with the skill of a calligrapher: The enemy’s hideout can be found at the west entrance of Chuo Park. I am headed there with two others. It was signed by Yakou.

  It was dated two days before, eight-thirty at night.

  “Hey, Mephisto,” said Setsura. “Did the real Mephisto happen to be in at the time?”

  “No. I was.”

  That Mephisto had already been well on his way to turning into a vampire. That was when Ryuuki and Shuuran mysteriously went on the lam.

  “No way I’m letting this slide, you quack,” Setsura said, pointing his finger in his face. “I’ll have your license yanked before the day is done. Wait here.”

  “It is a most unfortunate affair,” the Mephisto said, spreading his hands apart, as if asking for sympathy.

  With a final, sidelong look of contempt, Setsura headed to the Resurrection Room.

  Mephisto Hospital’s “Resurrection Room.” Only the director had ever seen what was inside. A sturdy iron door blocked Setsura from entering.

  Assuming the size of the door was matched appropriately to the size of the person passing through it, that person would have to be almost fifty feet high and thirty feet wide.

  It wasn’t a door meant for human beings. A great steel door powdered with a patina of blue rust. Strike the door knocker—a rivet the size of a baby’s head—and it should open to admit the visitor.

  Standing in front of it, Setsura tried to remember what basement level he was on and gave up. He wasn’t too clear right now about where the elevator was, let alone how far down he’d come. There was only one thing he could do.

  “You in there, Mephisto?” he asked the door. He waited several seconds. Hearing no reply, he said, “Open up, you dumb quack. Don’t think playing possum will convince me you’re not in.”

  Several minutes later, the grinding of gears and the turning of wheels reached his ears. A thread-thin line divided the steel door vertically, slowly but inexorably widening as it opened outward.

  The sound ceased.

  The gap in the door was just wide enough that he could have slid in by turning sideways. Inside the door stood a white shadow. The silhouette was in fact dark as night but struck Setsura as white.

  The figure was cut neatly in half. Or rather, his left-hand side was hidden behind the door.

  “I am sorry about last night, Setsura-san.” The golden voice drifted on the air like golden honey.

  “How big of you to say so, Doctor.” The vast echoes of this voice nevertheless hummed like a silver string.

  “Now and then it doesn’t hurt. Though your spear rather did.”

  “And my coat got flattened under a boulder. This is a lender.”

  “Galeen Nuvenberg must have thousands more stored away in her house. She has taken a liking to you. I must extend my congratulations.”

  “You wanna come out here and talk about it? Or me come in there?”

  “Keeping our distance is probably best for the time being.”

  “So why did you let Ryuuki take your blood?”

  “There were things I needed to know. Though that desire has been fulfilled.”

  “What is there that you don’t know? I’ve got a few questions of my own. Vampire or no.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  “Such as where they happen to be hanging out.”

  “That is one of the things that I do not know.”

  “They’re your crew now.”

  “Ryuuki is the one who bit me. He was not at home at the time.”

  “He drank your blood. Let a chap like him loose and what did you think he was going to do?”

  “Not what you would do.” The graceful figure smiled at the young man, in no way his inferior. It was like a dream. “Have you forgotten? This is Demon City Shinjuku. The city where anything that can exist is allowed to exist.”

  “Exactly. And neither can they escape all manner of gruesome deaths. Not even the monsters among us.”

  Despite his grievous wounds, a fierce look passed across his otherwise vast and imperturbable face. Enough to silence even Doctor Mephisto.

  “A city where you are free to rape and pillage. But don’t forget that this is a city that is free to destroy you in turn. A previous mayor proposed increasing taxes to decrease the debt load. That was enough to get his car firebombed. An assistant director in the Social Security department got a bit too enthusiastic about funding geriatric care and got herself shot thirty-seven times for the trouble. A person’s freedom can be bought for a pittance in this city. A human life isn’t worth much more. Any big shot can secure himself a seat among the movers and shakers. But just as in ancient Rome, there is always that whispering in his ear that all glory is fleeting and the end is nigh. Not just him. That song is ringing in all our ears.”

  “In Setsura Aki’s ears,” said Doctor Mephisto’s shadow, as the door slowly closed.

  “And Doctor Mephisto’s,” Setsura Aki replied.

  “I must sleep. You should get a surgical consult for that wound in your chest.”

  “Yeah, in this place I’d never wake up again.” Setsura’s voice followed the fading shadow. “I’m going to Chuo Park. See you around.”

  Chapter Two

  Mayor Kajiwara wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked into the mayor’s office. He’d been nursing an upset stomach since he woke up. But once he took the medicine he kept in his desk, he’d be feeling on top of the world in ten minutes.

  The secretary nodded to him when he opened the door. The girl had been sent over from the General Affairs division to replace Hiromi Oribe. She wasn’t the equal of the woman she was replacing. Worse, the General Affairs section chief adhered to the old saw that beauty was inversely proportional to competence, and her looks weren’t exactly inspiring either.

  “Any visitors?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Calls?”

  “No.”

  “Hold my calls for a while and cancel any meetings before noon. I’m not feeling too good.”

  “Will you be going to the infirmary?”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  Kajiwara went into his office. And stopped and stared. His secretary was either lying. Or was suffering from dementia.

  Sitting at his desk was a Caucasian man in a khaki green uniform. The reflective lenses of his aviator sunglasses masked hi
s eyes. But his features and frame suggested they were razor sharp. The mayor felt a flutter of unease in his chest.

  “Um—” Kajiwara said, completely caught off guard. He casually reached for the personal alarm attached to his belt.

  “That won’t work in this room,” said a voice behind him. The door closed.

  He turned around. He couldn’t help thinking of Easter Island and those towering stone Moai statues. Five men. Big men, all over six feet tall. More than their black, white, and Asian faces, their dress and equipment caught his eye.

  Incendiary grenades attached to their vests. Handguns and spare magazines dangling from shoulder holsters. Beneath the grenades, hammers and wooden stakes and crosses. Strolling down the street in this getup was pretty much a declaration that the time for talking was over and it was time to go to the mattresses.

  “Garlic cloves were originally attached as well.” The voice reverberating from the desk sent a shiver down the mayor’s spine. It was like he’d read the question on his mind. “But in an effort not to offend, the active elements were extracted and are applied prior to missions. On top of that, we wear custom-made coats and do our best not to overly excite the civilian population.”

  The mayor looked at the speaker. The man’s resplendent moustache was hard to ignore. The stone Moais drew closer and he heard the sound of a striking match.

  “Pardon the cigar. One of the few vices a military man can allow himself to indulge in.”

  “No problem. Feel free to light up. Though for all your efforts not to offend, what’s with breaking into my office?”

  “National security interests take precedence over individual concerns—a theory of governance that public servants everywhere are familiar with.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Kajiwara nonchalantly walked toward the desk. The panic button wired directly to security had probably been disabled as well. Though for the time being, he didn’t sense that his life was in any actual danger. He was praying nobody would say anything until he sat down. An unlikely wish to be granted, but Kajiwara felt that the angels were on his side this morning.

  He sat down in his Niccolo leather executive armchair, leaned back and stretched out his legs. The vibe he carried about himself changed all at once.