Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 5 Omnibus Edition

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  A leaf floated in the water a dozen feet or so away. A streak of light flashed through the air. The leaf chirped. Nothing else changed.

  Setsura lowered his head and puffed a small breath against the water’s surface. When the small waves touched the edge of the leaf, the little green boat severed neatly in two.

  “Damn.” He closed his eyes and lowered his chin to the water’s surface.

  “Miss?” Princess asked behind him.

  “Yes,” Setsura said, without any evident concern.

  “You knew I was here? I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “The same goes for you. You should have known that I knew. You didn’t notice the thread attached to my clothing?”

  Princess smiled in a humoring manner. “And knowing that I knew, you decided to take a bath anyway—after protesting so much earlier. You are a mystery to me as well.”

  “Huh,” Setsura sniffed, as if to say, a woman understands me? Then: “Keep your distance.”

  “Hoh. Am I that frightening?” she said with a seductive smile.

  “No, but keep your distance.”

  “I would think that sharing a hot bath with a woman is something no man would find disagreeable. Any man who sees me in a hot springs is liable to jump in and join me with his clothes on.”

  “The kind of thing that little boys dream of,” Setsura said, retreating as Princess swam closer.

  Princess swam around him in a leisurely manner, a shark circling a small fish. Beneath the rippling surface of the water, her white arms and breasts took on an especially bewitching quality. Each stroke of her arms revealed a peek of her fair skin, at once renewed and all the more beautiful.

  Her black hair touched Setsura’s arm. “Whoa,” he said.

  “Hey!” She scooped up the hot water with her hands, raising a sudden shower as the wave splashed off Setsura’s face. “Do you think playing dumb would keep me from figuring out you’re fighting at half strength? Enough with the tough guy routine. Why do you keep fleeing from me?”

  “Because you’re a vampire,” Setsura said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “What’s wrong with that? I am more beautiful than any woman who doesn’t drink blood. And can make a man happier than any of them. Those who have tasted of my pleasures but once present their scrawny necks to me without complaint. A beautiful throat like yours never once came before my eyes.”

  “Sounds like you have a fetish for windpipes,” Setsura said, scratching the back of his neck.

  The Demon Princess looked into his eyes and asked in a subdued voice, “If I wasn’t the kind of girl who’d drink a man’s blood, would you take me to your bed?”

  “Sure.”

  The straightforward nature of the answer made Princess purse her lips. “I have destroyed kings and emperors, and you would prefer the company of some stinking mortal woman over me? What manner of man are you, Setsura?”

  “I am a citizen of Demon City. The owner of a senbei shop who moonlights as a private detective. Would you like me to tell you something I’m sure you will find perfectly delightful?”

  “What?”

  “I was hired by a man to do a job, the man General Ryuuki caused to fall asleep at a most inopportune time and whose pride was most grievously wounded. He commissioned me to find you. But he happily joined forces with you, your freeloading house guest.”

  “And why don’t you become one as well?” Princess asked, turning slowly around him. “Demon City Shinjuku will become the kingdom of my servants in any case. As long as I don’t destroy it first. Either is fine with me. You and I can always find someplace else to settle down.”

  “Such as?” he said with evident curiosity.

  “Any place you please. A whole new nation, a whole new world.”

  “And make more companions for yourself?”

  “The thought never occurred to me. Once I have satisfied my hunger, I leave it to others what becomes of them.”

  “Keep at it and there won’t be any others left. What an irresponsible woman you are.”

  “All I am looking for is freedom. If the world starts to disappear, I’ll take a nap for a while, and perchance dream wonderful dreams. And if by chance the world ends up dwindling to dust, well, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Strolling through the destruction and across the wastelands should provide plenty of its own amusements.”

  “So no matter what happens, you always look for the entertainment value.” Setsura sighed. Perhaps because of the hot water, his face was a bit ruddy, the color of cherry blossoms.

  “Jealous?” Princess asked enticingly. “Then come with me.”

  “Are you going to keep on bugging me with all this changing horses in the middle of the stream? What becomes of your standing as a princess?”

  “I take nothing into consideration but my freedom. What, you disapprove?”

  “I suppose that also means I’m free to answer however I please. But yes.”

  The Demon Princess gazed back at him strangely and didn’t answer. Setsura looked down.

  “It’s getting cold.”

  Though the billowing steam continued to reach into the sky like twining serpents, the water around Setsura was definitely losing its heat.

  “Do you remember what happened to that cranky old witch? Draw and quarter her and she dies. But not you. Shall I have you taste the suffering of having the flesh rent, the bones broken, and never dying? You who spurns my proposals?”

  Not said in anger, nor with any eerie air, but like a different person. A feeling beyond the human—that should never be held by one human against another—coiled around Setsura.

  His head slumped, as if in fear. He looked at the water, as if entranced by his reflection there, this beautiful genie. A still, small voice froze Princess down to her bones.

  “You said you drew and quartered her?” Setsura said, his head still bowed.

  The expression on Princess’s face changed all at once. The water grew all the colder. The steam cast off a winter wind.

  “We have met before,” she almost hummed. “I thought there might be someone lurking inside you. But that is you as well.”

  “You said you drew and quartered her?” Setsura repeated, answering her song with one of his own. “Before that, you became two as well. With my threads. You brought those memories to the surface, woman. The manner of Galeen Nuvenberg’s death.”

  His raised his face, his beautiful face. The face of an evil angel at the moment of death. Those brows—those eyes—that mouth—that nose—the lines drawn by a heavenly artist and guided by divine will had been transformed into the incarnation of Rakshasa, the Hindu devil.

  “A man like you is not unknown to me,” Princess said, not stirring an inch in the now freezing hot springs. “We met in a London fog, a man who killed his friend and trampled his grieving daughter underfoot. An intense and thrilling man, but alas, one born of the opium dens. The two of you are different. As different as heaven and hell, and both fearfully beautiful. Enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck. The you that you are now—who are you?”

  Princess quietly backed away, without raising a ripple. A red ring wrapped around her left shoulder. The arms dropped off at the joint. Without the slightest sign of pain on her face, she picked them up and stuck them back where they belonged, then sunk down into the water.

  Her black hair spread out like streams of blood. Bright waves flowed from Setsura toward them. As soon as they touched the strands of her hair, they changed into thousands of threads that twined around them and sank into the depths.

  Setsura devil wires warred against Princess’s hair. The rest of her body followed. As if following suit, Setsura submerged himself as well.

  The waves stilled, the sun reflected brightly off the surface of the water. The dark green and blue sky calmly set the stage for the opening act, revealing nothing of the death struggle going on below.

  Several seconds later—the red-streaked foam churned
up. In a flash, it spread out like a net cast upon the waters, speaking of a singular conclusion.

  But did the blood belong to Setsura or to—at that moment, a rumble shook the air. The heavens convulsed.

  Chapter Three

  A fearful scream sounded from the study.

  The mayor’s wife put down her nail file and jumped to her feet. On any other night, she would have ignored it. Every time he bought some strange thing from a bunch of strange people, he came home writhing in pain, scalded or stabbed or assaulted. A little yelling was to be preferred.

  Tonight, though, she heard in that cry a touch of fear even she was unaccustomed to.

  Before bolting to the study to demonstrate her undying trust and devotion, she had the sense to grab the phone off the dresser and call the security room. She then waited three minutes before leaving the bedroom. Whatever was happening to her husband and the security detail, it was enough time for the commotion to die down.

  Combining the life insurance and government pension and condolence money, she could buy a fine place outside the ward. Oh, their daughter Chiho, on study abroad, would grieve, but it’d be all for the best in the long run.

  Descending the stairs, the complete silence set her nerves on edge. If nothing had happened, then people should be coming out about now. She stopped in front of the door and craned her ears.

  The hinges creaked. Her husband—Mayor Kajiwara—appeared in the eighteen-inch gap between the door and the jamb.

  “What the hell are you doing!” she demanded at once, for he was inching along the floor on all fours. “You lose a contact?”

  “In there—inside—in there—” Kajiwara pointed into the room.

  “The security guard’s in the room? What about him? And why is the ward mayor crawling on the floor like a dog? Unbelievable!”

  “He’s not—there—he’s in there—”

  “Eh?”

  “He got swallowed.”

  “What?”

  “We’re all in danger.”

  His wife glanced to the right and left down the hall. There was an old European suit of armor—more of the junk her husband collected—she grabbed the long sword from the scabbard strapped to its waist.

  She might not have cared if he got assassinated when she wasn’t looking, but the sight of her frightened husband right before her eyes kindled a long-dormant love.

  “Hurry up and get out of there,” she said, raising the sword over her shoulder like a baseball bat.

  He inched slowly through the doorway. His chest emerged, then his waist and his ass—but she didn’t look at his big ass because snarling and snapping at it was a big gaping mouth, followed by a white furry face and a pair of gleaming red eyes.

  “A tiger,” she gasped. She pushed the door open wider. A completely different scene presented itself to her—a long torso covered with steel-blue scales—not a snake—snakes didn’t have clawed feet—the mouth was almost a yard wide. From beneath its snout dangled a whip-like beard.

  “A dragon?” she said.

  “A dragon,” Kajiwara answered.

  There was something off about the dragon’s mouth. Instead of a tongue, an arm grew out of its mouth, still wearing a shirt sleeve. Some might have taken the gun still clenched in the hand as an ironic accent, but the mayor’s wife thought it a bit gauche.

  “Dear—dear—”

  She didn’t notice the sudden weight of her gown. She thought as well her misty gaze was due to tears. Her forehead was damp with sweat.

  A flash of electric blue filled the hallway. And again. This time she took note of the light’s jagged edge. Lightning. The dragon was calling forth a tempest. Finally she realized why her gown was drenched. The water running down her forehead was from a thunderstorm—inside the house.

  The tiger roared. Four neat holes opened up in the pants of the mayor’s pajamas. Left there by the tiger’s fangs. The tiger lumbered towards her. The mayor’s wife closed her eyes and felt its hot breath on her.

  And suddenly it vanished.

  Cautiously, trembling, she opened her eyes to see the back end of the giant tiger as it was drawn through her abdomen. The largest part of its body—thicker around than her own torso—disappeared into the wall.

  Looking up, what was clearly the shadow of a serpent’s tail plunged into the ceiling above her husband, its steel-blue scales glittering.

  Even after it disappeared, rain continued to fall from the unscarred ceiling for a little while longer. The second floor must be soaked as well. Her beloved husband was still hugging the carpet on his hands and knees.

  In a slightly subdued voice, but still holding onto the sword and standing on her own two feet, she said in a shaky voice, “I don’t know what you are looking for down there, but give the damned thing back to whoever you got it from!”

  Ryuuki opened his eyes. A stone ceiling filled his gaze. His half-closed eyelids hid the upper half of the view. He couldn’t move his body. He was completely numb. It was enough of an effort to keep his eyes half-open.

  To the left of him creaked rusty old hinges. A startled voice said, “You’re awake?”

  “Ah—more or less, I guess,” Ryuuki answered, the voice of the military man also called a general.

  “As I suspected, a frightening man. You should have slept for the rest of your life.”

  The doll girl sounded impressed, and somewhat glad as well.

  “I would have preferred that.”

  “I understand, General Ryuuki.”

  “Could you put me to sleep again?”

  “If you so wish. However, my hands are full at the moment. You will have to wait a while. Your body should be paralyzed for the time being.”

  “It is. It is better that way.”

  “Because it keeps you from seeking the blood of others,” the doll girl said plainly. “Many visitors come to the house every night. We must do what we can to ensure you stay where you are. Oh, that reminds me. This may be a pointless gesture, but—”

  The doll girl raised her delicate left hand and snapped her fingers. A set of four chains descended from the ceiling. She fastened the shackles around Ryuuki’s hands and legs.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She bowed courteously and left the small dungeon.

  Wending her way down the twisting and turning hallway—of a length in no way indicative of such a small house—she finally came to a door. Opening it, a chorus of voices arose.

  “Where is Miss Nuvenberg?”

  “Please, look after this child.”

  “Somebody—somebody’s after me.”

  The doll girl slipped into the crowded living room and said in a loud voice, “As I told you the other night, Miss Nuvenberg is dead. Her younger sister is present, but is currently under medical care.” With a small sigh she continued. “Though my efforts may prove insufficient, let me hear what is on your minds. Please, state your cases.”

  A man with a pale face and a head of mottled hair sidled up to her. “They’re gonna kill me. Any second now. Please, a job like this is the last thing I need.”

  He thrust out his tongue. A rectangular lump skidded across the table. The blue-white tallow flame from the lamp wrapped the lump in a golden glow. It was a gold nugget.

  “Send me back home. My children and husband are waiting for me. I don’t want to stay in this horrible city a minute longer.”

  A slender middle-aged woman writhed on the floor. She sprang to her feet and tore open the front of her dress. The skin tore, crackling like old canvas, exposing her ribs. She screamed. Her fingers and hands melted and fused. Long sickles sprouted from the flat stubs of her wrists. The pain such a transformation inflicted was such that she wept bloody tears, tears that hit the floor and turned into small puffs of steam, leaving small holes behind. Acid tears that could dissolve stone.

  “They’re coming,” shouted a black teenager. “They’re after me. Everybody’s trying to kill me.” His eyes were white, and devoid of pupils.

>   The others—including a blue-skirted girl, an old man in a polo shirt, a hausfrau with an enormous head—moved away from him, not eager to be identified as “they,” whoever “they” were.

  The doll girl raised her arms. “Calm down, everybody. In the name of Galeen Nuvenberg, I assure you that no one will lay an untoward hand on you. Please stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”

  The hem of her purple satin dress twirled around as she disappeared into the front foyer.

  The street light bored an elliptical cone of illumination through the thick darkness. In that circle of light gathered a number of human shadows. From their long hair, white beards and strange overgrown fingernails, and clothing covered with curious designs and pentagrams—their background was obvious.

  Witches and warlocks.

  The doll girl said, “According to the Convention of Sorcery, you are forbidden from coming here. Please leave.”

  “Fine,” said one white-bearded old man with a nod. “Hand over those inside and we will depart straightaway. Bring them out.”

  “I cannot,” the doll girl said flatly.

  Jeering laughter arose among the strange gang. One stepped forward. He was wrapped in what looked like military body armor. “You are refusing us? The stars tell us that two days ago, a large orb fell from the western sky. Namely, Galeen Nuvenberg is no more. And a new star from the Czech skies does not shine down on your house this night.”

  “Not to mention that tonight is Magic Town’s Sabbath. No one may leave their houses.”

  “That has nothing to do with us,” the old man continued. “We are heretics, whom not even magic condones. Be nice and hand them over, else not even the daughter of Nuvenberg will be spared.”

  “Dare to mention that name and you should also know the words Grandmother left to us: Whether treading the path of good or evil, all of those on that path who come here seeking salvation shall find it and not be cast out.”

  A buzz again rippled through the crowd, this time swaying them noticeably.

  “The man who can smelt pure gold inside his body surely suffers. So does the woman whose internal organs transform into tools of assassination. The boy altered to show him futures he does not want to see, he wishes to return home. You have taken away many others and subjected them to atrocious modifications. Shall I return them to your custody? No. In the name of Galeen Nuvenberg, never.”