“That is most welcome news,” Gildea said, his voice trembling with joy.
The duchess continued, “Victory or defeat comes down to the luck of the moment. I was defeated, yet there is no shame in that. And even if the result of our next battle were to be the same, I would still be entitled to bear this item. There is another reason as well—this is the skin of my husband.”
There was a hushed murmur from the world. And in the hush, a voice was heard to say, “Your grace, discounting the time I was dead, I am 2,006 years of age. I acknowledge all that your grace has stated, but such things are said due to age. So long as you love him, you cannot win. Even if your grace were to change your appearance, to change your heart, to gain abilities tens of thousands of times as strong as his, you will not triumph over that man in all eternity. From the moment your grace first let him sway your heart, you became the vanquished party for all time. Is that not so, Zangleson?”
There was no reply.
“What do you think, Zangleson?”
The source of the elderly voice seemed to shrink into the fog.
The other two put no further questions to him. Now all that remained was to wait.
Presently a dry, withered voice said, “I believe I would like Baron Gildea to have it.”
“I see,” the duchess said, her voice actually sounding rather refreshing. “However, even if your opinions are correct, I will not follow them. Both of you are, ultimately, vassals of the Dandorian family, and that is the iron rule.”
“This we know.” The two voices overlapped. They had a ghastly ring to them, as if the speakers’ outward mental strength counted for nothing, and some innate difference in nature had been hammered into the marrow of their bones.
“Very well, then. Gildea, I shall be keeping this. I am hardly the sort to not know their own heart. And my heart says that the two of you are correct. However, Gildea, there is an arrow that missed my heart and remains stuck in my soul. It is I who made his grace suffer his present fate. And even after my destruction that arrow has shaken me without a moment’s respite, I must confess. I wish to do battle with that man for my heart and my soul and his grace—Duke Daios Dandorian. And why is it that his grace left this for me rather than making use of it himself? I am of the opinion it is his grace’s wish that the woman who betrayed him exact his revenge on the one with whom she was unfaithful. Cruel though it may seem, I must follow through. I will slay that man without fail. Have I made myself understood?”
The duchess’s voice was filled with such distress it would’ve made any who heard it want to cover their ears.
The answer she immediately received brimmed with the same distress.
“You mustn’t do this, your grace. By all means, leave it to me, your humble servant, Gildea.”
This was a battle of wills between not two but three people, and no matter what form the contestants imagined their conflict would take, they never could’ve predicted what actually happened.
Suddenly a different presence had come into being close to the trio. Judging from its position, it had undoubtedly entered through the doorway, but even that thought didn’t occur to the other three due to how truly overwhelming the presence was. Yet when they tried to learn anything more about the new arrival, they couldn’t sense a thing. While the owner of the presence was there, they also couldn’t help but feel he also wasn’t there.
The following words seeped into the ears or brains of the group. I shall take that.
A heartbeat later, three speechless people prostrated themselves. In compliance with the iron rule of the Nobility.
What is to be handed over shall be given to the one who should receive it. No ill will is to be harbored, no matter what results from this action.
They had neither the will nor the right to inquire as to what that weird final sentence was supposed to mean.
And just as abruptly as it had come to be there, the presence departed.
No one moved, and no one spoke aloud the name that now occupied their minds. The Sacred Ancestor. And the piece of skin her husband had left, containing everything about D, was suddenly gone from Duchess Mizuki Dandorian’s hands.
II
The sound of waves rocked the night that’d fallen over the island. However, no matter how intently the average person might listen in this spot so far removed from the coast, there was no way they would ever hear that sound. For the sound of waves was ringing in Meg’s head.
The thing that’d suddenly appeared in the distance as their vehicle sped through the trees, grass, and vines finally took shape as an enormous scientific research facility.
“This is the castle?” the girl asked, but Danae’s reply was one she could’ve expected.
“Does it appear as such?”
“No.”
The gigantic metallic dome glistened in the moonlight, with rows of pipes that ran on forever like a road and innumerable smaller domes—there were absolutely no antennas or other protrusions from the stylish design. This was certainly one of the Nobility’s facilities, but even more than that, the old-fashioned stone steps and the motley array of passageways leading to the dome were hallmarks of the Nobility. Take away all its modern stylishness and replace it with rough walls with arrow slits, watchtowers, and minarets, and you would have a castle.
“In that case, let’s get going,” said the girl. “We don’t have time to waste.”
“It’s night already. Our world. Do you think yourselves safe because I accompany you?” asked Danae.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
“Why not wait here until daybreak? More importantly, you may be able to meet some of your acquaintances.”
“Excuse me?!” Meg exclaimed, eyes agleam.
D’Argent gave her a nod. There was no trace of pain on his face. Wesley had left a storage box on his vehicle, and in it had been a first aid kit containing pain relievers. The kit had probably belonged to the settlers.
“This is the research facility, Meg,” d’Argent said, turning a frightened gaze on the building that towered in the darkness. “I’ve never been back there since I escaped, but the last time I saw it, these were ruins choked with weeds. And now—it’s just like it was back in the day. It’s too remarkable, even for something the Nobility did. What the hell happened?”
“You said it was a research facility. What kind of research?” Meg asked indifferently, and she instantly regretted it. Even through the darkness, the look on d’Argent’s face gave her goosebumps.
“Experiments to turn humans into another form of life.”
As soon as she finished listening to his morose delivery, Meg spun around angrily.
Danae had a distinct grin on his face.
“Having come this far, would it not be odd for you to continue on without knowing? A portion of your compatriots were sent here. Which is precisely why I stopped.”
“Everybody’s inside?”
“A portion.”
“But they’re here, right? Where?!”
Danae raised his right hand and indicated the massive central dome.
“Don’t lie to me!”
Meg adjusted her grip on the harpoon, aiming its point at Danae. For some reason she got the feeling she could’ve killed him with ease if she so desired.
“I shall keep my word. You shall be brought as far as the castle. Any battles along the way, however, will be without comment or assistance from me.”
“Who’d want your help anyway?” Meg spat venomously, and then she looked back at d’Argent. “You can’t use your arms, so wait here. Loan me that weapon of yours, though.”
“No, I’m going with you. Don’t worry, I won’t slow you down. I can flee with the best of them.”
“In that case, okay,” Meg assented easily. When she thought about it, it made sense that an injured man wouldn’t want to stay behind with a Noble.
Slipping on the hand of destruction, Meg immediately gave up on trying to use it. It simply made it too difficult to w
ork her fingers. For a harpooner, that was a fatal flaw. In terms of sheer destructive power, her weapon couldn’t begin to compare, but it gave her a much better sense of security.
As soon as the girl took the hand of destruction off her arm, d’Argent started to object, saying, “Hey, use that! It’s a lot more powerful than that harpoon of yours.”
Giving the harpoon a rap, Meg said, “But I’m more used to this.”
“It may not be the easiest thing to use, but you’ll get accustomed to it soon enough. With our lives on the line, this is the choice for sheer power.”
Meg pretended to mull it over, then said, “Okay, just in case.”
She secured his weapon to her belt.
“Aren’t you gonna show us the way?” the girl asked.
Danae only grinned and replied, “I should warn you, there are a few researchers inside. Be careful.”
When the humans stood before a wall without a single seam, a rectangular entrance opened. The light that leaked out reached all the way to the pair, casting small shadows at their feet.
Coughing once, the girl said, “Here we go.”
Meg walked through the Nobles’ doorway.
They stood rooted in place in a lobby that looked to be a hundred times the size of the square back in her village.
“State your destination. Even a murmur will suffice,” said a voice that suddenly rained down on them. It was genderless synthesized speech.
“Our destination—where would that be?!” the girl wondered aloud.
“The location of the humans abducted from the mainland,” d’Argent said in her place. Meg recalled that he, too, had been a test subject.
The scene around them changed.
“Wh-what’s all this? A movie?”
“No,” said d’Argent, “we’re moving at ultra-high speed.”
“We’re moving?”
The very thought was inconceivable. It didn’t feel that way at all. There wasn’t even any breeze striking them.
The “movement” had apparently finished while the girl was still busy being stunned.
The black wall before them had the same door in it as the one in the lobby.
Meg hesitated. Things were going too well, and worse yet, far too speedily. It would be best to plan on things turning ugly any minute now. However, even realizing that, she had no choice but to go forward. Harpoon at the ready, Meg went inside.
The room was overflowing with light, and the ceiling, floor, and walls were all black.
“Is that stonework?” the girl asked.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Why? Iron or steel would do the job a lot easier from what I’ve heard.”
“The Nobility have a penchant for old things. Which is why they favor antiquated carriages and castles over ion cars and buildings of plastic and metal alloys. A castle made of iron would never do.”
As she listened to d’Argent’s explanation, Meg was half in a daze.
There was fog there in the room, too. Here and there tables that looked like black beds slipped in and out of sight, and on them were forms that were most definitely human.
“They’re here!” Meg exclaimed, and she was just about to dash forward when d’Argent blocked her way.
“Why the hell did you stop me?!”
“I know what it’s like. I know what kind of experiments they did here. It’s probably already—”
“Already what?!”
Meg was about to really lay into the man when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught some kind of crimson glow. They were small luminous points. However, every last one of them was set in the faces of the figures on the tables, who were looking their way. It was their eyes.
“That’s proof they’re vampires,” d’Argent told her. “They’re not just victims anymore. These are full-fledged servants of the Nobility—vampires.”
“That’s not true . . .”
Now each and every figure sat up on their table and looked at them.
“That one’s . . . Auntie Mabel . . . and over there’s Mr. Ulmer . . . Emilio Kapsch . . . Gialisuna Kapsch . . . and Zacco . . . Raoul’s here, too. Everybody . . . you’re all okay . . . right?”
Meg herself didn’t believe what she was saying.
“Meg, let’s get out of here. We’re too late.”
Though d’Argent jostled her shoulder, Meg didn’t move. She had to know for sure. She had to see with her own eyes what’d happened to them.
A dense fog covered the girl’s eyes, then quickly flowed past.
An old woman was standing there.
“Auntie Mabel . . .”
“So good of you to come, Meg,” the deeply wrinkled face said, smiling gaily.
“Let’s get out of here, Auntie Mabel. And get everyone else, too. Our village is a thousand times better than this creepy place.”
“That’s not true at all,” the old woman countered.
“What?”
“Oh, life here is wonderful. The Nobility made machines to do everything, and my infirmities don’t trouble me anymore. You know about all my health problems, don’t you? I have the gout in my right foot, and arthritis in the left. Any pressure on one or the other hurts like the bone’s been shattered. I’ve got an acute hernia that left me hunched over, and my liver, kidneys, and pancreas have all lost ninety percent of their function. My lungs are shot, so I get to coughing at night and can’t stop. Do you know how it feels to not be able to get to sleep every night out of fear you’ll suffocate? And all that got wiped away!”
The old woman’s face was radiant with joy.
“She’s right.”
Mr. Ulmer’s aged, sun-bronzed face appeared from the fog.
Meg heard d’Argent swallow hard.
“You know how I was in the final stages of lung cancer, right?” Mr. Ulmer continued. “Hell, you even came and visited me. But you know what? Not a single person from the town hall ever came. In eighty-two years of woodworking, how many boats you figure I made? How many did I repair? Now, I don’t wanna toot my own horn, but how many hundreds of lives have been saved by the double hulls I built, do you reckon? Meg, the town hall called in a new shipwright to replace me, didn’t they?”
That was a top secret back in the village. When Mr. Ulmer had become bedridden a year and a half earlier, the village had already offered his position to a shipwright from the north shore fifty years his junior. Every day the old man had shot his mouth off, asking, “Who you gonna get to fix your boats when I’m gone?” and a portion of the village had definitely found him irritating in that regard.
Meg didn’t answer, and apparently taking that as her answer, the old man nodded deeply.
“The way I am now, I’ve got a hundred times the strength I had in my prime. Look at me! With this mallet and chisel I could probably build a boat from scratch in half a day’s time. But that’s not what I’m gonna use ’em for. I’m gonna use ’em for destruction. I’ll use ’em to pound those town hall bastards who couldn’t wait to see me dead into the ground once and for all.”
His hand was like a specter rising from the sea of fog, and in it he gripped a chunk of iron with a keen edge.
“Which reminds me, Meg—did you try to stop ’em from bringing somebody in to replace me?”
“No. Actually, I only found out after it’d all been decided.”
Though Meg had spoken the truth, the old man shook his head gravely.
“That’s what they all say. Auntie Mabel, and the whole Gates family beside her, and everybody else says that. I wanted to protest, but it was already decided. But next time I’ll stand up for you! Well, there ain’t a next time.”
Meg became aware that at some point she’d lowered her harpoon and was adjusting her grip on it.
“But that doesn’t matter anymore. Meg, I’ve been sweet on you since way back. Always thought you were a little dear. So you’ll become one of us by my hand.”
The old man hauled back with his right hand.
“Nooo!” Meg
exclaimed, and as the word exploded from her, the harpoon in her right hand thrust forward.
III
Even Meg was surprised at how solid the hit felt. Actually, she’d not only driven her harpoon into Mr. Ulmer’s massive barrel chest, but poked it all the way out through his back.
With a mallet that looked to weigh better than sixty pounds still raised, the old man shuddered. Gnashing his teeth, he swung down with his right hand. The wind howled.
Meg and d’Argent heard the sound of the mass of iron ravaging the floor just ten feet behind them.
The old man held that pose for a while. Then he lifted his head and gave the two of them an innocent smile. His smile was so guileless, Meg had to wonder if there hadn’t been some mistake.
Mr. Ulmer touched a calloused finger to his upper lip. The cuspids that grew from his exposed gums were pernicious fangs. They’d been honed to rip into Meg’s soft throat.
“It can’t be . . . If you’re a servant of the Nobility . . . and I stabbed you right through the heart . . .” Meg groaned, but d’Argent’s hand grabbed hers and pulled her along after him.
A milky fog covered the world. She ran with d’Argent.
Her ears caught someone saying, “Meg.” The call came from far off in the distance. And it was d’Argent’s voice.
Meg planted both feet firmly to stop. D’Argent stopped, too. It finally dawned on the girl that the hand grasping hers was horribly cold and bony.
The shadowy figure turned around. Just then—the fog flowed away. There was Auntie Mabel, baring a pair of fangs.
“Me-e-eg.”
When the old woman tried to embrace her, Meg swung her to the right as hard as she could. The girl, in turn, was swung around as well. Her wrist was still in the old woman’s grip. Scattering the fog, the two of them continued spinning in elegant circles.
The old woman planted her feet and jerked the girl closer. Meg was pulled in by the tremendous strength of the vampire, and her soft throat was left exposed for the old woman’s mouth. The wrinkled mouth snapped open wide, and then there was a cry of pain and bright blood gushed out. Of course, neither belonged to Meg.
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