“I can’t believe it . . . He pried my fingers loose . . . to save his own skin . . .”
Still lying on her stomach, the girl looked up at the hole in disbelief.
“See? I told you. He’s shown his true colors,” Pikk spat venomously. “Don’t you ever trust him again. But don’t worry. I’ll save you for sure!”
“Such a spirited child.”
Feeling chill breath on the back of his neck, Pikk was silenced. The voice belonged to someone else—and this second speaker sounded terribly grave.
“If you are more concerned for others than for yourself, you have the heart of a man. Perhaps I should make you my servant?”
Terror split Pikk from head to crotch. Even Annette turned to look.
A servant of the Nobility? Am I gonna wind up a vampire, too?!
“No, don’t!” he cried, thrashing violently. Swinging his arms and legs, he even jerked his head around hoping to deliver a head butt. Not a single hair was out of place.
“The girl must be handled in keeping with Lord Gillian’s instructions, but this stripling should be another matter. As the one who caught him, I should receive the privilege of the first taste—there are no objections to that, I take it?”
“Yes, there are.”
“What?”
Pikk felt the Nobleman who’d captured him—Xeno Gorshin—turn in surprise. When the Noble shifted position, Pikk, too, was swung around.
Of the trio, two were facing the same person—staring at the third. It was the young man who wore a pair of swords on his back. Though pale skin was characteristic of the Nobility, this man was far whiter than that. It looked as though not a single drop of blood flowed through him. Perhaps he could be said to be more Noble than any other.
“What is your objection, Braylow?” Xeno Gorshin inquired.
“That child—I want him,” he replied in a voice devoid of inflection. It was even more intimidating than Gorshin’s tone. However, the instant it reached Pikk’s eardrums, the boy felt as if he’d been plunged into a frozen sea.
“This is most unusual. I didn’t think you cared for human blood.”
As Gorshin broke into a grin, the stark white Nobleman replied, “It’s not blood I want. It’s his skill.”
“His skill?” said the last—the Noble who called to mind a monk—as he furrowed his brow.
“The boy’s movements, his footwork—had he not tried to flee through that hole, I doubt you would’ve caught him.”
His remark was addressed to Gorshin.
“What do you propose?”
“Allow me to have some fun. Actually, Gray Soldier and Blue Soldier are begging. Please let us cut him, they say.”
“What the hell?!” Pikk shouted. “I ain’t your lousy plaything! Before you cut me—forget that, no way in hell I’ll let you cut me. Before you can, I’m gonna drive wooden stakes through the hearts of all three of you bastards!”
“Feisty, is he not?” Braylow said, his lips twisting. They formed a smile.
Pikk felt his mind slipping away.
“Were he not, it should hardly be worth the trouble of cutting him down. Gorshin, set him loose.”
“Though that might be nice, it still seems a shame,” said the boy’s captor, hesitating. “Look at him! So young, with all the spirit of a ball of fire. The blood that runs in his veins must be quite hot, too. I think I should slake my thirst after all. I won’t allow you to have your way.”
Pale lips hissed Gorshin’s name. The words that followed carried a will like a colossal block of ice.
“Would you stand in my way?”
“I believe I would.”
“Oh no,” Annette murmured.
“I have no qualms about facing you,” Braylow said, both arms rising straight from his sides.
Gorshin’s expression stiffened. Annette reeled. The unearthly aura that adorned Gorshin had knocked her unconscious. Even Pikk was frozen with fear, all thoughts of escape or expectations at seeing a battle between Noblemen forgotten.
Just then—
“Both of you, stop this.”
The monk, who’d watched in silence up until now, intervened.
“Stay out of this, Benelli,” Braylow said sullenly.
“Let us not forget that one of them escaped. Most likely it’s the bounty hunter Gorshin knocked out of the sky. Even now, he should still be after us.”
“We have the girl,” Braylow said, his finger pointing at Annette where she lay crumpled at Gorshin’s feet. “That flash bomb earlier might well have been a napalm charge. It’s the safety of the girl he has in mind. He can’t do anything to endanger her.”
“There is the other one!”
At Benelli’s morose tones, Braylow’s killing lust dissipated in an instant. Even Gorshin had stiffened.
“D,” Annette murmured.
“Ah, yes. Where has that fearsome man gone?” Braylow groaned, and mixed with his words was what sounded like sobbing—the crazed cries of his blades.
Three pairs of undead eyes focused on Pikk, then quickly shifted to Annette.
“Where is he?” Gorshin inquired.
Annette’s eyes were tinged with red. For they reflected the eyes of the Nobleman.
“How the hell should we know?!” Pikk shouted. “The jerk dumped me and the little lady and went off somewhere. We don’t know where he’s gone, and he’s a stranger to us.”
The blazing eyes of the Nobles focused on the boy. Grabbing hold of the boy’s chin, Gorshin lightly turned it up in his direction so he could peer into Pikk’s face.
“Hmm. Even scared, he hasn’t lost the will to resist us. Such a nice face. It would seem he’s not lying.”
“In that case, have we seen the last of that one?” Braylow asked, clear disappointment surfacing on his pale face.
“No,” the monk called Benelli said, shaking an evil countenance ill-suited to such trappings from side to side. “He’ll come. Or we’ll go to him—but I assure you we shall meet. And my instincts are telling me it’ll be quite soon.”
And then the three Noblemen performed a strange action. They turned in unison to look at the fallen object from which they’d appeared. The sense of evil emanating from it paralyzed Pikk and Annette. Within the vehicle was someone hostile toward these fiends. A certain name flashed through the minds of the two humans.
“Wrong,” Gorshin murmured as if he’d read their minds. “As I said before, it’s not him. In some respects, it’s someone far more fearsome.”
And who’s that? Pikk wanted to ask. It had to be D they were talking about when they said “him.” But someone or something even scarier was inside the vehicle. And despite the fact that they clearly considered it their foe, these Noblemen still wanted to get onboard with it?
“Gorshin, relent on the issue of the child,” Benelli said, turning his deeply creased face toward his compatriot.
“Why?”
Not replying, Benelli looked at the other Nobleman and said, “And in return, you mustn’t touch him either, Braylow.”
“Why not?”
“He shall serve as a decoy. Bait to lure out the one in the Castle.”
Pikk’s blood froze. Bait? What kind of bait? Fireball though he was, even the boy couldn’t fathom their meaning.
Gorshin protested. “Just a mouthful?”
“Are you yet half asleep? Would you meddle with another’s servant?”
Gorshin fell silent.
Even Pikk could recall hearing about this before. Nobles wouldn’t put their fangs into a human another Noble fed upon.
“If you desire this child, first dispose of the one who lurks within when he appears from his unknown location. Only then may you leave your kiss on the boy’s throat. For the time being, hands off. What say you, Braylow?”
The pale Noble nodded.
“That’s two against one, Gorshin.”
“Do as you like, then,” the third Nobleman conceded. “However, we must act swiftly! This girl—she’s not to
be harmed in the slightest before she’s handed over to our lord Gillian, but the one inside won’t honor that wish. He’s certain to target her.”
“This plan is to guard against that.”
Approaching Pikk, the monk stroked his head softly. Though his touch seemed nothing but gentle, the boy felt his consciousness start to slip away.
“Now, let us return. On with our dangerous journey in the Castle.”
At Benelli’s words, all three of them looked at the vehicle. No one moved. And the very thought of encountering whatever rooted their feet to the ground turned Pikk’s soul to ice.
The Grim Reaper Express
chapter 7
I
As Xeno Gorshin and Benelli headed toward the Iron Castle’s control room, waves of anxiety far from befitting their ageless and immortal clan crashed in their hearts.
The circumstances under which they’d first boarded had been shrouded in a truly bizarre air. As they hastened down the road, a lone man had suddenly appeared to them out of the darkness. Wearing a rounded hat with a visor in front, a formal coat with iron buttons, a bow tie, and with a black ticket holder hung around his neck—he was the conductor of the Iron Castle they’d heard about. While bombarded with looks of suspicion and ill will, the man didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, pointing to the rear and then telling them through gestures to wait there before he once again vanished into the darkness. The reason the three Noblemen could only watch him go without further investigating the situation was because from the time the conductor appeared until the time he left they’d been subjected to an unearthly aura the likes of which they’d never experienced.
At that point, from the direction the conductor had vanished there was the faint yet solemn growl of machinery drawing nearer like an unsettling rumble of thunder. Pushing away the night air and darkness that held sway in this world, something outrageously large stopped right beside them about three minutes later. It was as tall as a five-story building and had light pouring from countless windows. From the white vapor it ceaselessly discharged they could tell it was steam-powered, though they could only assume the energy to produce that steam came not from the typical turbine but from some extra-dimensional fuel source.
One of its iron doors opened, and an iron platform slid out by their feet.
“What shall we do?”
“It may be a trap.”
“But if we refuse the invitation, we might be attacked. Moreover, it would shame us to have the one within the Castle thinking us afraid.”
Benelli, who’d been the one to ask what they should do, said, “Hmm, this may be the key to the mysteries of this unknown Greater Noble. A chance to learn the now-forgotten knowledge of the ancients, to see the fruit that knowledge might bear—I’m going!”
And with that he stepped forward.
“Sooner or later, I shall spot D and his lot from the skies. I, too, shall go. What say you, Braylow?”
Naturally it was Gorshin who asked this.
The young fiend of the dual blades turned to the Iron Castle with the face and gaze of a corpse, giving a nod.
Once they were onboard along with all their horses and coffins, the Iron Castle soon set off. The train’s departure was so rough it hardly seemed the work of the Nobility’s engineering, yet that only served to endear it to the three Noblemen. The conductor from earlier appeared with other shadowy men in similar uniforms, and once they’d taken custody of the horses and coffins, the trio was escorted to a sumptuous room. Not so much as a speck of dust lay in the corridors leading there, and the place was so clean it seemed this had to be its very first day of service.
“Why has the Iron Castle returned after slumbering for millennia?” Xeno Gorshin inquired, head tilted to one side.
“I certainly have my concerns,” Benelli said, extending one finger. “Why is it operating again?” Extending a second, he continued, “Why did it let us onboard?” A third finger extended. “And where is it supposed to be going?”
“As for the second one, that I know,” said a gloomy voice. It was that of Xeno Braylow.
The other two looked surprised. He was a man not given to such thoughts. Swordsmen and warriors in general were not concerned with worldly affairs, but this young man in particular banished them from his thoughts—so single-minded was Braylow that as long as he had an opponent to cross swords with today, he wouldn’t mind if the whole world were ending tomorrow. Yet he had offered something.
“Listen,” he said.
As soon as the word was out, Gorshin and Benelli heard a familiar sound. Gray Soldier and Blue Soldier were rattling in their scabbards. The two magic swords clanging together could mean only one thing—that a foe worthy of being cut down was close at hand.
“Well, fancy that,” Gorshin groaned.
“Interesting,” Benelli said, his hand reaching around for the great scythe on his back. “Where is he, Braylow?”
The young swordsman’s eyes were only half open to begin with, but he shut them and mastered his breathing. The other two even slowed their breathing in unison.
In that manner five seconds passed . . . Then ten . . .
“He’s coming,” Braylow murmured.
No other sound could be heard. The room was completely soundproof. Still, the young Nobleman heard someone’s approaching footsteps or breathing, or could somehow detect his presence.
They didn’t ask where he was. Both Gorshin and Benelli were staring at Braylow. No matter who the foe out there might be, it would undoubtedly be this young Nobleman who would fire the first volley in this war.
“In the corridor,” Braylow said. “Coming down it.”
The rattling of the scabbards intensified.
“What’s he coming for?” asked Gorshin.
“It’s obvious,” Benelli said, a single bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “To drink our blood.”
The eyes of all three began to burn crimson. A Noble seeking the blood of Nobles. The notion was so abnormal, so perverse, it stimulated them on a subconscious level.
Braylow looked up. His eyes became riveted to the door.
The other two trembled. They, too, understood. The enemy was right outside—and they knew how terrible he was.
With a click the golden doorknob turned. Braylow reached for his back with both hands. Benelli drew his great scythe. And then, beyond the smoothly opening door, they saw a figure who could only be described as a giant—and at that very moment the Iron Castle engaged its emergency brakes to the accompaniment of an ear-shattering squeal of iron on iron, and the three Noblemen were sent flying.
However, even after the group had boarded again, the Iron Castle didn’t move an inch, so Gorshin and Benelli headed off in search of the control room. They were “in search of it” because they had no more than a vague notion that it would probably be somewhere toward the front. But nowhere in the Castle were any sort of maps or layouts posted.
“I didn’t think this could be derailed, much less take a plunge like this. The Greater Nobility’s technology wasn’t so great after all.”
But Gorshin countered Benelli’s complaint, saying, “That’s a bit rash, Benelli. I’ve heard that ordinarily, the Iron Castle ran through an enormous magnetic tube. Undoubtedly the tube has been damaged in places over the ages. To wit, when it allowed us to board, it was already running out of the ordinary.”
“But since it did run, there’s no reason to believe another fall would put it out of operation. And then there’s the matter of the presence we sensed.”
“And that is why two of us are going—surely he must be the same Greater Noble who crafted the Iron Castle.”
Benelli nodded. “There can be no doubt. But certainly a vehicle of this size would be well stocked with human blood. Why come after us?”
“Why indeed?” Gorshin said, head cocked to one side. “We modern Noblemen have no way of knowing what the Greater Nobles of long ago were thinking. Perhaps not even the Sacred Ancestor could—”
Even before Benelli could give him a look that would tell him to stop, Gorshin held his own tongue.
Regardless of the situation, no matter what reason one might have, it was strictly prohibited for any Noble to slight or slander the Sacred Ancestor in any fashion. Even ten centuries after his disappearance. The Sacred Ancestor reigned over the world’s night even now.
Coughing once, Gorshin continued, “Why did the Sacred Ancestor propose living in harmony with the lowly humans? Though it was a splendid idea he had.”
He meant that. However, Gorshin also intended to make amends for his initial slight, because if one wasn’t mindful of that, misfortune would befall them—this was a notion that had gone beyond mere superstition to become a phenomenon in which many among the Nobility believed.
Up ahead, a gorgeous lounge came into view.
“Ah.”
“Oh my.”
The eyes of the two Noblemen went wide at the figures passing before them. On a marble floor, men in black formalwear and women in white dresses walked with gliding steps or peered through the windows into the darkness beyond. Glass and gemstones glittered here and there, while the languid strains of classical music stirred a chemical reaction from the stillness of the lounge’s air. The shadowy musicians playing translucent instruments were probably modeled after those of antiquity.
They were illusions. Even realizing they were phantoms projected by the Iron Castle, the two Noblemen still couldn’t take their eyes off them for some time.
A couple wearing old-fashioned scarves walked toward the pair, and only after they’d passed through the Noblemen without a sound did the two finally notice the spiral staircase to their right running from floor to ceiling. After climbing it, they found another spacious hall and several corridors that ran off into the depths of the Iron Castle.
“Big is fine, but this is ridiculous,” Gorshin murmured after climbing up to the fifth floor.
The interior of the vehicle was more functional here, with more of the doors being iron or steel plate.
Throng of Heretics Page 12