PandoraHearts ~Caucus Race~, Vol. 3

by Shinobu Wakamiya

  “Not in the least. Stuff written with a tasteless pen name like that…”

  Lacie rejected him flatly, turning away.

  Levi’s pen name, which Lacie had called “tasteless,” was Evil B. “B,” the last name, was the first letter of Baskerville, while the name “Evil” was an anagram. When the letters were rearranged, they spelled “Levi.”

  “Well, art should be tasteless, you know.”

  Levi sounded as if he was boasting about his faults, and Lacie ignored him. However, as if something had caught her attention, she sat up on the sofa.

  Brushing back her hair with one hand, she asked a question:

  “Are you using those two as models this time, too?”

  “Who knows?”

  Levi sounded evasive. He crossed to the sofa and sat down beside Lacie. He put his face close to Lacie’s profile.

  “So, this detective and murderer. They don’t seem to be connected at all, but they’re actually linked. A long time ago, the detective gave a small present to the murderer. The detective’s completely forgotten about this present and the person he gave it to, but the murderer, the one who got the present, remembers…”

  Lacie kept looking straight ahead. She didn’t turn toward Levi’s face, right next to hers. Then: “It’s a common story,” she said, shortly.

  “Something the giver didn’t pay much attention to and has forgotten, but the recipient treasures.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Levi put up a hand and touched Lacie’s left earlobe with a fingertip. Lacie’s right ear was ornamented with an earring, but her left ear was bare. All that remained was the faint scar from a piercing.

  Originally, Lacie’s left ear had worn an earring that matched the one on her right. However, at present, the earring that had graced Lacie’s left ear hung from Jack’s ear instead. Lacie had never said how this had come to be.

  How, eight years ago, on the day she’d first met Jack, she’d given him the earring.

  “—Yeah, it’s a common story.”

  Levi laughed, amused, and stood up from the sofa. In the end, he hadn’t answered the question, “Are you using those two as models this time, too?”

  He looked down at Lacie.

  “All right. He couldn’t make the napping or the cherry tomato work for him. What do you think Jack’s going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” Lacie answered.

  5

  The Baskerville mansion was on the outer edge of the forest. From the roof of the tower, it looked small.

  “Is this where we’re going to fight today, then?”

  Having been told by Jack to come to the roof, Oswald broached the subject, maintaining his habitual, unwavering reticence as he did so. There was absolutely nothing on the tower’s stone roof. It was a bleak, empty space.

  Jack nodded. “Yes, that’s right. You don’t like it?” he asked.

  As Oswald answered, his expression didn’t flicker:

  “It doesn’t matter. Do as you please.”

  The two of them stood at the center of the roof. They faced each other with just enough distance between them that the tips of their swords would touch, once they raised them. The situation was almost the same as it had been when Jack first challenged Oswald, a few days before.

  Oswald had said he didn’t care where they fought, and Jack beamed at him:

  “I like it. I’ve never been on the roof before. The view is terrific.”

  Then his eyes left Oswald, turning toward the door to the tower stairs.

  He called out, merrily:

  “Do you come here often, Lacie?”

  Lacie stood on the roof, right by the top of the stairs.

  She wasn’t there because Jack had invited her.

  Lacie had seen the two of them go up to the roof and had followed them, wordlessly. She stood beside the stairs, arms folded, watching them indifferently. At Jack’s question, Lacie shook her head slightly.

  “No, only a handful of times. The wind is strong here.”

  Even as Lacie spoke, a gust of wind whistled through, flaring her long hair and dress.

  With his blond braid waving in the wind, Jack said, “You’re right,” and smiled.

  “…Jack.”

  At that point, Oswald spoke dispassionately.

  He kept his eyes on Jack, as if he hadn’t noticed that his sister was there.

  “My master has summoned me after this. This is a trivial task, and I’d like to finish up quickly.”

  “‘Trivial task’? That’s rather unkind of you. I’m serious about this.”

  Even as he answered, Jack turned back to face him, still wearing that soft smile.

  “—All right, Oswald. Shall we?”

  He spoke quietly. Oswald nodded, smoothly drawing the sword at his hip. Then, when he fixed his eyes on Jack, he abruptly frowned.

  Jack’s hand only rested lightly on the hilt of the sword at his hip, and he made no move to draw.

  However, as if he was completely prepared, Jack spoke:

  “I’m ready when you are, Oswald.”

  Lacie, who was watching the two of them, also looked puzzled. “Jack…?” she murmured.

  Oswald didn’t seem to care whether his opponent had some sort of plan. “I see,” he murmured. Then he took a step straight toward Jack, as if to say he’d find out what it was once they began their fight. His blade bore down, slicing through the wind.

  However, Jack dodged by taking a great leap backward, out of the way. He was still turned solidly toward Oswald. Naturally, Oswald’s sword didn’t stop after that single stroke: He unleashed a second, then a third. Jack concentrated on evading; his hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, but it was as if he’d given up on mounting an attack of his own.

  Even so, he always escaped Oswald’s sword by the skin of his teeth.

  “—Whoops.”

  In no time at all, Jack had been driven to the edge of the roof.

  From where he stood, if he took one more step back, his foot would leave the roof, and he’d fall. Oswald watched Jack, wordlessly. His eyes were cold: Although emotionless, they wouldn’t let the other man’s slightest move escape them.

  In a voice as stern as iron, Oswald spoke:

  “What are you playing at today? Do you intend to end this without drawing?”

  At the question, Jack smiled faintly.

  “Lacie told me, you see.”

  “……?”

  Jack hadn’t answered his question, and Oswald narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

  Jack looked back at Oswald, and his gaze was oddly peaceful. If it had been a color, it would have been transparent. If it had been a sound, it would have been silence.

  Jack spoke:

  “I’ll draw, Oswald.”

  Casually, Jack launched himself from where he stood. His body rose, gently.

  He jumped…lightly…backward.

  Then it was as if he’d been swallowed up.

  He plummeted from the roof, toward the ground—

  “………!!”

  Oswald moved quickly. Even so, if he’d started a moment later, he probably wouldn’t have made it.

  He threw his sword aside and ran, dropped to his knees at the edge of the roof, and caught Jack’s wrist as he fell. His body lurched forward as it took Jack’s weight, but Oswald managed to support it. Behind them, Lacie gave a small cry, but Oswald didn’t respond.

  He only turned wide, shocked eyes on Jack, below him. Jack swung in midair, supported only by Oswald’s arm.

  If he fell, there was absolutely no chance he’d survive. However, as Jack looked up at Oswald, he smiled quietly.

  “Oswald, you’re strong. My sword would never reach you. But…

  “Lacie told me, you see.”

  “The people Nii-sama likes are probably a weakness, too.

  “It’s you, Jack.”

  …And so.

  “Now is ‘the time’—”

  Jack’s free hand went to the s
word at his hip. He caught the hilt, drew it out.

  Oswald’s hand was currently holding Jack’s wrist.

  He was holding on tightly, so he wouldn’t let go. So Jack wouldn’t slip free. So he wouldn’t drop Jack.

  He was completely defenseless.

  “I win, Oswald.”

  “……Jack!”

  As he picked up on Jack’s intention, Oswald’s expression was tinged with shock. Whirr. Jack’s sword swung, slicing through the wind. Over his own head.

  The blade bore down on Oswald’s neck. He really shouldn’t have been able to avoid the attack, but Oswald leaned back, still supporting Jack, and managed to dodge it. The sword cut through the sky. Jack’s expression tensed with surprise and admiration.

  Jack’s words were honest, unadulterated praise:

  “That’s incredible. You can actually dodge from a position like that…?”

  However, evading from an impossible position had taken its toll, and the grip Oswald had on his wrist slackened. Jack’s body lurched, on the point of falling. Oswald’s hand had slipped off his wrist, but at the very last moment, Oswald managed to grab Jack’s hand. He squeezed hard.

  Staring blankly, Jack simply let himself be caught. Then a sharp reprimand flew at him:

  “What are you doing, Jack?!”

  It was the first time Jack had heard Oswald lose his temper.

  “Hold on tight! Grab my hand!”

  “Oswald…?”

  Jack sounded bewildered, but when Oswald yelled, “Hold on!” again, he timidly tightened his grip.

  “Don’t let go,” Oswald ordered, and he hauled him up onto the roof with all his might. Having been practically thrown back onto the roof, Jack got up slowly, brushing the dust off his clothes. Beside him, Oswald exhaled once, deeply, and glared at Jack.

  “Jack! You—!”

  Interrupting him, Lacie stalked over to them, coming to stand between them.

  She stood with her back to Oswald, facing Jack.

  Finding himself the focus of a grim, cold gaze, Jack responded with a slight smile:

  “Lacie, I’m sorry—”

  Without warning, Lacie’s open hand flew at Jack’s cheek. It was a full-force attack.

  There was a sharp smack.

  Taken by surprise, Jack froze, his eyes wide. Lacie glared at him with unmistakable fury.

  “You really are a fool… You make me sick.”

  With that parting shot, Lacie turned briskly and walked off. It had been a merciless slap, and Jack’s cheek was flushed and smarting. He held a hand to it, watching Lacie go. Oswald had regained his reticence, as if his sister’s actions had taken the edge off his own anger.

  For a while, left behind on the roof, the two of them were silent. Finally, quietly, Oswald asked:

  “Just what were you trying to do, pulling a stunt like that?”

  In response, Jack said, “…Huh?” He was straight-faced, and he sounded as if he hadn’t expected the question. Oswald gave a small sigh and elaborated:

  “I’m asking you why you’ve turned your sword on me over and over again since the other day.”

  Even that extra information wasn’t enough to erase the surprise from Jack’s face. He murmured, “Huh?” again. “Wait just a minute. You mean your master didn’t tell you anything?”

  Oswald nodded. “All my master said was, ‘If Jack attacks you, be his opponent.’

  “With a toy sword, not a real one,” he added, pointing to the sword he’d returned to its sheath. With very little enthusiasm, Jack asked, “…Then why did you think I kept challenging you over and over?”

  “Hmm. Well…”

  As Oswald thought about Jack’s question, his face was so serious it was strange. The question should have been simple, but he thought about it for a long, long time before he finally answered:

  “I hadn’t given it much thought… I suppose I assumed you were bored.”

  “……What kind of fellow do you think I am?” Jack’s shoulders slumped.

  “There must be something behind it, though, for you to do a thing like that.”

  “You’re right.”

  Jack drooped, looking discouraged.

  “I made Lacie angry. I didn’t mean to do that…”

  Oswald frowned at this response, as if it didn’t match up somehow. Jack’s words hadn’t held the slightest consideration for the danger he himself had been in.

  However, possibly because he didn’t feel like asking about it, Oswald only murmured, “True.” He turned toward the stairway Lacie had descended. In a voice that was as even as ever, he continued:

  “It’s unusual to see my sister that way. She must have been very annoyed.”

  “I want to take Lacie outside the grounds.”

  The voice that had spoken behind him was earnest, and Oswald turned back.

  He gazed at Jack, nodding gravely, as if he’d understood the situation at once from those few words.

  “I see. So that’s what my master told you, is it? If you won against me, he’d allow you to take Lacie outside… It sounds like something he’d say. And so you did that in order to create a vulnerability for me?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Because you’re kind.”

  Then, his expression changing, Jack spoke seriously, although there was a vague hesitation in his voice:

  “I failed, though. Since that’s the case, this is all I can do now. …Lacie said what she said, but I just can’t seem to understand it… Still, this is the only move I have left. And so, erm, I, um…”

  His words were vague and rambling. It was unusual to see him like this.

  Jack blushed red and bowed his head vigorously.

  “Please. Would you lose to me?”

  Oswald’s eyes widened slightly.

  He didn’t open his mouth right away. Instead, he thought silently for a while. When Jack raised his head, cautiously, Oswald was looking straight at him, mouth still closed. It felt as if he was being glared at, and Jack cringed slightly. The wind blew across the roof, brushing past them, tugging at their hair and clothes.

  Finally, Oswald spoke:

  “Before I answer, let me ask you one thing.”

  Oswald’s voice was low, and Jack looked meek. “What might that be?” he responded.

  The wind blew harder, tossing Jack’s blond braid.

  As Oswald asked his question, dispassionately, he kept his expression nearly still:

  “What if?”

  Jack answered the question without hesitation, wearing a perfectly sincere smile:

  “, of course.”

  At his answer, Oswald said, “I see,” and sighed lightly.

  Then his eyes went to Jack. His gaze was sharp, a warrior’s eyes, and it was impossible to tell what sort of personal feelings lay behind it. Slowly, Oswald raised his sword, pointing the tip at Jack and lowering his center of gravity slightly.

  “Unfortunately, my master also instructed me not to lose. As his valet, I must not go against his orders.”

  Fixing his eyes on Jack, he told him:

  “You really are disgusting.”

  Even as he spoke, he swung his sword at Jack. Jack’s eyes went round. It slowed his reaction by an instant, but he managed—just barely—to catch the sword with his blade before it came down on his shoulder. However, the heavy, fierce attack had thrown him far off-balance. This fact did not escape Oswald, and he unleashed another attack on the heels of the first.

  Those two attacks were the only ones Jack managed to ward off.

  When Oswald took the third attack, the sword Jack had in his hand was knocked high into the air, just as it had been during their first match.

  He fell onto his back, defenseless.

  Oswald stepped even closer to the fallen Jack.

  Jack’s breathing was harsh. He stared up at Oswald with a dazed expression.

  “Os…wald—”

  “It’s over.”

  Just then, they both heard a whistling sound as
something sliced through the wind. Oswald stayed the hand that had been about to bring the sword down, leaning away to the side. Something glinted, reflecting the sunlight. It skimmed past Oswald’s head, grazed Jack’s right ear where he lay, and buried its tip in the stone flags.

  It was Jack’s sword. It had been flung straight up in the air. Oswald was silent.

  “Ah—”

  Murmuring that single sound, Jack stretched his hand out into space.

  The hand caught a single strand of hair that was drifting slowly down. A jet-black hair. It was Oswald’s. The sword had severed it when the blade skimmed past his head. Oswald glanced without much interest at the hair in Jack’s hand.

  “It was only a scratch, but a scratch is an attack.”

  “Huh? Wait, did you do that on—” Jack muttered.

  Oswald spoke in a voice that betrayed no emotion:

  “You win, Jack.”

  With those brief words, Oswald left the roof. The atmosphere he wore seemed ready to repel any words that might be sent his way. Jack, left behind, was stunned.

  His hand gripped the lone hair as if it were an amulet.

  6

  When did it begin? Lacie wondered.

  The black haze that hung in her heart.

  It had been barely noticeable at first, but every time she saw Jack, every time she spent more time with him, little by little, the haze grew inside her. It didn’t hurt or ache; it wasn’t painful. Even so, she couldn’t ignore it.

  From time to time, it asserted itself, catching her unawares.

  Every time it did, Lacie felt as if her heart were being squeezed.

  She didn’t understand what it was.

  When Jack had tried to jump off the roof, she hadn’t slapped him because she was worried about him.

  It had been pure anger at having her emotions disturbed, an act rooted in intense irritation. Still, it didn’t feel as though the true form of the black haze was “anger” or “irritation.”

  There was something inside her that she couldn’t understand. The fact made her restless. She’d accepted even her own destruction, which was scheduled for the not-so-distant future, without resistance, but this… This was unpleasant.

  Every time she saw Jack— No, even thinking about Jack made the haze expand.