As he ran, Gilbert saw red. Alice should have been with Oz. What had she been doing? She was stupid and a glutton, but she should have at least done what it took to protect Oz. …Or had the two of them gotten separated?
Considering Alice’s capriciousness, that seemed likely.
From what the old man had said, it had sounded as though only one person had been taken away.
“Dammit! Oz—!”
“With those duds, he’s gotta be nobility.”
“Yeah. A dumb one. Some aristocrat’s brat, messing around on his own in a place like that…”
“No kidding. What did the boss say we’re doing?”
“Fleecing his folks for as much as we can get. Must be rough, having a kid who’s a moron.”
“Well, thanks to that, we get rich. Better be grateful.”
“You said it. And? What’s the blond brat doing now?”
“The boss is trying to get his story out of him, but he’s having trouble. Apparently the kid’s clammed up.”
Crouching in the shadows, Gilbert muffled his breathing.
He was listening closely to the conversation that drifted to him from the building’s back door, just a few meters away. The speakers were two members of the Gray Snake syndicate. The “aristocrat’s brat” they’d mentioned was probably Oz.
From what they were saying, Gilbert gathered that Oz was still safe, and he felt very slightly relieved.
However, at the same time, he couldn’t completely control his irritation at the many insulting things that were being said about his master.
He wanted to get right out there and hit them with a few choice words, but he clamped down the urge. Until he’d saved Oz, he had to move with the greatest possible care.
Oz is…with the boss, huh? …Maybe on the top floor?
Gilbert looked up at the building from where he hid beside it, behind an old fire cistern. He was currently behind the four-story tenement that the Gray Snake used as its headquarters.
He’d checked the front door first, but it had been tightly guarded by six syndicate members. The number wasn’t a problem, but it would be hard to defeat them without letting them raise the alarm. All the first-floor windows had been shut firmly from the inside, and he’d decided that if he was going to infiltrate, it would have to be through the back door.
There were two men standing at that back door.
If they’d only give him an opening, he could incapacitate them in an instant, even without using his gun.
The two members kept talking. The topic had shifted to predicting the cut they’d be given, and how they were going to use it.
A cheerful laugh went up. They seemed pretty relaxed and careless. Was it time to make his move? Gilbert was about to carefully peek out from his shelter, when…
Tunk.
As he began to change position, Gilbert’s heel struck an empty liquor bottle that was lying on the ground.
Startled, Gilbert froze.
!
Hastily, he reached out for the empty bottle as it rolled away, but it was too late. The bottle struck the fire cistern with an unexpectedly loud noise. He sensed it when the syndicate members who were standing at the back door flinched. Something cold ran down Gilbert’s spine.
“Hey, did you hear something just now?”
“Yeah, over there… The fire cistern?”
Gilbert could hear the two members talking.
What do I do? What do I do? Just ignore it—I’m begging you! Gilbert was flustered.
Please ignore it, he prayed.
“I’ll go check on it, just in case,” one of the pair said.
There was the sound of approaching footsteps. The man who’d stayed at the back door spoke carelessly:
“I bet it’s a cat. Just a cat. I hear there’s more of ’em around here lately.”
A cat. It was a snap decision. Gilbert tensed his throat, and:
“…Mroooowwwr.”
He gave his very best cat impression. He hated cats. He’d never dreamed the day would come when he’d imitate one.
He’d performed the imitation on reflex, and afterward, in spite of himself, he broke out in mild goose bumps.
However, it seemed to have worked: The approaching footsteps stopped, and he heard a voice say, “So it was just a cat.” For a moment, Gilbert felt relieved.
And then.
“I like cats. I’ve got three at home. C’mere, kitty-kitty. ”
Whaaaaaaat?!
Gilbert was aghast.
As the footsteps began coming closer again, there was no more time to think or hesitate. Knowing that the first one to strike would win, Gilbert leapt out from behind the fire cistern. He locked eyes with the approaching syndicate member. The man’s eyes went wide. His mouth moved as he prepared to yell.
Before he could make a sound—
“Sorry I’m not a cat!”
Gilbert brought the butt of his gun down on the other man’s head. There was a dull sound, and the man collapsed. As he did, Gilbert’s eyes were already on the back door.
He must have managed to catch them unawares; the man who’d stayed at the door was frozen, a startled look on his face. Gilbert couldn’t let him alert the others inside. He sprinted to the back door in one burst. Just as the man yelled, “You—?!”, he launched a kick into his solar plexus.
The man was knocked back against the wall, lost consciousness, and slumped to the ground.
Did they hear that…inside?!
He didn’t know. He didn’t know, but under the circumstances, it was now or never.
He approached the back door, turned the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He listened for sounds beyond the door, and when he was sure he couldn’t hear anything, he flung it open.
On the other side, a dim hallway stretched away. It was silent.
From this point on, speed is what matters.
Gilbert tightened his fingers around the grip of his gun and raced down the corridor like a shadow.
Hang on, Oz!
THE TOP FLOOR OF THE GRAY SNAKE’S STRONGHOLD.
There had been many rooms on the other floors of the tenement that acted as their base of operations, but the top floor seemed to be just one large room.
Gilbert stood in front of a set of big double doors, the sort that looked like the entrance to a hall. He’d put all the syndicate members he’d encountered on his way here out of commission before they could raise the alarm. The men who’d been standing guard in front of the big doors were currently lying at Gilbert’s feet, unconscious.
They had Oz on the other side. Even as his unease spurred him on, he put his ear to the door, telling himself to calm down.
He could hear faint voices in conversation.
“You think maybe this guy’s mute? He just stares at you like a moron, no matter what you ask him.”
The voice sounded irritated. Did it belong to the boss?
Apparently the captive Oz was responding to all questions with silence.
A hum of voices came to Gilbert through the door.
Apparently, the boss and Oz weren’t the only ones on the other side. Ten people? …Probably not quite, but he guessed there were seven or eight syndicate members, besides the boss.
What do I do?
Should he charge in from the front? Should he come up with some kind of plan? Just as Gilbert was thinking this…
“Hey. Give me your knife.”
The voice that seemed to belong to the boss spoke.
“I bet he’ll talk if we cut off a finger. C’mon, hand it over!”
Wha…?!
Unless he did something, Oz was going to lose a finger.
Instantly, before he could think, he kicked the big doors open.
He leapt into the room. It was a vast space. Inside, as Gilbert had expected, was a man who seemed to be the boss—holding a knife—and syndicate members with guns in their hands. There were eight of them.
The boss was standing surrounded by his men, with
his back to Gilbert. As the big doors flew open with a bang, the men’s startled faces all turned toward them.
However, Gilbert didn’t have the leeway to care about the syndicate members; his eyes went directly to the boss’s feet.
At those feet lay a pitiful-looking kid, trussed up with rope. He was facing away from Gilbert, who could see the back of his blond head.
Frantically, Gilbert called his name:
“O—”
The kid rolled over, turning to face him.
At that…
“……………………………………………………………………………Huh? Who’re you?”
Gilbert was dumbfounded.
For a moment, he really had no idea who it was that lay there, but after a few seconds, he understood.
The kid on the ground was the one who’d blown his nose on his coat, the commercial association president’s only son.
It’s…not…Oz?
In spite of himself, Gilbert looked as though he’d managed to misplace his soul.
“…What the… An intruder? Tch! What are the guys downstairs doing?!”
The boss spoke, irritated, turning toward Gilbert. With angry yells, the syndicate men leveled their guns at him.
However, Gilbert didn’t even see the guns that were trained on him. He was desperately organizing his thoughts.
The captured kid hadn’t been Oz.
Now that he thought about it, all the old man had said was “a blond brat in good clothes.” He’d simply jumped to conclusions. He was disgusted with himself. So all that frantic running around had been wasted effort?
………What am I doing?
His shoulders slumped, and he gave a long, tired sigh: “Haaaaaaaah.”
Gilbert had leapt into the room, then looked abruptly deflated. And the boss yelled, as though he thought Gilbert was making fun of him:
“Hey, joker! Do you understand the situation here?! I dunno whether you came to save the hostage or what, but you bust into the Gray Snake’s headquarters, you better believe you ain’t walking out in one piece! Get him, men!”
At the boss’s words, the syndicate men fired, one after another. However, none of them had spent much time at target practice. Most of the bullets missed, and Gilbert was able to dodge the ones that headed in his approximate direction by twisting slightly, so that they only skimmed his coat.
From the floor, the president’s son was staring up at him with round eyes.
What am I doing…? he thought again.
Gilbert’s anger and disgust at himself got muddled together, turning into an unfamiliar emotion that surged inside him. At that point, having exhausted their bullets, the syndicate members rushed him en masse, yelling and cursing.
They were howling random things about syndicate traditions and pride, but…
In response, Gilbert thought:
Argh, for the love of…!
Inside his head, he heard something snap.
“You people are too damn confusing________________________________!!”
He went berserk, as if taking everything out on them.
As he rampaged, a thought abruptly materialized in a corner of his mind:
Oz isn’t here… In that case…
Where was he?
9
Under a vermillion evening sky.
Gilbert had made his way back to Hodgepodge Street with the kid he’d ended up rescuing from the Gray Snake. The street was gearing up for its lively nighttime hours. It was beginning to show a different kind of bustle from the one he’d seen at noon.
“Kid…”
Gilbert set down the kid; he’d been carrying him under his arm. The kid looked up at him, blankly.
“I’m trying to find somebody.”
The kid tilted his head in confusion, pointing at himself.
“No, not you. My master. So… Can you get home from here by yourself?”
The kid nodded.
“Don’t ever go back that way again, you hear me?”
The kid nodded. Does he really understand? He wasn’t at all confident about that, but it had been quite a while since he’d lost sight of Oz and Alice. He couldn’t afford to take any more trouble over the kid. Possibly the kid had picked up on Gilbert’s feelings; he spoke, softly:
“I won’t. ……That was scary.”
“It was, huh?”
Gilbert ruffled his hair, then let go, and the kid trotted off. Go straight home, Gilbert thought, then realized he didn’t even know the kid’s name.
He called after him:
“Kid, what’s your name?”
The kid stopped in his tracks, turned back, and said, “Ojji.” Then he immediately turned around again and disappeared from view.
His blond hair, like Oz’s, bounced as he ran.
“…Even his name’s sort of similar.”
Gilbert’s expression turned sour.
That’s Oz!
As he walked rapidly down Hodgepodge Street, Gilbert spotted Oz coming toward him. Hastily, he ducked behind a nearby stack of wooden crates.
Cautiously, he peeked out from the shadow of the crates, looking the pair over. Alice was next to Oz. The two of them seemed to be walking along without saying much to each other. Every once in a while, Alice would speak to Oz, looking a little concerned.
Huh? Oz…?
Gilbert’s eyes were playing tricks on him. For a moment, it had looked as though Oz was crying.
He wasn’t actually crying, but his shoulders drooped, and he looked depressed.
Gilbert almost ran over to him on reflex, but he managed—barely—to restrain himself. What happened? He frowned.
When he looked closer, he saw that Oz held something in one hand.
It’s a…box? A box of what?
The box Oz held was small enough to fit in one hand. He wondered if it was the reason Oz had come to this neighborhood.
Meanwhile, Oz and Alice were getting nearer and nearer. If they kept coming this way, they’d pass right by the crates where Gilbert was hiding, and if that happened, they’d see him. He glanced around, searching for another place to hide.
Then, abruptly, the sound of their footsteps stopped. Gilbert looked back in their direction.
Oz and Alice were standing in front of a rubbish dump by the side of Hodgepodge Street. As Gilbert watched them, Oz tossed the small box he held into the dump. Then he spoke to Alice.
Since they were close, Gilbert heard their conversation.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“It’s fine. …Let’s go home, Alice.”
With that, Oz began to run, heading away from the rubbish dump.
Hastily, Gilbert crouched down in the shadow of the crates. First Oz, then Alice, ran right past him.
Fortunately, neither of them seemed to have noticed Gilbert. He considered following Oz, but he was curious about the little box Oz had thrown away.
Oz had said they were going home. Alice was with him, so if they went straight home, he thought they’d probably be all right.
Just to be on the safe side, Gilbert looked back, making sure he couldn’t see Oz and Alice. Then he walked over to the rubbish dump. There were all sorts of discarded cardboard boxes, paper bags, and cloth sacks. The little box Oz had thrown away had fallen on top of them.
The impact of being tossed had jolted the lid halfway off. When Gilbert bent closer to look, he saw its contents.
…A black…glove?
Gilbert picked up the box and took out what was inside.
It was a brand-new leather glove, all black.
Gilbert examined the glove closely, then tilted his head, curiously.
“There’s just one…?” he murmured.
He glanced at the rubbish dump again.
The small box had held only one glove, the right one. He looked around the dump, but he didn’t see the left glove.
Had Oz taken the remaining glove home with him? That wouldn’
t have been natural. He couldn’t possibly have any use for an unmatched glove.
Gilbert gazed at the leather glove in his hand. It was black, and the size was too large for Oz’s hands. Abruptly realizing something, Gilbert checked the inside of the box again.
The empty box still held a single card. Gilbert caught the edge with his fingertips and took the card out. It might have been a message card; it held a short note.
Just one sentence, written in a flowing hand:
To my dear friend…
Just then.
Tunk. Something was pressed against Gilbert’s back.
?!
Startled, Gilbert froze. The object was hard, and it felt like the end of a stick… Like the muzzle of a gun.
Gilbert hadn’t been paying any attention at all to what was behind him, and now he regretted it. As he began to turn around on reflex, a voice just behind him said, “Don’t move.” The voice was muffled, as if the speaker had a cloth pressed to his mouth. Only one explanation came to mind.
“You really did a number on our organization a little while ago.”
He got around behind me…?!
He didn’t know what to do. His mind was flooded with anxiety. He should have seen this coming. He’d gone on a full-blown rampage, and it hadn’t been likely the Gray Snake would just let him walk away.
“Put both hands out where I can see them.”
The bloodlust in the voice was terribly sharp. Cold sweat beaded up on Gilbert’s forehead.
The man seemed to be alone, but it was clear that he was far, far more skilled then the boss or the syndicate members back at the Gray Snake’s stronghold had been. He’d caught Gilbert off guard, but he still wasn’t giving him any opportunities. For now, Gilbert would just have to obey the man and keep an eye out for openings.
When he followed the order obediently, the man behind his back spoke again:
“Kneel, then hang your head. Don’t make any suspicious movements unless you want to get shot.”
Rrgh! Gritting his teeth, Gilbert obeyed. The object that was probably a gun was still pressed firmly against his back.
“You’re here for revenge? What are you going to do with m—”
“Now say ‘woof.’”
“…Huh?”
PandoraHearts ~Caucus Race~, Vol. 3 Page 9