Kyou kara Ma no Tsuku Jiyuugyou! Vol 2 Chapter 4

It's been about six years since he last stepped inside his own kitchen.

Gwendal's feet stop at the door. He really doesn't want to have anything further to do with this.

"Günter! What are you doing in my kitchen?!"

...'And here he comes' is the thought conveyed quite clearly by Lord von Kleist's eyes. He is standing in front of a cauldron filled with boiling oil with a headband around his forehead.

"Fortune-telling again?"

"Yes. If I can sense the dangers His Majesty faces, if I can be of any help to him at all..."

"This is useless."

There wouldn't be any way of helping them even if he could foresee the dangers, since no sorcery would be able to reach them in the middle of the ocean. But faced with the fresh blue-black bruises under Günter's eyes, Gwendal loses the energy to confront him with those facts. His gaze falls to the oil.

"...What are you planning to do?"

"Drop a baby mouse into this boiling cauldron of oil."

The intelligent, beautiful and dignified tutor raises a hapless little white mouse by the tip of its tail. His ferocious smile exposes the true Mazoku within: a demonic beauty that captivates and beguiles all.

All of which is inconsequential to Gwendal.

His voice is a low sardonic rumble that would surely prostrate all who heard it. "Well, well. I suppose a rodent will suffice for a king such as that."

The corners of his lips curve derisively.

"Of course! What a foolish mistake! How could a mouse predict the journey of our noble exalted king? Oh Gwendal, what should I do? Well, for now—" Günter raises his other arm swiftly. "—a kitten should do."

The spotted cat shivers, dangling from a grip illustrated in pet books as an example of 'how not to hold your cat.'

The cool-headed, handsome cynic (ladies, discuss) unexpectedly snaps.

"Stop! Stop right now!! How dare you mistreat a kitten like this? Look, it's so frightened that it's mewing 'meh meh!' You poor thing, it's all right, I would never let him do something so horrible to you—"

"...Gwen...you..."

"Günter...you bastard..." The tutor pales at the voice that seems to rumble up from the ground. "If you ever mistreat a kitten like that again, I will have your head."

And do what with it?

This is no time for verb conjugations—where is the life vest?!

I peer under the bed. Apparently there was just the one impact.

"See, look, we're going to end up like the Titanic! We must've struck an iceberg!"

"But we're traveling on warm current."

"We must've hit an iceberg in the warm current, then."

There are screams and the footsteps of a great many people from the hall and diner. Sounds like they're already panicking. I wonder if that orchestra will play a last hymn as we're sinking?

"Stop standing about, Wolfram! Get your trousers and coat and run! Dammit, I can't believe Conrad's not here at a time like this..."

"Yuuri!"

The door slams open with enough force to tear it from the jamb, and Conrad rushes into the room. The frozen look on his face doesn't seem Conrad-like at all. His sleeve is stained with spilled wine.

"Thank goodness you got back here safely. Though Josa did say you were fine."

"Josa? Is Josa the woman who looks like she could win a golden glove as a center? Look, Conrad, sorry, but I don't really have time to ask if everything went well with Miss Biceps right now. Is this ship sinking? Is it half-sunk already?!"

His expression says he has no idea what I'm talking about. Guess it's not an iceberg. Are we stranded, then? Or is it an evil illusionary giant squid that has already devoured ten fishermen?

"I don't think we're sinking—it's worse. Wolfram!"

"What?"

"Do you have your sword?"

"Yes!"

His cheeks, pale with seasickness and displeasure, visibly gain color as he flushes with excitement. He must be looking forward to the chance for some fighting. Does he enjoy the prospect of crossing swords that much?

"Good. Then the two of you, hide here."

"What are you doing?!"

Conrad pushes us into the closet. The cane that he's carried all this way is in his hand. He draws it in a single smooth motion, and steel flashes. I didn't know it was a sword cane. He shifts the blade behind him and goes to one knee, leaning in close to say in a low voice, "Please listen quietly. This ship is under attack by sea robbers."

"Pirates?!"

"Yes. A great many of them have already broken in."

"Then you should hurry up and hide too, Conrad!"

"What are you talking about?" I gulp at Lord Weller's smile. "This is why I'm here."

The exchange takes only a second, and his hand is on the door.

"I'll hold them from the deck for as long as I can. We want to give them the impression that everyone has fled from this room, so please keep as quiet as you can. Don't anger them. If anything should happen to you, Günter and our people will weep."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"You'd weep for me too, right?"

His eyes soften, just a little.

"In that case, let us meet again in another place."

I don't have a chance to ask him what he means. Wolfram moves to leave, his slender sword in his hand.

"I'll fight too! Do you have no faith in my skill?!"

"I do. That is why, Wolfram, I have entrusted His Majesty to you."

The stubborn pretty boy finds himself at a loss for words. He can't refute that trust. I remove my formal evening jacket and toss it aside, then roll up my sleeves and put my arms around the third son's shoulders.

"Well then, leave your brother to me!"

"Please look after him...Yuuri."

In the moment Wolfram looks away, he wraps an arm around my neck and draws me close to whisper briefly, "Please forgive me, if I do not return."

"Wha..."

He closes the double doors and walks away. His brisk footsteps are quickly swallowed into the pandemonium of the distant deck.

He has gone to battle, those disquieting words laden with meaning left behind.

All is chaos for a little while afterwards. There are the metallic clangs of sword clashing against sword, the sounds of vases and plates shattering, of rushing footsteps and screams and cries that make me want to cover my ears.

Wolfram and I breathe quietly, listening intently for any hint of what is happening outside.

Quiet falls by degrees, and before long the screams and bellows subside.

I recall a Western film I saw on TV half a year ago, right before I took my exams. When the children who were in hiding venture outside, no one remains: neither the enemy nor their father, after so much tumult and violence.

Even though Wolfram could not have guessed at my feelings, his hand falls on mine. We huddle together in the cramped space of the too-small-to-be-called-a-walk-in closet, shivering.

No, I'm the only one who's shivering.

Wolfram is a soldier, after all. Even if he's not used to playing such a dangerous game of hide-and-seek, it can't be his first time.

"...Are you okay, Yuuri?"

"O-of course I am!"

I grip the hand touching mine, closing my eyes, and hang my head.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

He's not laughing at me, is he?

It's just...it's not just that I'm frightened, not even that I'm scared stiff—it's this silence, this tension, that is unbearably painful...

My roommate seems to read my mind. He whispers, "Like Conrart said, don't do anything rash if we're found. They're not going to kill you if you don't resist, 'cause you've got such good looks."

"Then you'd better not do anything either. You're several times cuter than me. No one would kill someone as pretty as you."

"No way. I am a warrior of the Mazoku; if I don't fight, I can't be allowed to live."

"That's stupid."

"Shush!"

There's the click of the doorknob turning, followed by the slam of the door being forced open. Someone steps into the room.

"All the valuables 'ave already been taken, eh? 'Ave they escaped?"

"No chance. We've already confirmed that none of the deluxe suite passengers were on deck. He knows all of the passengers on this ship. It's another matter if they've gone overboard, but none of the rich men on this pleasure cruise have that kind of courage."

There are two of them.

One speaks in a tank-like rumble that sounds like he has a caterpillar wandering around the back of his throat, and the other has a fighter jet voice so shrill that it hurts the ears.

"These are supposed t'be rich men? Looks like they don't got much on 'em." Tank.

"Still, the cost of staying in this here deluxe suite for a night could get you a year's passage in the third-class cabin." Fighter Jet.

"Daaamn, I wanna be in their shoes." Tank.

"Don't be an idiot. Look in the bedroom too." Fighter Jet...I'm starting to feel like I'm playing army chess here.

The creak of the floorboards in front of the bed indicates that they're right next to us.

"Oh yeah, what happened to those brave fellas?"

He's talking about Conrad!

The tips of my toes hit the door when I unconsciously lean forward.

"Hey! Is something in there?!"

Oh no!

We're seconds away from the fate of ninjas in a historical drama here: the ones who get stabbed by a spear while they're hiding above the ceiling or beneath the floor eavesdropping on a secret conversation. "Echigoya, didst thou hear that sound?"

"'Twas but a mouse, Lord Governor." Oh yeah, there's an idea.

I ask for Wolfram's opinion in a barely-audible whisper. "Maybe we can pretend we're little animals."

"Maybe. How about a negroshinoyamakishy?"

Neg...what the heck?! That CD of animal sounds I was always listening to when I was a kid didn't have anything as hard as that. I mean, Earth doesn't have anything like that.

This is no time to be wondering what kind of an animal it is. We're too big to be mice, and it'd be weird if we were keeping a cow in the closet. There's just one thing left in my repertoire, so let's try cat.

"Me-meow."

Tank and Fighter Jet instantly react.

"It's a zomosagori dragon!"

"Don't zomosagori dragons eat people even when they're tiny?! We can't take it on alone, get the others!"

Dragon?! Dragon, as in a relative of the dinosaur?!

Wolfram covers his face with his palms in defeat.

"This is bad, they're getting the wrong impression! When did I make a dragon sound?! I was going for a cute cat..."

"Cats are supposed to go 'meh meh'!"

"That's sheep!"

The situation takes a turn for the worse when about eight people surround us.

"We're opening it, you all ready?!"

No, we're not all ready.

Silver glitters next to me.

"Wolfram, don't—"

The doors are opened to their fullest. While my eyes are dazzled by the light rushing in, Wolfram cuts off one person's arm and grazes another's stomach. But the remaining six advance on him from behind, swinging huge cutlasses.

"Wolfram! Don't, there're too many of them!"

"Shut up!"

"I'm begging you, Wolf! Stop it...that's an order!"

He freezes and without looking at me allows the sword to drop.

The empty metallic clank of the sword echoes in the room.

Torches burn everywhere, as if we were holding the fire festival a little early. It's as bright as noon, so bright that it illuminates the pirates' ship parked alongside ours.

The deck, where most of the passengers and crew have been gathered, smells like that show where they hack up tuna. From the looks of it, there's been bloodshed on both sides.

The pirate chief appears to be in great humor up on his platform of stacked wooden boxes.

"Y'all are lookin' mighty fine tonight," he addresses the passengers through a megaphone, holding it with his pinky sticking out. It's a mike performance.

Our eight-men entourage herds us into a group of POWs. Wolfram is still dressed like a madam who's just stepped out of her bath, and I've left my jacket behind. Though it's spring, the ocean wind is cold.

I spot Conrad and Hiscruyff in the group of sailors and male passengers—which includes Miss Biceps, for some reason. She must have fought as courageously as any man. All three are standing on their own feet, and don't seem to have sustained any major injuries.

Sorry Conrad, you tried so hard to hide us, I apologize silently to him. It wasn't your brother's fault, it was mine one hundred percent. Oh, but I have some good news, too. My imitation repertoire's increased by one. Zomosagori dragon. It'd surprise even Edoya Nekohachi.

I struggle in the grip of the pirate holding me, trying to get to them, but he seizes both of my arms along with the inside of my collar and drags me up to the chief.

"The deluxe suite passengers, eh?"

"That's right, Chief."

I look up the wooden box, and my mouth drops open. I have a hard time closing it. Part of it is curiosity—this is my first pirate after all, but mostly it's because he's so mind-bendingly different from the way I imagined pirates since I was a little kid. They're not wearing shirts with vertical stripes. They're also nothing like the pirates from Peter Pan or the Caribbean. Doesn't look like they can stretch their arms and feet like rubber, either.

He's rather short, but has broad shoulders and a thickly-muscled chest. His silver-blond beard, almost white, starts all the way from his sideburns. His ruddy face has an old scar across one cheek—in short, he's a magnificent example of a man of the sea.

But he's wearing...yes, that is what it is from any angle—a sailor uniform.

Why a sailor uniform?! Well, I guess pirates are sailors too, but why a gathered skirt?! A white-and-light-blue sailor uniform of the kind that schoolgirls wear in Japan?!

The shock drains all the strength from my knees, and I plop to the ground on my behind. In his left hand, the one not holding the megaphone, glints a wide steel blade.

Sailor uniform and...cutlass.

"My sympathies, young sir, but don't be afraid. We are pirates with a pedigree, we are, and we don't go 'round killin' our guests."

That drawl—a Southern accent?

"'Course, we make an exception for them as put up a fight. They can scream and drop dead, for all we care. All the heroes on board quieted right down in front of the ladies, har har."

So in short, they're holding the women and children hostage?

"I hear you're on your honeymoon, an' want to be sold together."

Unwinding his turban, Wolfram asks me, "Honeymoon?"

"Don't know anything about it," I reply from my position on the floor, not yet recovered from the shock of the sailor uniforms.

Still with his pinky sticking out, the chief brings the megaphone to his mouth.

"Now, will the ladies please move next to me! You'll be workin' on my ship till you meet your new lords and masters in your high-falutin' new homes!"

New what? Is that pirate-speak for husband? Does he have a side business running a marriage-consulting office or something? But this is the age of equal-opportunity employment, and men and women both have the right to be employed. The women are driven across the ramp, weeping in anguish.

"Yar. Passenger from the deluxe suite, you look like there's somethin' crawlin' up your throat."

"...You said you were pirates with a pedigree...!"

From ten meters away Conrad makes a downward gesture with both hands as if he knows how close I am to an eruption. Softly, softly?

Oh, hold it down, hold it down?

I choke the words back down.

"...So, pirates, huh?...I guess you must have buffet breakfasts...?"

"We don't eat breakfast."

Damn it.

Conrad's right, I have to hold myself back here. Being the only complainer won't get me anywhere. If I make a wrong move, I'll be chucked overboard, and they'll have to bear the consequences. And I have to think about the other passengers, too.

I can't indulge in my petty sense of justice when it could lead to people getting hurt in a big way. I can't...I can't, but...

The chief puts a hand on a keg and says as his skirt hem flutters in the wind, "Now, next! Which of the children'll sell for a good price? Bring 'em forward!"

"You're going to sell them?!"

A young girl wails like a broken alarm as she's dragged away from her mother.

"Granmama—!"

I reflexively look around for a grandmother. None around.

"Damgranmamaaaa!"

Was she swearing at her mother?! Young lady, that's a bit crass.

Wolfram snorts with disdain. "Humph, Human baby talk is so offensive."

"Baby talk?"

"She's calling for her 'beloved mother.'"

Hahah, so that means something like 'dear mammy?'

The other children are bawling too, in a continuous chorus of screams.

The Humans' wails rise up into the moonless, murky sky with the light of their torches.

I've seen a scene like this before—yes, in that late-night movie before the exam. I sat there tucked into the heated table with my reference books spread out in front of me, crying at the TV.

I cried and cried at the irrationality of people killing people and couldn't stop until it woke up my dad.

Wiping my eyes and dripping nose with a wet ball of pocket tissue, he asked me, so smoothly that he deserves an Academy Award himself: "What would you do?"

His tone was as light as if he were asking 'Who do you like better, Mac or Sosa?'

What would you do? Can you do what is needed?

I can.

"...Wait, you...!"

The expression on Conrad's face says: I knew it would turn out like this.

The pressure of the magma just barely bottled beneath the crater has increased in proportion to the force holding it down. Can I finally release the eruption that I spent so much effort suppressing a few minutes ago?!

The Turkey Marsch has already passed its midpoint, and the piano barrage is right at hand.

"Listen, dammit—!!"

The chief casts a brief sidelong look down at me, but immediately shifts his attention back to his underlings. I'm just a prisoner of war, after all, and he has no intention of taking me seriously.

"Wait a minute, why are you taking the women and children over to that ship?! What the hell are you planning to do? You claim to be pirates with a pedigree, but you're just simple robbers! You're going to take all the money and goods and run away, aren't you?! Selling women and children makes you no better than beasts!"

"We're not robbers, we're pirates."

"That's not the point!"

My jaw quivers from the blood rushing up into my cheeks and ears. The shaking spreads the length of my arms into the tips of my fingers and beats a Morse Code down the sides of my thighs. The blood heats my eyes, and the backs of my eyeballs hurt from the pressure.

I'll probably get myself killed, cut down by that wide cutlass. Or maybe it won't be a clean strike and I'll be left to writhe in agony from my wounds.

Still.

"Listen to me! International laws forbid slave trading—that's something even kids in elementary school know! Even if you've never heard about it before, it's common sense—you should come to the same conclusion if you just think about it a little! Yeah, sure, I know you're the chief, and you might be more distinguished than the rest of these guys, but that's just your job status. What we're talking about is human existence! All people are equal, which means you're the same as them! So even if you occupy this ship, you have no right to sell off these women! 'Heaven makes no man better than another'—that's a good saying, you should remember it! Fukuzawa Yukichi is a great man! So great that his portrait is on the 10,000-yen note in Japan!"

The chief waves his megaphone and calls up four of his underlings.

"Hey Chief, I don't know much about the area, but I'm guessing all the pirates around here do stuff like this, huh? Do you really think that it's all right for you to do it just because everybody else does it too? Well, you're wrong! Come on, be a manly pirate who steals money and goods without harming anyone—that's how you make yourself a righteous man of the sea. You'll become the first chivalrous thief of the sea, praised by friend and foe alike!"

"Bring 'im, he'll sell for a good price. Even if it's just the one eye, it's almost black."

"You're one of those men who just doesn't listen, aren't you! Geez!"

His wife must not read maps.

Meanwhile, more than half of the women and children have already been transferred to the other boat, and towards the tip of the wide deck is a familiar head of beige-colored hair. The princess with the ramune-marble eyes who danced with me is at the very end of the children's line.

She nimbly and forcefully flings off the hand on her shoulder as if avoiding the touch of something dirty.

Blood mounts on the pirate's face, and he thrusts away the small body.

"Beatrice!" Hiscruyff yells.

She's still wearing the airy sakura-colored dress she had on while dancing the waltz with me. The ornaments twined into her hair sparkle as she loses her balance and tumbles backwards, right over the low wooden railing.

"Watch ou...!"

There's nothing beneath but ocean. The ocean opening its black mouth in anticipation.

Several people dash toward her, but I'm the first to arrive. I grasp her arm. Her weight drags me down, and I lean back hard against it. Conrad and Wolfram come rushing over. And probably Hiscruyff, too.

"Hold on...Beatrice...take my hand!"

Beatrice, still dangling by one arm, looks up at me with those eyes that don't quite transform into star sapphires. The eyes of a girl who has a tiny bit of admiration for me.

"It's all right."

"...What's...all right?"

They grab my shirt and belt and hips.

"If I can't see my father and mother anymore, then it's all right if I fall."

"...Don't..."

Don't say things like that.

A girl who's going to dance with lots of wonderful men and fall in passionate love and grasp happiness with both hands should not say something like that, not with such clear eyes.

She should not be allowed to say something like that.

Several strong arms pull us up, and Beatrice's father holds her tight. I tumble awkwardly onto my behind and lie face-up on the planks staring at the clouds flowing across the night sky.

A long thick needle stabs into my head, as if it's become a lightning rod conducting a bolt of lightning down throughout my entire body in a charged rush, numbing me and heating me and flooding me with ecstasy.

My heart pumps blood at twice the speed, and the exact location of its beating becomes pinpoint-clear.

My hippocampus sounds a warning, but adrenalin bursts like champagne popping its stopper.

In the depths of my semicircular canals, I catch a single verse of a beloved song.

Summon...

Summon...who?

And I know nothing more.

Chapter end