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Doughnuts are Holes with Rims Around Them – Part 02

“Kujou, Kujou,” Victorique called, kicking him lightly in the calf with the tip of her silver boot.

“You don’t have to kick me, you know.”

Victorique was silent for a while. Then, instead of replying, she kicked him once again.

“Why, you…”

“Stay close to me, Kujou.”

“…”

“It’s dangerous.”

Kazuya wanted to give her a piece of his mind, but he swallowed the words. He glanced down at the tiny Victorique, all puffed up with frills. Her head barely reached his chest. Bending down a little, he looked into her face, with its sparkling green eyes, rosy cheeks, and cherry lips.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Do you know something about the murder, the smoke, or this weird place?”

Victorique sniffed audibly in response.

“Now, listen here.”

“From past to present, conflict brews in this monastery. The murder is no different.”

“That reminds me,” Kazuya began as he resumed walking, pulling on Victorique and the suitcase. “I talked to the guy on the train. He said that the magic in the monastery was nothing but bogus. He also said that it was his job to expose such sham. Apparently, he was a government official.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“Victorique?”

Victorique said nothing more.

They entered one of the many small rooms in the monastery. All the guests had taken refuge in the other chambers.

Kazuya set the suitcase down on its side in the corner of the room, draped his jacket over it, and gently placed Victorique on top, leaning her against the wall. She looked lethargic.

“Stay close, Kujou,” she groaned in a haughty tone. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s my line. What on earth happened to you? You look weary, it’s kinda creepy.”

“There was a peculiar substance in that smoke,” she said slowly. “Almost like a drug.”

“A drug?”

“Yes. I believe they were burning it to make the audience believe that the magic they were showing at the soiree was real. Look at all the other adults.”

Kazuya looked around. The guests in the room were either throwing tantrums, arguing with each other, or crying. Some were sitting down with a headache. They looked somewhat deranged.

Despite looking limp, Victorique maintained her pompous tone. “Allow me to verbalize it for you, Kujou. Everyone foolishly inhaled that smoke.”

“You included.”

“Hngh…”

Victorique raised her fist and took a swing and almost fell off the suitcase. Kazuya helped her back up. Puffing up her cheeks, she pinched Kazuya’s arm.

Kazuya jumped. “What was that for?!”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t take it out on me. You’re such a child.”

“…”

An older man entered the room and began explaining things aloud. He said that they had no other choice but to wait for the train that was supposed to arrive once the soiree was over, and that there were no telephones in the monastery to even call the police.

The guests exchanged troubled glances.

“I don’t want to stay in this place all night,” a young woman murmured.

“If we call the cops, we could be detained for days,” cautioned a young man, who appeared to be her companion.

“I don’t want to get involved in this.”

The agitated guests began discussing who killed Simon Hunt and why.

The huge suitcase looked even bigger with the little Victorique sitting on it. Kazuya stood beside her, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings like a knight.

“Maybe there’s some weird magical power here after all,” a young man muttered, drawing attention from the other guests. They waited for his next words. “That Sisters’ Cabinet was clearly strange,” he continued quietly. “Their wrists were bound tight, yet they kept switching places. You could even hear musical instruments. To top it all off, a person died in front of people.”

“Good point,” agreed another man, nodding. “This is where the Crashing of the Virgin Mary incident happened. A giant statue of Mary floating in the night sky. I’ve actually met a fighter pilot who witnessed it. He said he will never forget its huge, glistening tearful eyes. He never flew again.”

“What a load of nonsense,” said a husky, old-sounding voice.

The adults turned to the direction of the voice, at the far end of the wall. There was only a small girl sitting on a suitcase and an oriental boy standing beside her. Their gazes darted between the two for a moment, before resting on Kazuya. They shot him a reproachful glare.

Kazuya shook his head in denial.

Victorique snorted. “It’s obviously a trick,” she said. “How can you not understand something so simple?”

Everyone let out a collective gasp when they realized that the curious, old-sounding voice was coming from a girl who looked like a porcelain doll in a red dress, silver boots, and a red mini hat, sitting on top of a suitcase.

“Doughnuts are holes with rims around them,” she added. “In other words, it’s all a matter of perception. I wonder what kind of darkness lurks within your hearts that makes it so easy to believe in such a silly trick. The wave of modernization and science is rapidly dispelling the darkness hovering over the Old World. Artificial lamps are shining their light on what is hiding within the shadows, exposing them. That’s why you cling to the supernatural. Utterly foolish.”

“What did you say?!” A guest strode toward Victorique, and Kazuya quickly stood in front of her.

“Hold on a minute,” said a different man, watching Victorique’s small figure with horror. “I remember now. I’ve heard rumors that the Crashing of the Virgin Mary was a trick. During the war, the monastery was secretly used as a fortress for Sauville’s Academy of Science, and a magician was called here.”

“A magician? Why?”

“The Academy of Science was planning an espionage operation using illusions and approached renowned magicians at the time. One of them was, I believe someone named Roscoe. He’s still famous, doing shows in many cities. He had a female partner. She was incredibly petite and possessed bewitching beauty.” He turned to Victorique with a frown. “Just like this girl.”

---

Dark clouds still hung over the skies outside the monastery, and rain continued to fall. The dim corridors were almost deserted. Voices occasionally rolled from within the open doors, guests talking about the murder and the cancelled soiree.

Kazuya went out into the hallway alone. He heard Carmilla shouting something and stopped in front of a room. Morella was lying on a crude wooden bed, mumbling incoherently. Several black-clad nuns were in the room, watching Morella with concern.

Simon Hunt’s body lay in the next room. Some nuns were kneeling in prayer. Rosaries waved by the women in black glittered in the darkly-lit room.

Along the corridor, he came upon Friar Iago and an old man he had met on the train. They were standing there, talking.

“All this chaos, and I can’t find my daughter,” the old man said. “I’m worried about her. I have to check each person’s face. But I don’t want to wander around too much after what happened.” He sighed.

Iago, a friar from the Vatican, was wearing a grim look. “I will probably return to the Vatican without any investigation done,” he said with a sigh.

“I see,” Kazuya muttered.

“I was watching the soiree earlier, but all the presentations looked like magic tricks to me. In short, like the magic shows that are popular in the city these days. The audience seemed to enjoy them, though.” Iago let out a sigh.

Kazuya was about to go his way, when Iago said, “That reminds me. Have you ever heard of something called a memento box?”

“A memento box? No.” Kazuya shook his head.

The old man looked bewildered as well.

“What is it?” Kazuya asked.

“I don’t know either. It’s just something that Simon Hunt mentioned. ‘I came to this monastery on business. I’m here to find a memento box.'”

Kazuya frowned. “A memento box, huh…”