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Dream at Dawn – Part 03

“She was kneeling before the masked alchemist, almost prostrate. Her eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together in front of her chest. She looked like a statue of Mary praying to God. I am not a very religious person, of course, yet I couldn’t help but make the sign of the cross as I watched the queen silently. A young woman, the queen of our kingdom, revered a faceless alchemist like he was a god. I thought it bizarre.”

“Hmm.”

“When Coco Rose noticed me, she instantly turned crimson. She then rose to her feet and hid behind the curtains. The maid who constantly accompanied her was in the corner, and she bowed to me instead. Coco Rose must have recognized me as a member of Sauville’s nobility, but was too embarrassed to say a word of greeting, let alone talk to someone she did not know well. The Coco Rose of those days was shockingly timid.”

“The Blue Rose. The delicate and lovely queen. The people’s precious girl.”

The carriage slowed down, then lurched to a halt.

Victorique’s hair fell soundlessly onto Kazuya’s lap, a golden serpent living in the heavens falling to earth through a rift in the clouds. Kazuya stroked it carefully.

“Hands off,” Victorique hissed.

“Sorry.” Kazuya sat up straight. “I won’t do it again!”

“Oui.”

Victorique turned her face away and stood up.

Kazuya disembarked first. He stretched out both hands and gently lowered his little friend, magnificent as a porcelain doll, out of the carriage and onto the ground. Despite her earlier warning, she didn’t appear reluctant about him carrying her. She simply stared somberly at the evening sky in silence.

Watching them idly, Inspector Blois mumbled, “I should’ve brought my doll.”

“Wh-What are you talking about?”

“Kujou, at least lend me your rabbit. Only for a bit. I’ve been so stressed all day. My sassy sister is here, my father is here, and I’m completely clueless about the case despite being a famed inspector. If I don’t cuddle something soft and cute and tiny in my hands right now, a hole will form in my stomach.”

“Uh… I don’t think the bunny likes the idea.”

“For the record: it’s a hole the size of a tennis ball, or a fist. Aren’t you scared?”

“I guess…? Oh, but look, it’s gone.”

“Wait for me, you cute and little thing!”

Inspector Blois sprinted after the rabbit as it hopped across the cold church grounds toward the cemetery.

Watching the white smoke rising from her pipe, Victorique said, “If only my brother’s collection of Grafenstein’s dolls had legs that moved too.”

“Hmm?”

“They would scatter in all directions like spiderlings.”

“That’s true. Oh.”

People were already gathered around the small grave that he and Ms. Cecile had found earlier—the grave of Nicole Leroux, the dancer known as the “Downtown Blue Rose.”

“It’s over there.” Kazuya pointed. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm.”

Victorique removed the pipe from her mouth. From her glossy, cherry lips came either a cold breath, or white smoke, or a frozen sigh, which drifted softly in the air and vanished.

Dead leaves rustled past their feet.

---

Almost as soon as the group appeared, a permit requested by Marquis de Blois arrived from the authorities.

A gravedigger of large build in muddy trousers was sitting on the adjacent gravestone, waiting for instructions. Holding a shovel, he was smoking a cigarette as he stared blankly at the sky.

Crows were circling the church’s spire, spreading their pitch-black wings, screeching ominously from time to time.

The sun was setting; it was twilight.

Upon Marquis de Blois’ arrival, a group of men who appeared to be officials of the Ministry of the Occult stood up and surrounded the place.

The elderly reverend and his family—a skinny woman and a group of pale-faced, freckled children—were watching fearfully from a distance.

The crows were circling faster.

“Dig up Nicole Leroux’s grave,” Marquis de Blois ordered in a deep, terrifying voice.

The reverend, his family, and the gravedigger all made the sign of the cross. The officials made praying gestures, too.

“Namandabu, namandabu, namandabu,” Kazuya murmured.

“Are you trying to lay a curse on Nicole Leroux?” Victorique asked. “Why?”

“I’m not! How rude. It’s a prayer from my country.”

“It sounds eerie.”

“You’re simply ignorant about foreign culture. In that case, I’ll recite a longer and scarier prayer.” Kazuya stood straight, took off his hat, and held it in front of his chest.

“Namu Myoho Renge Kyo…”

“Stop.”

“Ow!” Kazuya jumped. “You’re gonna burn me with your pipe! I’m filing a complaint!”

“Quiet. You’re too loud, therefore I forbid you to be angry. Oh, I can see the coffin now.”

“Hmm?” Kazuya followed her gaze.

From the hole that the gravedigger was digging peeked what seemed like a rotting plank of wood. Kazuya took a deep breath, squeezed Victorique’s hand, and slowly approached the grave.

Victorique swung her hand wildly around from left to right, up and down, forward and backward. Perhaps she didn’t like holding hands. But she wasn’t letting go.

“Ouch! You’re gonna dislocate my shoulder!” Kazuya screamed, not letting go either.

“There it is!”

After removing the dirt, Nicole Leroux’s body appeared.

The reverend’s wife shrieked and retreated, covering the children’s eyes. “Don’t look! Oh, our Lord in heaven…”

Crows circling high above cast dark shadows on the cemetery. The light from the evening sky shone on everyone present.

“Th-There’s no head!”

“That can’t be!” the reverend shouted, shaking.

The officials all looked at him. Clutching the rosary around his neck, the reverend shook his head repeatedly.

Withered branches groaned in the wind.

“I was told she was a penniless dancer, and she passed away from an illness. There’s records. I remember now. There were men like you.”

“Like us?”

“Yes. A group of finely-dressed, official-looking men came and processed her. They didn’t look like family, friends, or lovers. I did find that strange.”

“That was in the year 1900, correct?” Victorique asked.

The reverend nodded fearfully. “Yes.”

“It was probably the same men who hired Nicole Leroux using the strange ad,” Victorique mumbled to herself. “The Academy of Science.”

“Look at the dress!”

The ministry officials took a step back. Some made the sign of the cross over and over. Others sank to the ground, speechless.

Only Victorique and Marquis de Blois peered into the grave without fear.

Inside was the body of a woman, head and torso separated. Decades had passed, and her beauty, vivacity, finesse when she was still alive, were now lost forever in the earth.

Her torso was covered in grave wax. The part where her neck was severed looked horrifying.

Overly puffy square sleeves. Layers of lace covering the collar. Billowy skirt that was tight at the waist. Partly-decayed cloth, its color no longer discernible.

The corpse had the exact same outfit that one of the actresses playing Coco Rose was wearing.

But unlike the actress’s costume, which was made of cheap, durable cloth, the decapitated body wore fine silk and genuine lace. The cameo brooch around her neck was luxurious as well.

Overall the outfit seemed difficult to move in, wrapped tight around the body. It was a dress that would never have been worn by Nicole Leroux, a dancer.

The fingers peeking out from the dress were pale, as though still alive. Like a wax figure displayed at the entrance of the theater.

Marquis de Blois put a finger to his chin. “I highly doubt she was buried normally. They must have used some kind of chemical to force saponification.”

“Yes.”

“And when it comes to scientific knowledge, our kingdom’s Academy of Science is the best in Europe.”

“It appears she was stabbed in the chest.” Victorique pointed to the corpse’s chest, as though trying to divert attention away from the Academy of Science.

While the old and discolored dress made it difficult to see, there was indeed a hole and a brownish mark that looked like blood.

“Stabbed, injected with chemicals, then decapitated,” Marquis de Blois said.

“But her neck.”

“It’s decomposed.” There was a slight twist to his cruel lips.

“It would seem so.”

The woman’s head was placed on top of the torso, separate from the body. Her golden hair dangled softly. Unlike the torso, however, the head was heavily decomposed, its skin gone.

There was a gold tooth inside its dislocated jaw.

“Why is the body covered in grave wax, but the head is decomposed?”

Marquis de Blois stood up and shook his head. His silver hair swayed ominously.

Waiting for this exact moment, Victorique reached out her hand.

Kazuya, who had been watching from the side, stopped her, and touched the body in her stead. He gave her an inquisitive look and opened the cameo brooch around its neck.

There was a tiny piece of folded paper inside.

Victorique nodded. She took it and hid in her hand. Kazuya then closed the brooch.

Marquis de Blois turned back to them, grim-faced. “What are you two doing?!” he barked.

Kazuya bolted to his feet. “Nan myo hoo ren kyo…” Standing erectly, he began praying.

Marquis glared at his back, not hiding his disgust. “Hmph. Just an oriental performing a ritual for the dead.”

Victorique used the chance to leave the scene.

What started as an act to bail out Victorique turned into a serious prayer. Before Kazuya knew it, the reverend, his wife, and their children had gathered around the grave and began praying together. The wife had stopped telling her kids not to look.

Their prayers echoed around the dancer’s desecrated grave—Kazuya’s peculiar chant, the reverend’s flowing supplication, the wife’s sincere voice, the children’s sweet stutters—rising softly from the cemetery to the spire, then up to the skies, far above to the world above the clouds where Nicole Leroux danced.