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The Masquerade Ball – Part 03

“Now wait just a darn minute,” Kazuya protested. “The vassal part I can understand, but I am not an idiot. I came to Sauville as a representative of my country. I’m tough, and my grades are better than yours. You don’t attend classes or take exams, so let me tell you something: you can act all high and mighty, but you’re still getting zeroes. Ouch!”

Victorique kicked Kazuya’s shin with her boots, silencing him.

The train shook.

“I’m just telling the truth,” Kazuya mumbled. “Flunker!”

Victorique tried to say something…

Her small, pretty nose twitched…

Her deep, emerald eyes flickered, and she brought her chubby palms to her cherry lips…

Her quiet, wise, expressionless, impassive visage tensed up just a little…

Achoo!

She let out a weird-sounding sneeze.

Kazuya blinked. Then he quickly pressed his palm on Victorique’s tiny, porcelain forehead.

“No fever,” he said. “Maybe you’re feeling chilly ’cause your dress got wet from the seawater. What? Don’t touch me? I’m just a lowly vassal? Well, sorry, you egomaniac… Hold up.”

“Achoo!”

“There’s something off about your sneeze.”

“…You’re mistaken.”

“See? You were a little late in responding. That’s what happens when you’re a little unsure. You might not realize this, but I do. Hehe. Your vassal knows. Hello?”

“Do you ever stop yapping?” Victorique replied wearily. Her eyes, glazed with fatigue and resignation, widened slightly.

“That’s right. You two should go get changed,” the Empress interjected in a motherly tone.

“You’re absolutely right.” Kazuya nodded, trying to deal with the reluctant Victorique.

“There’s an enemy in our midst!” the Orphan suddenly shouted.

Startled, everyone turned their attention to her. The girl looked around the compartment, her body trembling, her eyes bloodshot.

“I’m gonna get killed before I even learn my birthday,” she said. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide with fear. “There’s someone here who wants to kill me!”

The peaceful atmosphere instantly turned sour. The Orphan’s body shook as she sobbed violently. The Empress quickly tried to calm her down.

“It’s all right,” the lady assured. “If anyone is out to get you, it’s not me. Stay close.”

The Lumberjack and the Dead exchanged glances.

The Dead scowled, a little offended. “Looks like there’s someone suspicious among us. Maybe it’s you.”

“You look more suspicious than me,” the Lumberjack rebutted.

“Hngh… I think so too. But it’s not like I chose to be this big.”

The Dead sighed. The Orphan’s hysterical cries filled the compartment. The Lumberjack gave the Dead a troubled shrug.

The Dead stood up. “I talked to the waiters in the dining car,” he told Kazuya. “They have some spare uniforms. Little girl, why don’t you borrow one and get changed before you catch a cold? I’ll ask them.”

“Th-Thank you, sir.” Kazuya rose. He left the compartment with Victorique in tow.

“What a bunch of oddballs,” the Dead spat as he strode along the shadowed corridor. “The Empress clearly looks like your typical, nice wife. And the Lumberjack looks like the son of a noble. Then there’s me, the Dead, despite being tougher than everyone else. What a weird night.”

He sighed as he shuffled the cards in his rugged hands several times. He looked over his shoulder and scratched his beard.

“But now that I think about it, you guys are the weirdest. Two kids coming to the monastery for the show. You clearly look around fourteen or fifteen, and uh…”

He glanced down at Victorique, then looked away as though scared by her beauty. He scratched his beard, thinking.

“I’m a hundred and fourteen years old,” Victorique huffed.

“Hmm, okay. Sure. I guess it makes sense, since you’re a Gray Wolf,” he murmured. “I bet you got that from the story about a village deep in the mountains where terribly smart Gray Wolves live. I know the story well. I heard about it a lot when I was a kid.”

Scratching his beard, the Dead resumed walking.

The corridor was crowded with people. When they arrived at the dining car, the Dead casually spoke to a waiter in a black-and-white uniform. The waiter seemed to be friendly; he was chatting affably with the Dead.

“He said you can borrow some uniform,” the Dead said, turning around. “You don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Thank you,” Kazuya said.

“You got wet too, didn’t you? Here you go.”

Kazuya took some men’s clothes for himself and a women’s apron dress for Victorique, and bowed. As soon as he found a restroom, he immediately changed and told Victorique to change as well.

While Victorique was changing, Kazuya stood in front of the restroom to keep watch. His legs were shoulder-width apart, his hands folded behind him. As he stood there, looking like a young soldier, he heard the rustling of clothes, the unraveling of silk ribbons, and an anxiety-inducing little sneeze coming from inside.

“Are you okay, Victorique?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m right here, okay?”

“I know.”

More rustling of clothes. Her dress falling to the floor. Boots clattering.

Then there was a soft humming.

“Apron~! It’s an apron~!”

Kazuya unknowingly started humming along as well.

“Shut up,” Victorique snapped. He closed his mouth.

Since there was no one around, Kazuya asked Victorique about what had been bothering him.

“Hey, Victorique. You saw the red box that the Orphan dropped, right?”

“Ahuh.”

“What was that?”

Kazuya had bumped into Cordelia back at the submerged monastery. Born and raised in a nameless village deep in the mountains known as the Village of the Gray Wolves, she was forced to leave her village and became a dancer in Saubreme, where she was found by Marquis de Blois. The Marquis took her captive and locked her in a tower, eventually giving birth to Victorique. Cordelia’s partner, a red-headed man named Brian Roscoe, went to the village and retrieved a memento box hidden under the floor of Cordelia’s house. Ten years ago, he hid it in the monastery.

Cordelia took the memento box from the monastery and left before the others. She said she was going to leave a fake one behind. The actual box was red, tiny, and looked just like the one that the Orphan had dropped earlier.

“I wonder if that was the fake box that Cordelia left behind,” Kazuya said. “But what exactly is a memento box? Cordelia said that it was something extraordinary that the Ministry of the Occult and the Academy of Science are desperately searching for.”

The door to the dining car opened and the Dead returned, looking jolly. His reddish cheeks suggested he had a drink.

“Oh, Vassal,” the man said, tapping Kazuya on the shoulder. “Did you just say memento box? For someone so young, you sure know some ancient words.”

“Ancient words? Wait, do you know about the memento box?”

“Of course. I’m a soul from the distant past, after all. I’m familiar with ancient traditions. I’m just kidding. But that takes me back. I haven’t heard those words since I was a kid.”

Even outside the restroom, Kazuya could hear Victorique’s tiny ears twitching, listening attentively.

“I’ve only heard of the words,” Kazuya said. “What exactly is a memento box?”

“Is that so? Hmm, I suppose that makes sense.” The Dead smiled shyly. “In the village in Eastern Europe where I grew up, they used to make memento boxes. A memento box is a person’s life itself. Only the eldest son of a big family would make one, though. When you’re born, you get a box, and you put your history in it.” His sorrowful voice echoed down the corridor. With a mix of fondness and fear, he continued. “Eventually, the box fills up. When the box is full, the man’s time is up, and a quiet death arrives. Even the most formidable man, even an important head of a clan, doesn’t live longer than what the size of the box allows. And when they do, their memento box is placed in the coffin with them.”

“I see…”

“So a memento box is a man’s life reduced to a tiny box. A very personal myth, if you will. I saw a box when my grandfather died a long time ago, but I didn’t know what was in it. It’s an ancient custom that no one does nowadays. Old, small, bottomless boxes of life made in ages past, back when life had a deeper meaning.”

The Dead laughed, his face red from the alcohol. “I’m heading back.” He waved and walked down the corridor.

Kazuya watched him go.