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The Masquerade Ball – Part 04

“Chaos,” Victorique murmured from inside the restroom.

“Hmm? What’s the matter, Victorique?”

“He’s an educated man. At least in spirit. What do you think, Kujou? Any comments on his rustic appearance, his clothes? And that hint of intelligence and culture in his voice.”

“Now that you mention it. He gives two very distinct impressions.”

“The outside doesn’t match what’s inside. It’s almost as if…”

The door to the restroom opened slowly. She was having trouble opening the door with her tiny hands, so Kazuya helped her. Victorique puffed up her little rosy cheeks and put her weight on the door, pushing it as hard as she could.

“It’s almost as if a different soul is in the body of the dead!”

The door opened and Victorique stumbled out onto the corridor. The momentum caused her to bump into Kazuya, hitting her forehead on his stomach. Flapping her arms around, she managed to stay on her feet, thanks partly to Kazuya’s gentle support. She looked up at him smugly.

Victorique, who had removed her luxurious red outfit and changed into a simple black-and-white apron dress, was dazzling in her natural, spine-chilling beauty, her golden hair cascading down like silken threads. Her green, wise eyes, quiet and serene like those of a long-lived wild beast, twinkled, betraying intelligence, weariness, and something else.

Her golden hair, reminiscent of some wild creature’s tail, glittered enticingly, inviting Kazuya’s hand to touch it.

It was soft and moist, like heavenly silk.

“Get your hands off me, servant!” Victorique snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Kazuya apologized. “Wait a sec. I’m not your servant. And your hair was just so sparkly, I was overwhelmed with emotions. But I am not anyone’s servant. You better watch your step. Too much arrogance will trip you up.”

Victorique strode off alone, leaving Kazuya to carefully gather up the red extravagant dress—a bundle of torchon lace that she had shed like a molting snake—and her glittering mini hat. Mumbling something under his breath, he followed his friend, the red laces and ruffles blocking his view.

The frills expanded in Kazuya’s arms as they absorbed some air. The hat almost fell off his arm, so he quickly placed it atop his own head so it wouldn’t fall to the floor and get dirty. He was dressed in a black-and-white waiter’s attire, with a red mini hat sitting on his head at an angle. Victorique whirled around with a sullen look on her face, but her cold, green eyes widened a little at the sight of Kazuya.

Her beautiful, yet cold face twisted a little. A smile, perhaps.

“You have a flower on your head.” Victorique chuckled.

“It’s not funny! Man, you’re such a slob. Who did you think would clean up after you?”

“You, of course,” she said dubiously, as though her answer made perfect sense.

Kazuya nodded with a sigh. “I know… I wonder why, though.”

“Because you’re a neat… freak… Hmm?”

Victorique’s tiny, dainty ears twitched. Curious, Kazuya strained his ears as well.

A disturbing, mechanical sound was coming from somewhere.

An eerie voice, drowned out by the roar of the Old Masquerade, reverberating from the underworld, reached Victorique and Kazuya.

“Help… Help me…”

It was the voice of a young woman, pained and filled with sorrow, emanating from the depths of hell. Mixed in with it was the beeping of some kind of machine.

“Brother… Help me, please!”

Victorique and Kazuya glanced at each other.

A nearby door flung open, and a young man with aristocratic features, wearing decent clothes—the Lumberjack—jumped out, as if pushed by an invisible hand. He fell on his knees in the corridor, shoulders shaking, taking deep breaths over and over again.

“Um, are you okay?” Kazuya asked.

The Lumberjack gave a start and looked up.

Grim fear was plastered on his face. His gray eyes were wide open, his thin eyelashes twitched, and his pale lips were stiff, as though frozen in the middle of a scream.

He looked like he had just seen a ghost. Gone was the pleasant, young man from earlier, as if he had aged a hundred years. A chill crawled down Kazuya’s spine, and he stepped in between Victorique and the Lumberjack. Victorique poked her tiny head out from behind and stared at the Lumberjack’s face.

“I, uh…” The Lumberjack hurriedly got up and brushed himself clean. He gave a feeble laugh in an effort to appear calm. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I thought I heard a voice just now,” Kazuya said.

“A-A voice? I didn’t hear anything. Maybe you heard me talking to myself. This is embarrassing, but I’m not fond of trains. I always get sick when I ride one. I was hiding because I didn’t want anyone seeing me like this. I didn’t expect you youngsters to find me.”

“You don’t like trains?”

“No. When I was a kid, my parents were in a train accident. That’s when I started disliking trains. But I’m okay now.”

The Lumberjack tottered away down the corridor. As he watched him go, Kazuya noticed that Victorique was nowhere to be seen. He looked around and called for her name. He thought he heard a faint reply beyond the open door, a groan, a signal of some sorts.

“Victorique? What are you doing?” He peeked inside.

Victorique looked over her shoulder, finding Kazuya’s face topped with the red mini hat. She snorted.

“Looks like a communications room,” Victorique said.

Kazuya examined the small room. It appeared to be dedicated to communication, with enough space for just one person. Right now, the room was quiet and still.

“You heard it too, right?” Kazuya said. “I don’t think that was my imagination. It didn’t sound like the Lumberjack.”

“Indeed.”

“I heard ‘Brother, help me.’ I wonder what that was about. Speaking of which, he said he was looking for his sister who was kidnapped by the king of the underworld. I thought he was just making it up. There’s also the Dead’s seemingly distinct personalities. Strange night.”

“Ahuh.”

Victorique and Kazuya themselves were a descendant of the legendary Gay Wolves and her kind-hearted attendant.

The train lurched to the right. And then to the left.

The whistle pealed high.

The darkness outside grew thicker. Black clouds drifted by, obscuring the moon, and a lonely, sinister darkness, blanketed the Old Masquerade like a jet-black veil.

Victorique and Kazuya exchanged looks and inclined their heads in the same direction simultaneously. Victorique’s hair cascaded softly to the floor. The red mini hat on Kazuya’s head tilted a little, like a medieval knight’s hat.

“This is one awfully weird Masquerade Ball,” Kazuya mumbled anxiously. “Like the Dead said, everyone’s wearing disguises. But what if it’s the same faces behind the masks?”

“One person is definitely lying.”

Victorique left the communication room and marched on briskly. Carrying a bundle of red frills, Kazuya scuttled after her.

Night was deepening. It was already midnight.

“I know who you’re talking about,” Kazuya said. “The Empress, right? I don’t think she was telling the truth. She seems like a calm housewife. She was just going along with the girl.”

“No,” Victorique replied curtly. “It’s the Orphan who’s lying.”

“…What?”

Victorique spun. Her quiet eyes, like those of an ancient creature that had lived for a thousand years, flickered.

Kazuya stared back at her, shocked. “Her?”

“Yes.”

“She seemed more serious than the rest, though.”

“I believe that was an act. But I don’t have enough fragments. Hardly enough. Reconstruction is currently impossible.”

“But…”

“I said I don’t have enough!” Victorique repeated, her emerald eyes blinking. Her silver boots pattered on the floor as she threw a tantrum, stomping her feet. It went on for a while. The rose mini hat on Kazuya’s head shifted to the side some more.

“We’re heading back, servant.”

“Okay… Um, can you not call me a servant?” Kazuya grumbled as he followed Victorique.

Outside, dark waves rolled on the forbidding, blackened sea.