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The Masquerade Ball – Part 07

The whistle sounded again and again, never stopping. The train continued running, rocking violently, wheels screeching against the tracks.

The Old Masquerade seemed to have mutated from a luxurious and elegant train into a black, night-colored mass of iron monster. It howled, eyes glowing red, as it cut through the night. Wheels creaked. Flames rose from the coals, squirming like a tongue, leaving ashes on the tracks and the forest, as though Death itself had passed by. Black breaths of smoke billowed incessantly. The train shook wildly, its ominous whistle pealing high and clear. The merciless monster known as Death was rocking the huge mass of iron, dragging its passengers through the night, and into hell.

“Victorique! Hey!”

Kazuya kept banging on the door, ramming it open with his small body, but when he realized that it would not open even with leverage, he started looking around. While the adults were panicking, Kazuya remained calm, deep in thought.

“The window,” he mumbled, nodding to himself.

“What about a window?” asked the Lumberjack. He was trembling, his face white as a sheet.

“We can’t open the door and it doesn’t seem like the people on the other side are going to either. Our only choice is to go out the window.”

“Out the window? Of this runaway train? Are you out of your mind?”

The Dead shook his head repeatedly. Kazuya opened the window of the dining car and looked out into the darkness. The Old Masquerade had left the Baltic Sea coast and was now running through a deep, dark forest. Lights from houses flickered beyond it.

Kazuya strained his eyes. None of the windows in any of the compartments appeared to be open. Taking advantage of his small frame, he slowly crawled out with his back to the window and reached for the roof. The strong wind ruffled his jet-black hair. His black-and-white waiter’s uniform flapped loudly.

The Old Masquerade, a monstrous mass of black iron, mockingly blew its whistle.

“Stop!”

Someone yanked Kazuya’s feet, sending him crashing to the floor of the dining car. He landed on his hip, and he let out a yelp. When he opened his eyes, he saw the pale face of the Lumberjack.

His elegant and pleasant expression when he was talking with others was gone, replaced instead by fear, the same fear he showed when he came tumbling out of the communications room, like he had seen a ghost.

The Lumberjack shook his head. “Don’t do it. It’s too dangerous. You’ll get yourself hurt. You can’t get out the window of a running train.”

“But I have to go,” Kazuya insisted.

“You can’t.” The Lumberjack shook his head firmly. “My parents died in a train accident a long time ago. They died in front of me and my sister while trying to stop a train that was out of control. In the end, the train stopped safely without the passengers doing anything. Every time I get on a train, memories come flashing back, and it makes me feel awful. As someone older, I have to stop you from doing something reckless.”

“Victorique’s on the other side,” Kazuya said flatly. “I have to get to her.”

“Let’s just wait for someone to take action. Leave it to the grownups.”

“What if even the grownups can’t do anything?”

Kazuya recalled the words he had said to Victorique’s half-brother, Inspector Blois, as he left St. Marguerite Academy.

“I’m going to get Victorique.”

“But I’m not doing it for you or your father. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’m her friend, and I’m worried about her.”

And before the summer vacation, when he confronted Brian Roscoe in the clock tower…

“Can you protect her with what measly power you have?”

“Keep an eye out for the transfer.”

Kazuya bit his lip.

They had had their share of fights. There were times when they got angry over the most trivial things and didn’t speak to each other, but neither Victorique nor Kazuya were the confrontational type. They only felt irritated at each other, but to quarrel with each other at this time and place…

“I’m sorry,” Kazuya said.

“Hmm? Sorry about what?”

“I’m sorry for kicking you!”

Kazuya closed his eyes and kicked the Lumberjack in the face. The young man lurched backward and crashed onto the wall on the far side of the dining car. Kazuya darted toward the window sill. He reached for the roof and clambered up.

He glanced back inside the dining car and saw the Lumberjack screaming while holding his face with both hands.

“Stop!” he cried, but Kazuya only shook his head.

Standing next to the Lumberjack was the Empress, who was laughing out loud for some reason. Kazuya gleaned a hint of madness in her eyes, and a chill ran down his spine. She was laughing merrily, with a creepy expression on her face that she had never shown before. Her high-pitched voice reached his ears over the roar of the train.

For some reason, the Dead was backing away, looking around with the sneaky look of a thief. He didn’t show this side of him either.

“I must say, it’s like a Masquerade Ball.”

His words replayed in Kazuya’s mind.

“We’re all wearing masks, like the characters in these cards.”

Who were these people who had traveled together in the compartment? Kazuya felt a sense of dread, a cold hand gripping his heart. It was as if they knew each other, yet knew nothing about them.

But now was not the time for the strange Masquerade Ball.

The Old Masquerade had turned into a black monster, running amok through the night.

Kazuya nimbly crawled up to the roof and stood there for a moment, trying to balance himself on top of the rocking train. He thought it was still nighttime, but from the top of the monstrous vehicle, he could see the pale morning sun rising from the eastern sky. It was dawn. The lonely, ominous light of daybreak. Kazuya saw the silhouettes of the dense, ancient trees, the morning sun high in the distance, the urban streets up ahead. Kazuya wondered how to describe his current feeling. His father, a strict military man, and his older brothers, both splendid men, used to say something in this situation, words he also found occasionally in their favorite magazine, Tough Guys Monthly, which was delivered to him by sea.

Right. I remember now.

Tighten up your loincloth.

Kazuya almost burst out laughing. “Tighten up your loincloth? That sounds really weird. Though they used the saying a lot.” He pursed his lips, his expression tightening. His jet-black eyes gleamed darkly, and a determined, mature look appeared on his face. His jet-black hair, reaching down to his eyes, flapped in the fierce wind.

Kazuya bolted onward.

Like a small and nimble hound.

Black billowing smoke licked at him. The wheels creaked like mechanical teeth, eating away at the tracks. Ominous ashes were strewn across the brightening forest, as if to announce where they were going. The train roared. Kazuya bit his lip at the ear-piercing sound.

The train approached a curve and shook. Kazuya stopped and quickly crouched down to avoid being blown away by the wind. His body lurched, and although he held his ground, he felt as if he were about to fall off the roof. He slipped, and almost fell, barely managing to hold on to the edge of the roof with both arms. His legs dangled in the air. A violent gust of wind threatened to lift him up. Through the window, his eyes met those of the passengers in the compartment. They were elderly ladies. One of them screamed and fainted at the sight of a young oriental waiter clinging for dear life. He gestured for them to open the window, but they all just screamed. Cursing softly, Kazuya strained his arms, kicked the window with his foot, and crawled up to the roof. The train had passed the curve and was running straight once more. Kazuya darted across the roof again, nimbly.

The wind ruffled his hair.

The whistle blew high.

Gray smoke rushed mercilessly toward Kazuya. Coughing, he advanced forward.

Dawn was breaking, casting a portentous pallor across the land, as if warning of the impending danger that the day would bring.

Dark light illuminated Kazuya’s face, ashen with tension and determination. When he finally made it to the driver’s cab, he stopped, his vision obscured by the gray smoke billowing out the car. The train shook violently like a monster throwing a tantrum. Calmly and agilely, Kazuya jumped off the roof and into the car.

“Whoop!”

“Eek!”

Victorique was there.

Her golden hair, gleaming softly, magnificent as a silken veil, which had never left Kazuya’s mind for even a moment during the past year since he came all the way across the sea to study in the small European country of Sauville, filled his heart with awe.

To Kazuya, the color of gold only belonged to Victorique de Blois, not anyone or anything else. Ever since meeting her in the mysterious conservatory at the top of the library tower, he had thought of her whenever he saw a golden flower, a golden butterfly, or, of course, golden hair. He had been thinking of Victorique, and nothing else. A lovely, dazzling golden glow that he didn’t want to leave even for a moment.

And those emerald eyes, deep and bottomless, veiled with intelligence and weariness.

“You will not die together.”

“But worry not. Your hearts will never be apart.”

Remembering the ominous prophecy given to him by the village chief of the nameless village, Kazuya bit his lips hard. It felt like he understood the true nature of the strange and sad feeling he had at that time.

What’s the point if only our hearts will never be apart? I have to protect her body as well. Till death do we part. I don’t care what I am to her—retainer, servant, friend, whatever. I just want to be by her side. I will never leave.

“Stay away from me, or I’ll choke the life out of you, Kujou.”

Hmm?

An irritated, husky voice brought Kazuya back to his senses.

“Who just made that weird sound?”

“It was me. You dimwitted, stupid reaper!” Victorique roared. “Move! You’re crushing me! Repent by singing and dancing all night long so that you can’t sleep from the shame. I said move!”

Kazuya quickly got up.

On the floor of the driver’s cab, Victorique lay sprawled on her back, her cheeks puffed out, glaring at him. Kazuya’s blood ran cold. After running across the roof and jumping through the window into the driver’s cab, he slammed onto Victorique, who was standing inside.

The opposite had happened a few times in the past. Victorique had slipped off a suitcase she was climbing and fell on top of Kazuya, or climbed a tree and was unable to climb down, only to be rescued by him by putting a ladder below her. Each time, Kazuya would catch his mysterious friend, a bundle of luxurious frills and lace, either feeling angry, worried, or jolly.

This was the first time that he had fallen on top of her.

“S-Sorry,” Kazuya said. “Are you okay?”

“…Yes,” Victorique answered in a gruff voice that seemed to echo from the depths of hell. Her eyes glinted with rage and humiliation.

“I’m really sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Awful, of course.”

“Yeah… I won’t fall on top of you anymore. I’ll make sure to choose a hard and dangerous part when landing next time. I promise.”

Kazuya got down on one knee and swore in the manner of knights. He helped his little friend up and dusted off her soiled apron dress. Then he looked around, wondering why Victorique was here.

There was a pool of blood on the floor.