Pig Hunting (5)
The impostor twisted his body in one fluid motion and bolted in the opposite direction. I leapt down from my horse and went straight after him.
"S-Sir Central Officer!?"
I shouted to the startled Taste Officer.
"Five riders to the bridge to report the situation! The rest of you split in two and swing around to the left and right before moving in!"
Now that he'd abandoned the carriage, there was no controlling which way he would run. Which meant the only option was to seal off every escape route by encircling the area as fast as humanly possible.
"Taste Officer, Smell Officer — take one side each!"
"And what about you, Sir Central Officer!?"
"This officer will pursue from the front!"
At that, even the Smell Officer — who had been in full rampage mode — faltered.
"You can't fight! You must not go!"
"So what am I supposed to do, stand here with both hands folded and watch him slip away!?"
But a man wearing my face? If he got away, the situation would spiral far beyond anyone's control.
My face was well known throughout the Reyes Margraviate. As one of only five immigration officers in the entire South, and the one in overall command of the border at that, most anyone of consequence could pick me out of a crowd. Which meant he could wield my face like a weapon to smash straight through the encirclement. I had to stop him before that happened.
Clearly displeased, the Smell Officer growled out his reply.
"...Damn it! Fine — but you take three riders, and no more! And I am begging you, please keep your distance from the illegal immigrant while you chase him!"
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to chip in for your funeral!"
Judging by the instincts he'd used to shake off pursuit and the skill that had knocked me out cold with a single blow, he was no ordinary opponent. If I blundered in carelessly, as the warning implied, I wouldn't just eat a fist and go flying like last time — my lifeline itself might go flying.
I nodded at the Smell Officer's roundabout way of saying don't die.
"Very well! Go!"
The instant my assent landed, my two direct subordinates split off to either side.
"Right, you five there! Follow this officer!"
"This side is with me!"
—Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.
I shouted to the riders trailing behind me as well.
"Pursue him first! He's a formidable one, so stay on your guard! This officer will be right behind you!"
"Yes, sir!"
Far ahead, the other me — mid-flight — hooked a left just short of the Lacour Bridge.
"There he is! The man in the examiner's coat!"
But less than a second later, spotting the Taste Officer's team bearing down from the cross street, he swerved once more. Right, this time.
"Grrrrr! You're not getting away this time!"
The werewolf, seething with fury, burst into view with the riders at his heels.
"Tch...!"
His panicked eyes darted around — and locked onto something. Right in front of him stood a building, its door shut. He didn't hesitate.
—BANG!
He kicked the closed door clean off its hinges and dove inside.
"The smuggler's gone into the building!"
"Breach! Cut off his escape routes!"
The riders, blazing with excitement, dismounted and surged for the entrance —
"Halt! Stop! Stop!"
I tore into them at full volume.
"You are not to go in! Hold position!"
"Sir Examiner, this is our chance! He's a rat in a pot! We have to go in and seize him right now!"
"Denied! That's an order!"
Only when I'd shut them down a second time, firm as stone, did the soldiers grind to a halt, grumbling all the while.
"But if we wait out here and he slips away...!"
"If you charge in now, there is no telling what manner of havoc that man will wreak inside."
Our opponent was a first-rate fighter. Anyone capable of abducting a saintess was bound to carry something that could give even paladins pause. Follow him blindly, and there was no guaranteeing what we'd walk into.
"No matter how many of us there are, no matter how tightly we've driven him into one corner, we cannot let our guard down."
Darkness and enclosed interiors — the arena that favors an assassin above all others. And cavalry fighting on foot, indoors? An enormous penalty all by itself. In other words, he may well have chosen this place as his refuge deliberately. So that he could perform at his very best.
And that thing the Smell Officer said is still nagging at me, too.
—I don't want to chip in for your funeral!
A warning that wasn't quite a warning: don't you dare die. And strangely, it settled my head.
Right. I don't want to chip in for a funeral either.
The moment I'd seen the other me across the road, my blood had boiled straight over. Who could stay calm while someone wearing their own face tried to punch through the encirclement? Losing my composure and chasing his tail blind had been an unmistakable mistake.
What was I thinking, charging in like a madman when I can't even fight?
It took the Smell Officer himself to stop me — that said everything. But think on it for even a moment, and the truth was plain: what he wanted was precisely for us to lose our heads.
Run hot with emotion, and a gap opens. Every time.
This was no different from an immigration inspection. One side trying to slip past the checkpoint by stealth; the other sworn to stop them. Framed that way, the winning path was to master the situation with a cool, level head.
If the examiner does not waver, the traveler does not pass. If the traveler does not pass, the examiner does not lose. And if the examiner does not lose — it is the opponent who begins to waver.
The most fundamental mindset of an examiner.
And I'd let myself forget it. Just as the Chief of the Northern Border said — the rookie stink still hasn't worn off me.
Letting out a short sigh, I steadied my breathing and addressed the soldiers.
"You were all quite right. The suspect is a rat in a pot now. There is no need to rush."
He had shut himself inside of his own accord; all we need do was decline the invitation. If anything, he'd tightened the noose around his own neck.
—Thud-thud-thud-thud.
As the Smell Officer's and Taste Officer's teams converged from the side streets, I gave my final order.
"Recall every unit still searching the dead ends and surround this building. Once it's sealed all the way around, this is over."
"...Why won't they come in?"
Shahal stole a glance outside through the second-floor window.
This building was, quite simply, the perfect stage for ambush. She had chosen it in a hurry, but the tangle of rooms and corridors and the shrouding dark meant her plan for revenge had been drafted the moment she stepped through the door.
"Judging by how worked up that examiner was, I figured he'd storm straight in."
If a man who didn't know the first thing about fighting came bounding in after her like that, his underlings would only be more reckless still. She had already rigged makeshift traps and marked out her ambush points, and now she lay in wait. Thin the pursuing soldiers even a little, and everything that followed would become that much easier.
But twenty minutes had come and gone, and not one of them had entered. Instead, more and more soldiers kept appearing outside.
"Damn it... what are they playing at..."
Unease crawling over her, she gnawed at her nails and looked down at the bag in her hands.
—Oink...
A pig's squeal, trembling with fear, seeped faintly out of it.
"It's all right, saintess," she murmured, soothing. "No matter what happens, you are going to the North."
As though convincing herself:
"If only for the information I want."
About twenty minutes later, a rider came up to me.
"Encirclement complete, Sir Examiner!"
"Give me the report."
"Sir! Fifty of our cavalry, joined by sixty infantry who'd been holding the surrounding roads — the entire building is wrapped up completely!"
I looked around at that. Sure enough, nearly a hundred soldiers stood ringing the lone building, iron-tight, faces wound taut with tension.
He declared with total confidence:
"Not even a single rat is getting out of here."
"Outstanding."
The roads leading here, and the route to the Lacour Bridge, were locked down as well. Perfect. The final cordon was in place. Which left exactly one thing to do.
"Ah— ah!" I raised my voice.
"Sota, there inside the building! Can you hear me!?"
Sota was almost certainly an alias. But it was the only name I had for him, so that was the one I called.
No answer came.
"You are already surrounded! There is no escape!"
Stony silence.
"This is your final summons to surrender! Throw down your weapons and give yourself up — along with the strategic creature!"
Not a stir.
"Hold out all you like — in the end, you will be taken! I would rather see no more blood spilled, so come out!"
Silence.
The soldiers traded glances.
"Stubborn bastard, holding out this long."
"I'd have surrendered ages ago."
I, too, held my silence and waited a while for a reply — then shook my head.
"Very well. Nothing for it, then."
We had done everything humanitarian decency required. So the next step was singular.
"Effective immediately, we will proceed with forcible suppression."
A rider spoke up, brimming with confidence.
"We'll go in and subdue him. Just leave it to us."
"No. We have someone better suited."
"Better suited, sir?"
The soldiers must not go in. That was exactly what he wanted, and I had no intention of granting it outright. Besides, these were the Margrave's own men, and letting them bleed carelessly carried real weight. But we did have the right man for the job — a man tailor-made for precisely this kind of work.
I called the name.
"Smell Officer Blaszek."
"Grrrrrrr."
Barely keeping his instincts on a leash, he strode forward. Drool dripped steadily from his jaws. He looked murder incarnate.
I asked him:
"You lost him once. Can you catch him again?"
"Is that... a question... you're seriously asking?"
His speech had gone combative. With only the bare minimum of courtesy left intact, he rumbled:
"Prey may run... all it likes. It only... delays my jaws."
Claws he wasn't even bothering to conceal flashed out, menacing.
He had caught the scent of blood and still let the quarry slip — and worse, had failed even to shield his own superior from danger. Those facts were likely stoking the Smell Officer's fury and instincts to bursting. A complete inversion of his usual easygoing, cheerful self.
A werewolf on the verge of detonation.
Perfect.
With a faint smile, I gestured at the building's door.
"Breach. So long as the pig is left alive and whole, everything else is permitted."
The werewolf smashed through the door and disappeared inside.
—KA-BOOOOM!
A thunderous crash.
"AWOOOOOOO!"
"Gwaaak! You damn mutt...!"
Screams and roars.
—CLANG! KSSH!
The skin-crawling shriek of metal being torn apart.
Flashes burst from the pitch-dark building, and with them an avalanche of every manner of sound; the soldiers flinched.
"G-Good heavens... what on earth is happening in there...?"
"Shhh. They say werewolves gone berserk are scarier than demons."
"Be that as it may, since when do fights sound like bombs going off?"
Anxious whispering rippled all around.
"They do say he's been under a lot of work stress lately. Guess it was true."
"Right? The man does leave work early, after all."
Of everyone there, only the Taste Officer and I were composed.
"Um... Sir Examiner? Is it truly all right to send that werewolf in alone? Who... who even is he...?"
Just as one soldier, unable to stomach his unease any longer, moved to ask for an explanation —
—BANG!
—one side of the wall burst open, and the Smell Officer emerged. His gray fur was soaked through with blood.
"Grrrh... I... won."
Wounds crisscrossing his body, he spat, then staggered toward us through the cloud of dust. At the sight, the soldiers' expressions shifted from anxiety to awe.
"O-Ohhhhh!"
"As expected of a werewolf...! You've felled the fiend!"
In place of an answer, the Smell Officer struck a pose — fist clenched, hoisted high. To anyone watching, the very picture of a victor. The very picture of a man who had prevailed in a duel fought for his life.
But the Taste Officer and I narrowed our eyes at the werewolf.
"Hm."
"Mmm..."
Something was off. A werewolf with hunting instincts in full stampede — like our Smell Officer — does not stand about politely after a successful kill. What beast anywhere on this earth catches its prey and then behaves itself? If anything, he'd be drunk on victory — howling, gnawing his kill, licking it, slurping it, raising an absolute racket.
The Taste Officer's eyes met mine. Very faintly — a motion meant for me alone — she shook her head.
I stopped the werewolf as he shuffled toward me.
"One moment, Smell Officer."
"...What is it."
The reply was curt. I pressed on.
"You're bleeding a great deal. Were you injured?"
"She was no pushover. Or should I say, no pushover of a bitch. Doesn't matter now, I suppose. Dead is dead."
The werewolf snickered and rolled his shoulders.
"Where is the suspect?"
"Second floor. Room at the back."
He jerked a thumb upward as though the question were a nuisance, and resumed walking.
"Damn it, I need a rest. Out of my way."
Seizing the moment, I loosed my final question.
"Woof-woof-woof, grrrr-ruff-ruff?" (= And where, might I ask, is the saintess?)
In the werewolf tongue.
"...I beg your pardon?"
What came back was a flustered expression and a slowly cocked head.
The instant I saw it, the Taste Officer screamed.
"It's a fake!!!"
I shouted as well.
"That one is the culprit! He's disguised himself as the Smell Officer!"
—KA-BOOOOM!
At the same instant, the opposite wall shattered and the real Smell Officer shot through.
"BLOOD!!!!!!"
Eyes blazing white, he roared at the werewolf who looked exactly like him.
"This fight isn't over yet!!!"
The deafening bellow startled everyone into statues.
"Let's see how wolf meat tastes!!! Today I dine on my own kind, you son of a bitch!!!"
Yes — that fire, that savagery. That was the real thing. Not a scratch on him, drool swinging from his jaws, fur bristled to a point — a proper beast. That's how he ought to look mid-hunt.
"That's our Smell Officer."
"Indeed it is our Smell Officer, sir."
Only then did the two of us nod, satisfied.
"F-Fake?"
"It's a fake! All of you, draw steel!"
Only now catching on, the soldiers raised their weapons as one and trained them on the impostor.
Completely spent, the false Smell Officer stared at me, aghast, and said:
"You... what in the world are you?"
The voice had returned to a woman's.
In those violet eyes sat fear, and pain — and a very deep curiosity.
Whether from exhaustion or her injuries, her body had begun to melt slowly back into the shape of a slender woman. And out came her true form: a woman with pale violet hair, soaked in blood and riddled with wounds, sinking to her knees where she stood. There was not a sound spot left on her — proof of how madly the Smell Officer had attacked.
"What... what could possibly drive you... to corner me like this?" she murmured, as if the thought simply refused to fit in her head. "What could make you hunt me this hard? A lowly examiner...?"
To that question, I held my silence a moment — then answered, calmly.
"You never properly completed your immigration inspection."
"..."
Nonplused, she blinked her violet eyes.
"...That's it?"
"Enter without authorization like that, and it falls to this officer to hold you accountable!"
An immigration officer who can't catch a single illegal immigrant — what would become of him? Disaster, that's what. Big trouble, my friend.
The shapeshifter muttered, as if she couldn't believe it.
"You chased me like this over that? You spent the Margraviate's entire garrison over that?"
Then she pointed at the Smell Officer, who was still windmilling his arms, fresh as a spring morning.
"That's why that wolf bastard went berserk? All of that, over just that?"
Truthfully, that wasn't all of it. It was only the surface reason. There was also the matter of the abducted saintess, and the beating I'd taken. The fact that you were carrying the very woman who would save my neck at the trial twenty-four hours from now. The fact that my Zero-Accident Record had to be defended at all costs — and you, of all people, were one strike away from shattering it. The fact that you'd picked a spectacularly bad day, when my mind was already in knots. And the fact that I truly did not want to report this to the Minister, who already carried more than enough on her shoulders.
So yes, there was quite a list. But I had no desire to share it. None of it was her business to know. Everything she needed from me fit in one word:
"Yes."
"Haha... absolute lunatics."
She let out a hollow, defeated laugh.
"Bitten good and proper by a pack of madmen."
And with that, she lost consciousness from the blood loss and collapsed where she knelt.
"AWOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
The Smell Officer's victory howl rang out to the very heavens.
And so, the pig hunt came to an end.