Here to Make a Deal (2)
"..."
The first thing to catch my eye was the sorry state of her body.
Looks like she had a thoroughly miserable three days.
There wasn't a single unmarked patch of skin. It was clear she'd been tortured extensively.
I felt no sympathy.
— Throb.
After all, I still remembered exactly how her boot had felt kicking me in the face.
Besides, she's the one who staged a terror attack. She's earned every bit of this.
And yet, those defiant violet eyes were as rebellious as ever.
I packed as much into the words as I could, keeping them brief.
"I trust you've been well."
"I should've just killed you back then instead of knocking you out."
Given how sharp her reaction was, her spirit hadn't broken one bit.
"Don't tell me... you came here alone? A prison like this is no place for a weakling like you to wander into by yourself."
she asked in a voice pitched low — probing, testing. Even in a situation like this, she was still sizing up how she might use me. Remarkable, really.
"Hardly. You think I'd be insane enough to sit alone in a cell with a violent felon?"
As I said it, I slipped subtly to one side, and the Scent Officer and the Tactile Officer stepped into the cell.
"Yo. Pleasure."
the Scent Officer greeted her lightly, like a guy running into an old gym buddy.
"..."
"I said, pleasure."
The Changeling's face darkened all of a sudden.
Something unpleasant must have surfaced in her memory.
She quickly turned her head away and spoke to the Tactile Officer instead.
"And what's this supposed to be? A pile of tentacles? Why'd you bring a thing like that in here?"
At the slur, one of the tentacles flinched.
At the same time, the Tactile Officer — Lacrissa Glynnafin — narrowed her eyes in clear displeasure.
"...I beg your pardon?"
Oh dear.
Of all things, racial discrimination is what the Tactile Officer hates most.
And being an aquatic hybrid herself, she takes it extremely personally...
Sensing the atmosphere about to detonate before we'd even begun, I hurried to cut in.
"I have received the transfer of your interrogation rights from the Count. Accordingly, I will now be asking you several questions."
She stared at me with an expression that said, You too?
I paid it no mind and asked.
"What is your name?"
"What does the name of a dead woman walking matter? I've got two days left, tops."
Another cutting retort.
"...So you know your execution date. That does simplify things."
"I'll be honest with you. Your time has run out. When the sun sets the day after tomorrow, you die."
The opening move of an interrogation: pressure and fear.
The Marchioness's people had already applied the physical pressure. What remained for me was the psychological kind.
"Escape is impossible. Three days have passed already. And no one is coming to rescue you."
"Ha. You think so?"
"But in exchange, I can buy you time. There is exactly one thing I want."
Leaving a meter between us, I spoke.
"The abduction of the Saint... of Erzena. That was hardly something you planned alone, was it? Who hired you?"
A mocking laugh burst from her lips.
"You want me to give up my employer? What a joke. Let's see... I believe it was our Father who art in heaven who ordered it."
It was blatant ridicule — but I snagged the first word out of it anyway.
Employer.
That word meant she hadn't done this out of some personal grudge or ambition.
Think it through calmly. Who would dare lay a hand on the Saint of the Holy Church, the largest faith on the continent? And why would a Changeling agree to it?
Abducting a Saint would shake the entire world. If someone had promised her a price in exchange for carrying it out, then whoever was behind it commanded power on that same scale.
Progress.
Without realizing it, she had been letting information slip, piece by piece.
Push further.
"Changeling magic is a rather rare branch of the arcane... and judging by your remarkably agile physical combat, you must have received special training. Am I correct?"
Transformation magic belongs to the domain of sorcery — manipulating one's bodily form through mana, actively employed in deception and espionage. But its inherently duplicitous nature has earned it considerable ostracism in the world, so true transformation mages are rarer than one might think.
And a mage with combat skills rivaling the Scent Officer's? I've never heard of such a thing.
Mages fight about as well as I do. They're the sort who devote their entire lives to studying spells and mana, leaving no time for combat training.
Yet she had managed all of it.
In that case, she might be someone known in certain underworld circles.
And anyone with those abilities could likely be identified with only a little digging.
But she only burst into another jeering laugh.
"...You know nothing, and yet you talk like you know everything. It's honestly hilarious, Officer."
"And what is it that I don't know?"
"You haven't even figured out who I am. What information do you think you're going to pry out of me? Hm?"
She rattled the shackles binding her wrists.
"You'd better worry about your own hide. One of these days I might just be walking around wearing your skin again."
She threatened me right back.
And in that instant—
— CRUNCH!
A fist nearly as large as the Changeling's head smashed into the wall right beside her.
"Hkk...!"
Startled, she hunched her shoulders and looked up at the Scent Officer with wide, frightened eyes.
"Hey."
The Scent Officer's teeth, as he closed in slowly. A wolf, growling low.
"One more word to the Central Officer in that tone, and it won't be the executioner's axe that tears your throat out. It'll be these teeth. Right now."
"H-heh, heh, heh. Well. I suppose we'll see about that."
Cowering completely, she sneered through a trembling voice.
And something about it felt... off.
A proud front despite knowing she'll die — and at the same time, crumbling the instant she's threatened? Those two things contradict each other.
This woman is not brave. The way she folded the moment she saw the Scent Officer proved that much.
And yet she was still standing her ground like this. Which meant—
She has something she's counting on. A card left to play.
As I quietly studied her, our eyes met.
And at last, I understood the strangeness I'd felt moments ago.
This woman — her eye color has never changed. Not once.
When she transformed into Sota the farm boy. When she became me. Even when she wore the Scent Officer's shape — her eyes were always the same color.
Violet.
Transformation magic can change everything.
Mana-driven metamorphosis has no limits. It can alter anything from your hair color down to the color of the hair between your legs.
So what she was doing wasn't magic at all. She was no transformation mage.
And there's no mana from her, either.
The Tactile Officer is second only to the Auditory Officer in mana sensitivity, and she hadn't reacted at all. Whatever this was, it had nothing to do with mana.
A woman who could become anyone at will — yet whose eye color never changed.
Did such a being actually exist in this world?
I let the thought turn over for a moment.
And then—
It does.
I remembered.
Slowly, I opened my mouth.
"You are... not a transformation mage."
Immigration Officers deal with countless species. From the most common humans to the rarest of dragon hatchlings, we are required to know every species' traits and the cultures that follow from them, at all times.
And right now, in my head, there was one species that fit every single condition.
A species so rarely seen that it survived by mimicking people and hiding among them.
I said the name.
"Changeling."
A flinch.
For the first time, the woman's composure wavered.
"..."
Correct answer.
And I remembered the sole condition for a Changeling's transformation: consuming the hair of a living creature.
Which meant her defiant attitude pointed to one thing, plain and clear.
This woman has already hidden away hair to eat somewhere, and she's built an entire escape plan around it.
I spoke immediately.
"Tactile Officer."
"Yes."
"Please conduct a full-body search of this woman."
"What scope should the search cover?"
A brief silence.
"...All of it."
"Understood. Close your eyes, Central Officer. And you too, Scent Officer."
The moment the order fell, Lacrissa began undressing.
The Scent Officer and I promptly shut our eyes.
Those who inherited the blood of great deep-sea creatures can, on occasion, reveal their true form.
She wore a human shape now, but that was not the Tactile Officer's real body. Her current appearance was merely one form adopted out of consideration for our aesthetic sensibilities.
Her true form was—
— Sliiide. Shllllorp.
Something indescribable, composed of tens upon hundreds of tentacles.
Witnessing the Tactile Officer transform into a grotesque colony of tentacles she had never once seen before, the Changeling recoiled in horror and screamed.
"Wh-what the hell is that!? What IS that thing!?"
"Oh, that reminds me — you called me a 'pile of tentacles' earlier. Are you aware that's an extremely racially discriminatory remark?"
So she'd been holding onto that.
— Thwap. Thwap.
Came the sound of something heavy and slick moving. And with it, the screams of one terrified woman.
"Wh-what are you doing? Don't come near me! What are you—get those things away from me!"
"How rude. They're tentacles. Are your eyes merely decorative?"
"Wh-where are you touching—? Uwaaaaagh! You crazy woman, get away from me!"
"If you struggle, it will hurt more."
The Tactile Officer's signature physical inspection had begun — the method of wrapping and combing through every inch of the body with tentacles, leaving no gap unchecked.
— Shloop-shloop. Sliiiirp.
"Aaahh—, huuuuh!"
The sound of something forcing its way into narrow places and churning this way and that rang out without end.
And a short while later—
"Ah. Found it, Central Officer."
"May I open my eyes?"
"One moment, please..."
— Sliiiiide.
Along with that smooth sound came the deeply unpleasant noise of tentacles merging back together beside my ear.
"All done. You may look."
"Let's see, then."
I opened my eyes to find the Tactile Officer returned to her demure human-maiden form, and one Changeling sprawled bonelessly across the floor, looking as though she had been through something absolutely brutal.
With a face of immense professional pride, the Tactile Officer held something out to me.
"She had human hair in her mouth, and mouse fur hidden between her toes."
"Nothing odd anywhere else?"
She answered by waving a single tentacle, glistening with some unidentifiable liquid.
"I went all the way into her deepest places, and even inside her body. Nothing."
Deepest places. Inside her body.
At those words, I discreetly averted my gaze.
She must have really, really disliked her.
I decided it would be wisest not to ask for details.
"Haah... haah..."
For the prisoner whose entire body had just been laid bare before a deep-sea horror, only one thing remained.
Shock and horror.
It was the face of someone who had seen the thing one should never see.
"Now, then."
Seizing the opening, I spoke.
"You have no means of escape anymore. Let's try this again."
The psychological balance between us had shattered. From here on, this would be a one-sided, genuine interrogation.
I asked her once more.
"Who is your backer?"
Her answer was simple.
"S-save me."
For the first time, Shahal's face showed desperation where defiance and mockery had been.
"Please. Spare me."
Fair enough, honestly.
I had seen the Tactile Officer's true form exactly once and passed out cold on the spot, after all.
And with the one method she'd been counting on now exposed, nothing remained for her at all.
This is probably her true face, then.
A woman who did not want to die. Who was afraid.
For someone guilty of abducting a Saint, assaulting a civil servant, and staging a border terror attack, she looked remarkably terrified.
Don't waver.
Still, no matter what, letting my guard down was out of the question. I had to remember why I was here in the first place.
Information first. What happens to this woman comes after.
Think of this as a negotiation. Every negotiation has a rhythm. Hardline tactics are followed by conciliation. After a major clash, you extend a small measure of cooperation.
I said, gently:
"You must tell me what you know now. Otherwise, I cannot help you either."
I steadied my throat, slowly. Focused my mind. Looked her straight in those violet eyes.
"Filava heshail deka sruvael." (— Speak the truth, and I will help you.)
The tongue of the Changelings flowed from my mouth — a voice like a serpent hissing.
"Wh... what?"
For the first time, she stared at me with open shock on her face.
"You're... one of us? You were my kin all along?"
"..."
Silence.
Beyond this point, I would not answer carelessly. I simply let her draw her own conclusion — and let her take my silence as confirmation.
For a woman backed into a psychological corner, the only rope left to grab was me. So I used it.
"Talk! You — you were my kin from the very beginning, and you pretended not to know this whole time?"
Silence.
"I-I'll talk, okay? Huh? Please, just answer me. Do you know how long I've searched for our kin — and it was you!?"
Shock became alarm, alarm became pleading. The information that had barely been trickling out of her now poured forth freely.
This was exactly like a negotiation: give the other side the barest minimum of information, and take the maximum from them.
And at last, the desperate Changeling opened her mouth.
"M-my employer is—"
Checkmate.
She was finally spilling everything.
"The Evil God Cult—"
And in that instant—
— Vuuuum.
A pitch-black sorcerous circle began to spread across the floor at her feet.
In the space of a breath, it expanded to cover half the cell — a magic array inscribed with intricate workings, sealing itself shut.
"Huh?"
"Eh?"
And the circle enclosed precisely the Changeling and me.
"!!!! Central Officer! Get back!"
the Tactile Officer screamed, seizing me and yanking with all her strength—
— CRACKLE.
Withered, twisted thorns burst up through the floor.
"Wh—huh?"
"W-wait—"
— SHRRIIIP!
Before anyone could react, the brambles hurled themselves at the Changeling with savage force.
"No! No no no! What is this!? GET AWAY FROM ME!"
Exactly as the Tactile Officer had done moments before, they coiled around her entire body and constricted.
The only difference: these were not smooth, harmless tentacles, but thorned vines made to tear a human body apart.
A scream of pure agony tore through the air.
"Haladain! Haladain!!!" (— H-help me! Help me!)
Believing me to be her kin, she pleaded for help in the tongue of the Changelings.
She stretched her hand out toward me.
A hand reaching for salvation.
"Silaha vir'a Hatensi—" (— My employer's name is Haten—)
And just before the words could end—
— Crunch.
The thorns crushed the woman's body outright.
— Splatter.
Blood sprayed in every direction.
Everyone froze.
"Th-this is..."
My heart hammered wildly. One second later, and I would have shared her fate.
"..."
Even the Scent Officer stood with every hair on his body bristling, saying nothing at all.
— Skrreeetch. Fsss.
The thorns that had killed her twisted into a grotesque shape where they stood, then collapsed into ash and were gone.
And that was that.
It had happened far too suddenly. As if nothing had happened at all, a heavy silence settled over the cell once more.
"..."
Numbly, I turned my gaze to the only evidence left: the magic circle.
This was far too strange to call mana. It was not golden light, nor was it the manner commonly used by shamans. Instead, a dark-crimson force unlike anything I had ever seen rippled menacingly across it, as though devouring light itself.
"What in the world... just happened?"
The dead do not answer.
At that very same moment.
In an abandoned temple of the Skadi Empire, in the frozen north—
— Thump.
A small stuffed doll with button eyes of violet suddenly keeled over and fell forward.
The doll lay resting upon a sorcerous circle etched with blasphemous scripture and curses.
"Oh my."
A woman with long jet-black hair picked up the little doll.
Then, narrowing her blood-red eyes, she murmured:
"You mustn't betray me, Shahal. We had a promise, you know."
Hatenzilla, Saintess of the Evil God Cult, smiled faintly.
"The Vice Master of the Black Hand herself, breaking the silence pact. My disappointment could hardly be greater. And to think — only days ago I heard that the pilgrimage had been denied entry..."
Slowly, she turned her gaze toward the Crossline Kingdom.
"Which means someone out there is trying to learn about us. Now... who could that be, I wonder."
It dawned on her that there was another obstacle standing in her way — one besides the Saint.