Delis in Wonderland (2)
The border control checkpoint in the port city of Southampton was one of the busiest in all of England—no, the entire British Empire. Although passenger air travel had become commonplace and the Channel Tunnel cutting through the Strait of Dover had opened a few years prior, supposedly reducing their workload, the crushing volume of tasks remained virtually unchanged. As a result, the border control officers were perpetually angry. No matter how good-natured a person might be, just a week of rolling through the gears of this workplace hell was enough to completely warp their personality. That was the Southampton border checkpoint for you.
Brandon Roberts, who was in charge of in-depth interviews for incoming travelers, was a man with a temper far above average and a fuse far below it. With the dark circles hanging heavily under his eyes, he was the kind of person anyone would go out of their way to avoid provoking. Furthermore, Roberts had a tendency to vent his work-related stress onto the travelers. After all, if there were no grounds for disqualification, they would have passed straight through. The fact that they had been dragged to the in-depth interview room meant they had been caught trying to illegally enter Her Majesty's realm. Roberts believed it was perfectly acceptable to unleash a bit of his wrath on such scum.
Yet, looking over the personal details of his next subject, Roberts couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion.
"A British citizen? Why...?"
Where on earth did a country drag its own citizens into an in-depth interrogation room? As far as Roberts knew, such a thing never happened unless the person was a communist party member or held dual citizenship that required precise verification. Moreover, looking closely at the documents, he realized—good heavens—they had detained a girl who was only sixteen years old. It made him wonder if the country was going to ruin now that Thatcher had secured her fifth consecutive term.
At this point, his anger shouldn't be directed at 'Irene Lonska,' an innocently dragged-in subject of the British Empire, but at his incompetent subordinates who had botched the job so spectacularly.
When he entered the private holding room where the citizen was being kept, his eyes immediately fell upon the girl sitting quietly in her chair. Just as described in the paperwork, her straight, platinum blonde hair, flowing down between her shoulders and waist, captured his attention. Furthermore, all her documents, including her passport, were spread out on the table in front of her.
At a single glance, Roberts could tell the girl had brought every necessary document, but had been dragged to the interrogation room solely due to the incompetence of his idiotic subordinates. Her tightly hunched shoulders only proved it. She looked like a small, trembling animal, a sight that would trigger anyone's protective instincts.
Roberts decided to put his anger on hold for just a moment. He had already resolved to unleash it on his staff later. He sat down and turned his gaze to the girl, who was visibly enveloped in tension.
"We aren't supposed to hold citizens of the Empire like this... Are you alright? If your documents are in order, we'll have you on your way in no time. Ah, I'm Brandon Roberts, by the way."
He adopted an unusually submissive tone. But what choice did he have? If the press got wind of this and decided to sink their teeth into it, he would be the only one taking the fall.
The girl murmured softly, "Ah... it's fine. It was something that clearly needed to be verified, and it's better to resolve it cleanly now rather than have it cause trouble later..."
Her response felt almost healing. In an interrogation room usually filled with liars and defensive, shameless characters, a polite, normal answer was already far above average. Feeling a rare touch of human warmth, Roberts moved on to his first routine question.
"Then, first of all... what is your name?"
Perhaps realizing the formal interview had begun, the girl lifted her bowed head and looked straight into Roberts's eyes.
They were ruby-red eyes. They formed a striking contrast not only with her bright hair, which reflected light differently depending on the angle, but also with her snow-white skin. He had already seen it noted in her file, but those crimson eyes were truly mystical. It was a level of beauty that defied comparison to the unsettling, bloodshot eyes of an albino.
They say conversation is most honest when you look each other in the eye. Roberts didn't even need to hear her answer to know instinctively that this girl had returned home with absolutely no ill intent.
"I'm Irene Lonska."
It matched the name on her passport and documents. The Polish ring to her surname was likely because she actually had Polish blood in her ancestry. But that was certainly no justification for detaining her. Even if she had come from Poland, that den of communists, the child was innocent. Moreover, she was British.
Every document consistently proved that the girl, Irene Lonska, was entirely free of any disqualifying factors. But even without looking at the paperwork, Roberts was already convinced of her innocence. One look into those eyes was all it took. If the eyes are the window to the soul, who could possibly dare to accuse this girl of any wrongdoing?
"..."
"Lady Bronska?"
"Ah, yes."
I had briefly lost myself in old memories. Of all times to daydream. This time, it wasn't because I didn't realize he was calling me, but simply because I had drifted too deep into my own thoughts to answer. It was quite fascinating how accustomed I had become to living as Yerina Bronska after only a few days.
In the very same monastery basement where I had harvested the materialist's soul, Delis Bloomfeld sat bound hand and foot, having been "delivered" right in front of me.
"Take them off," I instructed Pavel. I meant her blindfold and gag, of course, not her clothes.
Once her eyes and mouth were finally freed, the first thing to assault Delis Bloomfeld was a blinding glare. The lighting had been meticulously designed to focus directly on the center, making her feel as though she were under interrogation. She immediately squinted, trying to assess her surroundings. By the time her eyes adjusted to the light, I could feel her gaze shifting between Pavel and me.
The shout that followed was entirely unexpected.
"Irene Lonska...! My father's sworn enemy...!"
"...?"
What on earth was this nonsense?
Pavel, standing between Delis and me with the tear-soaked blindfold and saliva-stained gag in hand, froze in place, trying to make sense of the situation. I wasn't much different. Why on earth was I her father's sworn enemy?
Regardless, hearing my alias brought back memories of the immigration process in Southampton. The border officer, whose name I couldn't even recall now, had completely changed his tune, becoming incredibly soft and gentle the moment our eyes met. Well... to be fair, even before that, he had already seemed halfway inclined to treat me that way, given my face, age, and gender.
In any case, though it had been less than two months since I began living as Yerina Bronska and Irene Lonska, the looks I received were almost always overwhelmingly positive. The former was out of respect for the Syndicate's second-in-command, while the latter was the idle goodwill of passersby toward a pretty girl walking the streets of London.
Through the process of making eye contact with various people, I had managed to grasp the true nature of the magic residing in my crimson eyes. It was a highly advanced form of magic that contaminated the minds of those who beheld them. While the degree of contamination varied from person to person, the direction was clear. It worked to make anyone harbor a vague sense of goodwill toward me. I decided to call this Charm.
It was a new magic unknown to my past self, and even now its mechanism remained a mystery, but it was undeniably a magical phenomenon. Because it activated so naturally, it had taken even me quite some time to realize that magic was actually at play.
Occasionally, some who met my gaze would have their minds clouded by a thick fog, displaying a raw lust toward me. This was similar to the Soviet hounds who had unbuckled their belts back when I was still a greenhorn in Kaliningrad, struggling to grasp the situation. But just as extremes meet, extreme positivity and extreme negativity weren't all that different; in any case, it was true that they looked upon me favorably.
Because of this, when this dark-haired girl spewed such hostile words at me—a rare occurrence—it naturally sparked feelings of doubt and curiosity.
First, I signaled Pavel to return to my side. I told him to just toss the blindfold and gag onto the floor. Instead, I moved toward Delis Bloomfeld, rising from the cheap iron chair I had used a few weeks ago. The clicking of my heels echoed, sounding exactly as it had on the day I killed Kim Philby. Every sight, smell, and sound of this musty, damp medieval monastery basement stirred a deep nostalgia for the days when I hunted materialists. The fact that I was wearing the exact same clothes certainly helped.
I didn't know the cause of her hostility, but I figured I could soften her up with Charm first. What on earth did she mean by "my father's sworn enemy"?
Adopting the same posture as before, I knelt to lower my height and met the bound Delis Bloomfeld's gaze. Eyes resembling gold and rubies locked onto each other. Fear resided only on one side, but curiosity was shared by both.
And what I discovered was...
My Charm isn't working...?
This had never happened before. There was a sensation of the magic activating, but it felt as though it had been abruptly cut off halfway, blocked by a thick wall.
I immediately hid my panic. Exposing one's weakness was something a hunter must never do. I stood back up and returned to my seat. It was still awkward to watch her follow me with eyes full of pure hostility.
The magic activated, but had no effect on the target... I see. My mind as a mage spun rapidly, dragging similar cases from the depths of my memory. There were only two possibilities: either a more advanced defensive magic had been triggered, or she possessed a relic that granted permanent immunity to mental contamination.
If it were the former, there was no way I wouldn't have noticed. Besides, any magic capable of nullifying a highly advanced spell like Charm would inevitably leave a heavy trace. Simply casting such a spell would generate massive magical residue. If it had been cast within England, there was no way I, who had been staying in London all this time, would have missed it. If the magic had been activated somewhere outside my detection range—such as Edinburgh, Belfast, or across the border in Dublin or Paris—then time became the issue.
Anyone with even a passing knowledge of magic knew that spells cast on organic bodies were unstable. Just as experiments are more accurate when using isotopes with longer half-lives rather than shorter ones, magic cast on inorganic matter is always more effective than on organic bodies, which constantly undergo cell division and weaken the spell's efficacy. Granted, enchanting inorganic matter was much trickier and took longer, but that didn't matter right now. Although it varied depending on the type of magic, the general consensus was that spells bound to organic bodies rarely lasted more than a week. Once that period passed, one had to expend effort to cast it again.
I knew this all too well because I did it myself. I personally renewed the defensive magic on my subordinates, who were constantly exposed to danger during smuggling and trafficking operations. Even then, those barriers would shatter after blocking just five or six bullets. I could grant them greater protection, but this was the absolute limit if I wanted to avoid the eyes of the British Ministry of Magic. That group of lunatics, who wouldn't be satisfied until every single mage in the world was under their surveillance, would surely pose a massive obstacle to my grand plan of burning Moscow and reducing the Kremlin to ashes.
So, the explanation that she possessed a relic made much more sense... but the problem was that, upon closer thought, even that seemed impossible.
"Pavel."
"Yes, my lady."
"You checked everything she had on her, right? At least, anything that could hold magic."
"I checked everything, just as you ordered. The only things she had were a mobile phone and a wallet."
Even though mobile phones of this era were still something I hadn't fully adjusted to, I could tell it was some sort of BlackBerry. The wallet was standard, so that was easier to assess. Neither held even a trace of magic.
Unaware of my inner thoughts, Pavel asked quietly, "My lady... is there a problem?"
"Ah, my Charm isn't working on her."
"What? Is that... even possible...?"
Pavel's confusion was entirely natural. Since he was almost always with me, he was the subordinate most affected by my Charm. To use his own words, 'Every time I make eye contact with you, my lady, my loyalty to you seems to redouble.' Even if he didn't show it, having someone fiddle with the inside of your head couldn't be a pleasant feeling. Even if it did result in heightened loyalty toward the leader of the syndicate he respected.
It didn't activate through photos or video calls, but that was simply because it wasn't 'direct.' My tests had shown that if we made direct eye contact, even sunglasses couldn't block it. So it was no wonder Pavel's eyes widened in shock.
"Hmm..."
I let out a soft hum. This didn't seem like something that would be resolved with just a day or two of contemplation. Meanwhile, looking at Delis's expression, her hostility seemed to have grown even deeper. Well, it was only natural, given that the people in front of her were speaking in a Russian she couldn't understand.
Although my instincts as a mage screamed at me to find out right this instant why my Charm had failed, putting an issue that wouldn't be solved quickly at the top of my priority list was something I had to avoid as the leader of an organization. First, it was more important to uncover the reason behind her hostility. So, this time, I asked in English.
"Tell me, Delis. Why exactly am I your father's sworn enemy?"