9. Black and Gold (1)
9. Black and Gold (1)
Yeterinpurk was a city situated at the easternmost edge of the Kiev Empire.
Though distant from the imperial heartland, it served a critical function for the Empire in several key respects.
First and foremost, it possessed one of the Empire's very few ice-free ports.
Battered directly by the winds howling down from the North Pole, the Kiev Empire was a land of such interminable winters that it had earned the nickname the "Frozen Empire."
As a result, transportation networks had developed at a crawl.
Snow fell for a third of the year, and a third of that was blizzards.
Keeping roads maintained under those conditions was an extraordinarily difficult task.
Not only did the aurora phenomenon make airships impossible to launch, but equipment containing delicate magical circuits would also simply stop functioning. Consequently, the ancient great power had recently become the butt of a joke among other nations: the "Hibernating Bear."
In the modern era, sheer territorial size and population alone were no longer enough to guarantee progress; the limits were clear.
That was why the ice-free ports were so precious to the Empire. Even during the harshest seasons, when the bitter polar winds swept across the land, foreign trade could continue by sea. Lately, overland trade had been revitalized by the spread of steam locomotives and newly laid railroad tracks, but the value of the ice-free ports remained unchallenged.
Thanks to this vibrant contact with foreign lands, the people of Yeterinpurk were somewhat distinct from the image the word "Kievan" usually conjures.
By Kievan standards, they were considered passionate (though Castilians still found them stoic), free-spirited (though Republic citizens still found them rigid), and friendly (though Charlotians still found them rude).
Despite its internally distinct geographical and social background, Yeterinpurk was by no means disconnected from the Empire's mainstream culture.
It was, in fact, one of the Empire's great cultural centers.
Because of its remote eastern location, nobles who were exiled from the central political scene had been banished here since ancient times. Culture and the arts had flourished primarily around those exiled nobles.
So much so that, in the present day, the situation had reversed entirely, and nobles from every corner of the Empire now flocked here to enjoy the high life.
It was precisely that deep wellspring of cultural influence that allowed the city to host one of the Six Great Theaters for the Circus Grand Prix preliminaries—though the Imperial Theater Troupe persisted in dismissively crediting it all to the ice-free ports.
A sprawling estate complex stretched along the city's coastal hills, containing villas belonging to most of the Empire's truly powerful nobles.
Of course, the nobles themselves rarely visited more than once a year. Most of the guests filling the villas were influential figures with connections to them.
That the 'Golden Carnival' Circus Troupe was permitted to stay at a certain Marquis's villa was a direct result of their patron's network and their own hard-won fame.
Their status as a favorite to win the Circus Grand Prix was more than enough of an ornament for the Marquis to boast about to his villa guests. He had given them a whole building on the condition that they perform for his other visitors once or twice a week.
The Golden Carnival was a project-based circus troupe. The whole purpose for which their patron had assembled them was to put on shows that would advertise his own prestige.
No matter how brilliant the troupe, if they blazed through the preliminary circuits in a single year and then spent the next year idle, that would completely defeat the purpose of patronage. Instead, they had to systematically conquer the theaters at a measured pace, all while making appearances wherever their patron demanded.
That was the reason the Golden Carnival was spending time here now, having already passed the first trial and waiting for the second.
The troupe's leader was known to hold an extraordinary four Inspiras. Wherever he went, he wore a golden suit, a golden cape, and an elongated golden hat. The proudly waxed curl of his mustache and the golden monocle over his left eye were his trademarks.
Lord Fantastic.
Tonight, he was just returning from a dinner party hosted by another influential figure staying at the villa.
His adroit eloquence and astonishing talents made him a welcome guest at any banquet. A merchant dispatched by the patron expressed his gratitude.
"As expected. Now I see why the chairman put such faith in you, Troupe Leader! The business talks went splendidly, all thanks to you."
"Entertaining people is my job. I'm glad I could be of service."
"You're a marvel, Troupe Leader! You never descend into vulgarity like a clown hawking cheap laughs. You never carry yourself with the insufferable arrogance of an artist blind to his own failings. And you never flaunt yourself like an acrobat pulling a dangerous stunt! Persons of high standing find artists who are too full of themselves quite unbearably tiresome, you know."
"Adapting to the audience is a talent in its own right."
"Indeed, being the best in the business takes more than luck! Ah, isn't that your daughter over there?"
The building's backyard, where the circus troupe was lodging.
There, a teenage girl with cascading golden hair was fully absorbed in her acrobatic practice, wearing a training suit soaked through with sweat.
She was tall for her age, with a solidly developed physique. The result of strict, perfect management of both her diet and her exercise regime since she was very young.
She was currently training to throw eight daggers at once, held between her fingers, at a target twenty meters away.
She scattered her hands in a flawless motion.
The eight daggers embedded themselves dead center in the target, without a millimeter of deviation.
The merchant was ready to let his jaw drop and burst into applause, but Lord Fantastic stopped him.
The training regimen still had more to go.
She readied another eight daggers.
Then threw them at targets in different positions. All of them struck true.
She repeated the feat four times in a row without a single miss.
On the fifth round, while she was gripping the daggers and shifting her focus to the next set of targets, her eyes met her father's, on the opposite side of the yard.
Ah.
She was already committed to the throwing motion. Her timing on the release faltered.
One dagger quivered slightly off-center; another missed the target altogether and embedded itself in a tree behind it.
A mistake.
She felt a glacial gaze raking down her back. There was no need to question whose it was.
"Reina! So close! You were doing perfectly until the fourth! What happened? You looked like you'd seen a ghost... Oh, dear...."
The lame man in his thirties who had been assisting her practice started to walk over—then stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the Troupe Leader across the yard.
"Oh no, what a shame. Still, a daughter with such extraordinary skill. I'm quite envious."
"You flatter me."
Lord Fantastic kept a salesman's smile directed at the merchant beside him, but the look in his eyes as he observed the yard was frigid.
You fumble your hands over that little distraction?
In front of hundreds—thousands—you'd piss yourself.
A 'mistake,' is it?
Why are the pathetic excuses that trash make coming from your mouth?
Even unspoken, his habitual voice transmitted itself perfectly.
Lord Fantastic and his guest disappeared into the main building.
Reina stood frozen in place, trembling.
The lame man let out a deep sigh and shook his head.
That man was a damn trauma factory.
"Ah, jeez. Of all the moments for the boss to show up.... It's fine. Just keep at the practice and... hey, hey, Reina! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get some fresh air."
In the backyard, there was a brick terrace that faced out toward the cliffs. Half of its view offered the streets of downtown Yeterinpurk, and the other half showed the estates of other nobles.
Since every guest room in the villa was angled toward the sea, the backyard inevitably faced inland.
The height must have been around twenty meters. Reina leaned against the railing and looked down.
The wind rode up the face of the cliff. Her golden hair scattered in the breeze.
Just then, from the dark alleyway running below the cliff, she heard the distinct sound of a young man's laughter. It was a refreshing, clear sound, the sort that naturally coaxed a smile from anyone who heard it. Beside him, a girl's voice—around her own age—followed in a tone of thorough complaint.
The man sounded entirely at ease, while the girl's voice dripped with dissatisfaction.
A young couple?
A noble lady and her attendant?
Or perhaps... a father and his daughter....
Sometimes, she envied them. Such an ordinary, simple relationship.
Between those two, she imagined, there was no circus, no grueling training, no love and hate tangled into impossible knots.
After a while, the girl's tone shifted to something playfully teasing, while the young man's replies seemed to take on the quality of someone deliberately playing dumb.
The alleyway below the cliff connected to the next street over. Before long, those two figures would emerge under the streetlamp on the opposite walkway. The sight of the two of them looking at one another, their faces brimming with genuine, uncomplicated affection....
The thought of witnessing that only made her heart feel heavier. Reina wrenched herself back to reality.
I'm not like those ordinary children.
I am the daughter of Lord Fantastic, the greatest acrobat and magician this world has ever seen.
I have to train. And train more.
So that Father will have no reason to be disappointed in me.
She cut her break short and walked back into the yard.
Right at that moment, the two shadows that had been walking through the dark alley emerged under the streetlight.
One was a golden-haired man in a black suit and sable cape. The other was a black-haired girl in a crimson tailcoat.
Ella looked up at Wonderstein, her voice carrying a faint pout.
"You look pleased with yourself. Did you like the landlady's lips that much?"
He answered with an awkward smile.
"It's a Kievan custom, supposedly. The one about kissing on the cheek. The landlord tried to do the same to you as well, Miss Ella."
"I dodged it! You just stood there and took it."
"Wouldn't it have been inexcusably rude if both of us dodged?"
"Hmph. Kievan people have eyes, you know. They don't just plant cheek kisses on anyone. Doing it to a complete stranger is basically a sign they took a liking to them. Think back to how the landlady dashed to her neighbor's right afterward to cackle about it."
"Hmm, that was admittedly awkward. Still, as compensation, we managed to get twice the fruit...."
"Compensation?"
Ella arched one eyebrow high. Wonderstein, perfectly unflustered, elaborated.
"Compensation for having graciously accepted their local custom."
"Hmph. You're always so smooth with your tongue."
Right at that moment, Ella's feet tangled and she wobbled. It was the third time it had happened while they were climbing the uphill path.
Wonderstein knew exactly why.
"Miss Ella."
"Wh-what...?"
"Would you mind unlinking your arm from mine?"
"Huh? My arm? Ah, r-right. It's a bit hot...? Haha, no matter how far north we are, August is still August...."
She pulled her arm free and edged a little apart.
She tried to keep her expression perfectly neutral, but she couldn't fully hide the slight droop of her mood. Her eyes had gone flat, and a shallow sigh slipped between her lips.
Wonderstein offered a smile and extended his hand to her once more.
"Isn't linking arms somewhat difficult with our height difference? It keeps making you trip over your own feet. Why not take my hand instead."
"F-fine! You and I are about thirty centimeters apart, after all!"
She latched tightly onto Wonderstein's hand. The gloves she wore almost perpetually were somehow already stripped off.
Her small fingers slipped into the spaces between his own. A giggle escaped her.
"I like this. Walking around together, just like this."
"I did leave you to struggle alone too much back in Rouge, Miss Ella."
"I even collapsed from it."
She let out a soft, snorting huff.
"You being stubborn about handling it all by yourself was no small part of the problem, Miss Ella."
Wonderstein tossed out the remark and then shot a surreptitious glance in her direction. She had suddenly fixed her unfocused eyes on some empty point in the air.
After a brief, waiting pause, she blinked and tilted her head slightly.
"...Now that you mention it, why *did* I rush in with that bullheaded insistence to do it all alone?"
"No memory of it?"
At his carefully neutral question, Ella only made a few dissatisfied-sounding grunts before shaking her head as if to clear it.
"I guess I must have just let my own greed get out of hand. I mean, you went to all the effort of writing such a brilliant script. How could I possibly let it be ruined by my own carelessness, right?"
"...Is that so?"
Wonderstein nodded back, though his smile carried a faint, elusive note of something like regret.
It wasn't long before they arrived at the villa their own patron had provided. Save for the caretaker's quarters, all the other rooms were dark.
"Ah! These people are all asleep already? And after I went to all the trouble of buying fruit!"
"We did explicitly say we'd be having dinner out. The physical conditioning they underwent during the day must have been punishing."
"Ugh. If they're this wiped out, how are they ever going to pass the second trial...?"
Wonderstein smiled at the grumbling Ella.
"Aren't you also quite exhausted, Miss Ella?"
At his question, Ella's eyes went perfectly round, and she vigorously shook her head left and right.
"Ah, no! I'm perfectly fine!"
"There's absolutely no way a person who can actually sleep balanced on a tightrope would start tripping over her own legs just from linking arms."
Without warning, he gave her shoulder a sudden shove. Her legs immediately lost strength, and she stumbled.
"Gah! ...Huh? Hehe, y-you caught me."
She scratched the back of her head, the very image of embarrassment.
"If you're this exhausted, why did you force yourself to tag along?"
"...I, just. It felt... somewhat unsettling to send you off by yourself, I suppose."
"I very nearly had to carry you on my back the whole return trip."
Hearing that, Ella released a deeply regretful inward sigh.
Why didn't I think of that possibility?
Ugh. Ugh.
Showing that much weakness... he might not bring me along next time.
"No matter how tired I am, I can at least manage to drop off a simple test application form without keeling over...."
In response to her retort, he laughed as if she were completely beyond his ability to handle.
"Fine, fine. Go inside and get some rest. We still have tomorrow's schedule, don't we?"
At that, Ella clicked her tongue, as though a little disappointed.
Everyone else is already fast asleep... and here's a perfect chance to be just the two of us....
Still, though her feelings for Wonderstein were strong, she placed just as much importance on training and forward planning. The correct choice right now was to call it a night and rest.
"Fine. I need to start practice again at dawn, anyway."
"Yes. Good night, then."
"Yeah. You sleep well too...."
Ella was just about to exchange goodnights and head to her room when she was abruptly seized by an impulse.
She spun on her heel from the direction she'd been walking, stalked back over to him in a few brisk strides.
"Miss Ella?"
"It's done Kievan-style, right? Like this?"
She gave a light spring, launching herself up on her toes to close their height gap.
And then she delivered a Kievan-style greeting of her own.
*Peck.*
"Hehe."
Landing back on the ground, she spun around at once and dashed quickly into the building. She couldn't bear to look directly at his face right now.
"Goodnight, then."
Waving one hand, Ella vanished inside their lodging building.
"Ah, honestly."
Wonderstein shook his head. If the other troupe members had been awake to see that, they'd have likely been shocked speechless yet again.
Even by now, when he ought to be used to it, this kind of behavior from Ella remained genuinely difficult to adapt to.
Still, it was a relief that nobody else had been around to witness it. If any of the troupe members had seen such an awkward scene....
"Troupe Leader..."
A voice drifted across the air behind him, like something from a ghost.
Wonderstein spun around instantly.
There, dressed in her nightclothes, stood Maya. Her expression looked vacant, as though her spirit had partially detached.
She'd gone to bed during the afternoon's strenuous practice, her stamina lacking compared to the others; it seemed she'd only just woken up.
She fixed her eyes blankly on Wonderstein's face before finally parting her lips.
"Did you... manage to submit the exam application...?"
"...Yes."
"Just the two of you... with the Deputy Leader...?"
"...Yes."
An intensely awkward silence stretched out. A chill, dismal little breeze threaded its way between them.
With the darkness, Maya's expression wasn't clearly visible. Though it was almost certainly as blank as ever regardless....
She walked forward to stand directly in front of him.
And then just intently looked up into his face.
What could she be thinking about right now?
After what looked like a brief internal hesitation, she dipped into a formal bow of her head.
"...Good night."
Having said those words, she slipped back inside the lodging before he could even reply. It seemed she was definitely not yet fully awake.
Wonderstein bit into one of the pieces of fruit they'd bought at the market. Perhaps because it had been cultivated in this cold region, it wasn't particularly sweet.
He stood out in the villa's garden, looking out toward the dark sea.
Was it the northern latitude? Or being this close to the coastline?
Even in summer, the breeze was crisp and cool.
The date was the middle of August. More than two full weeks had passed since they departed Dvalchev.
They had now arrived in Yeterinpurk, the second city hosting the preliminary rounds of the Circus Grand Prix.