9. Black and Gold (25)
9. Black and Gold (25)
The two left the room and climbed the stairs in lockstep, as though they had planned it.
They were looking for somewhere empty and wide-open.
Which meant the factory rooftop.
Lord Fantastic stationed himself beside the chimney to the left of the roof-access door.
'Let's see what he's made of.'
He started up the chimney. His arms never touched the ladder. He strode up the vertical rungs like a staircase.
Wonderstein watched him ascend, then headed for the chimney on the right. He climbed the same way, legs only. With 6.0 Strength and the Tightrope Walking skill he had hastily slotted into his Skillbook, it was enough.
Both men came to rest at the chimney tops.
On the railing just below the smoke vents.
"Is this really the place for a conversation?"
The chimneys stood roughly three meters apart.
Their cloaks snapped in the wind.
It was strong enough to steal a hat if you didn't hold it down.
Wonderstein gazed down at the view and braced himself.
The drop was dizzying.
The whole of Tetromino Square spread out beneath him.
'Should I prep some wings, just in case?'
He had no idea how the other man intended to play this. It wouldn't be out of character for him to hurl a dagger and call it an acrobatics test.
Lord Fantastic's face remained icily impassive, but inwardly, he was impressed.
It took uncommon nerve and skill. The man had followed him up as casually as if it were nothing, and now stood at this height without a flicker of fear, a faint smile playing at his lips.
As if he were savoring the danger itself.
'A more formidable creature than I thought.'
Simon sharpened his wariness another degree.
"Your technique is passable."
"This much is basic. If you want to lead a circus troupe."
"I quite agree."
They both let out a dry chuckle.
Absurd. If that were basic, the world would have vanishingly few circus leaders.
"Let's dispense with pleasantries and get to the point. I shouldn't keep His Grace waiting long."
"Heh. Very well."
Simon gathered himself.
The memory of what he had seen earlier crawled back, deeply unpleasant.
"You seem to have charmed my daughter quite thoroughly. I've never seen her smile like that."
"She must enjoy being with my troupe more than being under your roof."
"That isn't like her."
"Yes, yes. I'm sure. Living under that kind of abuse would harden anyone."
Simon ground his teeth and spat his next words.
"What did you do to her? Brainwashing? Drugs? Magic?"
"What exactly do you take me for?"
"Be honest with me."
"I haven't done any of that."
"No? You mean to deny it to the end. Fine. Then... what about your deputy?"
Ella?
Wonderstein went quiet.
Simon laughed loudly, convinced he had struck a nerve.
"Ha! You thought I wouldn't know?"
"... What are you implying?"
Simon's hand dipped into his pocket and came back out.
Wonderstein's gaze flicked to his right hand, which made a throwing feint.
Nothing came at him.
When he looked back, a rose had appeared in the man's left hand.
"A skilled magician knows how to use misdirection."
He tossed the rose away. The wind caught it and carried it off.
In the same instant, his right hand flashed again. Wonderstein tracked the movement, but again — nothing. The rose had reappeared in the magician's left hand, as if freshly plucked.
"Steering the audience's thoughts in one direction, then watching them flounder when the situation reverses — it's deeply satisfying."
Another rose went sailing.
This time, Wonderstein kept his eyes on the man.
The right hand moved. Nothing came. The left hand was empty too.
Instead, the man pointed at Wonderstein's chest.
Wonderstein looked down. A rose had lodged itself in his lapel.
"But once you take the wrong path from there, you start believing you can control people's thoughts at will."
A third rose was already in Simon's hand.
"Let me be direct. I coveted Miss Ella. I thought it was a waste for that tremendous talent to languish in some monster circus. So I planted suggestions. Subtle nudges to stir her memory. So she'd recall unpleasant feelings about you."
Now Wonderstein saw where this was heading.
"But each time, I ran into a curious phenomenon. She'd slip into a trance state, as though her memories were blocked by something. Only a few seconds. And she couldn't recall what she'd been trying to remember."
Simon pointed at Wonderstein's chest again.
Wonderstein looked down.
The rose was gone.
He lifted his head and let out a breath of surprise.
Hundreds of roses — crimson, pink, violet, yellow — danced in the wind around them, seeming to materialize out of thin air.
"Those medicinal ingredients the old alchemist kept burning through. Did you think none of us would work out their purpose? A colleague with a talent for pharmacology told me. Every single one strongly affects memory. You used drugs to manipulate her recollections, to leave behind only positive feelings toward you. You were 'rearing' her. Am I wrong?"
Good grief.
It had all linked up for him that way.
Wonderstein shook his head.
"Lord Fantastic, you're mistaken."
"What suggestion did you plant in my daughter? Hm? What drugs did you use?"
"I said you're mistaken."
A flutter of wings stirred among the scattered roses.
Simon's expression turned smug.
"Well, well. I didn't plan on shocking anyone."
Wonderstein followed his gaze. A white bundle of feathers glided downward past the chimney. That was...
"A pigeon...?"
"Miss Ella's creature. Her Inspira. You knew that."
Wonderstein watched the bird slip into a factory vent.
She'd been listening?
"Since when...?"
"Since I produced the first rose."
Now Wonderstein understood Simon's game.
He'd never expected a straight answer from him. What he wanted was for Ella to hear, from his own lips, that he knew her memories had been tampered with.
The roses, the magic — they hadn't simply illustrated misdirection.
The magic itself was the misdirection.
To keep him from noticing the pigeon nearby.
"I believe that settles the trade negotiations."
The roses that had filled the air were gone.
"Which troupe will Miss Ella choose, I wonder?"
A cruel smile spread across Simon's face.
"I'll look forward to next Tuesday."
He slid down the ladder and vanished.
Alone on the chimney, Wonderstein felt a bleak weight settle over him.
Ella didn't know the truth about her own condition now. She didn't know she had lost memories, or that some had been altered, or that she had once hated him. She'd believed Gaston's treatments were simply to calm her mind.
And now she knew something about her state.
That he and the troupe had conspired to deceive her.
He had always known this day would come.
The day she recovered all her memories.
But there was no way this would actually make her remember. If simply telling her "your memories are wrong" could do that, then names like "Demon God's Authority" and "Reaper's Scythe" wouldn't be so hard-won.
All she'd get now from the truth was a sense of betrayal by him and the troupe, fresh wounds, and a tangle of self-doubt and confusion.
"Miss Ella."
He found her inside the building, leaning against a window.
She'd been waiting for him to come down from the roof.
She looked at him with a cool, poised expression.
Relief. She didn't seem thrown into shock. No hostility directed at him, either.
Maybe the wind up there had been too loud for her to hear properly.
Or maybe the pigeon wasn't Gudol — just some random bird passing by.
Maybe Lord Fantastic had been bluffing.
Then she spoke.
"The cookies."
"Sorry?"
She rested her arm on the windowsill and muttered.
"You sent back the cookies I gave you..."
"Ah."
He remembered now — during the factory tour earlier. Her voice came out sulky.
"I thought you were at the villa. I sent them because I felt bad eating treats alone. And you just sent them right back. Hmph. If I'd known you were off having fun with Reina, I wouldn't have sent anything. Did I interrupt your cozy time together? Did you laugh at me when you saw all the cookies I'd crammed into your hat?"
She rubbed her damp eyes with her sleeve.
Wonderstein smiled and stepped quietly to her side.
"Miss Ella."
"Don't bother comforting me. If that's how you really feel..."
"Take a look."
"What... hm?"
Wonderstein removed his hat and held it out. Ella peeked inside and her eyes went wide.
The black silk top hat was brimming with cookies.
"Wh-what is...?"
"We were treated to cookies while waiting outside the factory. New products, they said — not yet released."
She let out a soft exclamation. Now she understood exactly what had happened.
"I snuck cookies into my hat, too. I thought you might enjoy a taste, stuck alone at the villa."
A wry, defeated smile tugged at Ella's mouth.
"So our Inspira activated at the same time... we were sending cookies to each other?"
"Ha, seems that way."
Ella took the hat from his hands and pressed her face into it. The warmth was unmistakable.
Objects transmitted through that magical space arrived exactly as they were when sent. These cookies had preserved the warmth and fragrance from the moment she'd shoved them in. They were definitely the ones she'd sent.
The scent of baked butter, sugar, and flour tickled her nose vividly.
But something else in there stirred her more.
The smell she'd breathed when she'd buried her face against his shoulder and back a few times.
Tart and sweet, strangely impossible to stop inhaling...
The scent of his golden hair.
Ella's face went crimson. She thrust the hat back at him.
"L-let's stop transmitting food through hats! The smell seeps in!"
"Hm, shall we?"
She jammed the hat onto her head to hide her burning face and turned back toward the window.
"Didn't you know? The Golden Carnival is staying at Duke Slagbort's villa. These cookies are served every day. You didn't need to save them for me..."
"I don't know. I ate something delicious and just thought you should have some too."
Same as me.
Ella's face grew even redder, but a smile bloomed at the corner of her mouth. She ducked her head lower.
"Pretending to think of me! You didn't really miss me, did you? You already found someone else fit to be deputy."
"Miss Reina? I don't know about that. I've never considered anyone but you for the position."
"Isn't she better than me?"
"Why would she be?"
"Th-that's..."
Ella steadied her breath.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"Once I get my memories back, I'll hate you. A docile girl would be better."
Silence stretched. Ella fought back fresh tears.
She didn't want comforting pity.
She wanted his real feelings.
They stood there in the hallway, neither speaking.
Ella broke first.
"I heard it earlier."
A "Coo-coo!" sounded from inside her hat. Gudol. Living creatures couldn't be transmitted through her Inspira, so the pigeon had kept the hat as his home.
Wonderstein didn't know how to defend himself.
There was no defense, really. He had deceived her.
"I see."
He paused, ordering his thoughts, trying to find the words that might hurt her least.
Then he spoke.
"Miss Ella, I'm sorry for deceiving you. The truth about your memories is..."
"No."
Ella raised her hand, cutting him off.
Wonderstein shook his head.
"No. I want to apologize. The fact is, we did deceive you..."
"I said no."
She looked straight at him and gave a sad smile.
The next words out of her mouth were something he never saw coming.
"I actually... already knew."