11. Wonderland (7)
11. Wonderland (7)
Minova knew the ins and outs of the underworld from his younger days scrambling through back alleys. He negotiated with the loan sharks and cleaned up Dosville's gambling debts for good.
On the condition that the man would work under him for two years.
And that was how Baron Dosville ended up in the Morning Star Circus.
His official title was the Troupe Leader's secretary, but in practice his duties were indistinguishable from a servant's. Even now, he was clearing away the table Minova had smashed and sweeping the floor.
Having finished recounting the history, Minova got to the point.
"Can you remove the demon?"
Wonderstein didn't waste time deliberating. He shook his head at once.
He had been examining her body ever since he arrived.
Regrettably, the hair demon was already firmly fused with her — it had become an Innate Trait.
A human's entire cellular structure replaces itself roughly every six months.
Once that period passed, the Devolut would integrate with the newly generated cells and become inseparable.
In Ruelo's case, only four months had elapsed since she'd received treatment. The problem was that she was still a child who hadn't reached her tenth birthday.
A child's cell turnover cycle was shorter than an adult's.
Minova's expression crumbled into despair.
"Is there truly nothing you can do?"
"I can't promise anything right now...... but if we wait around two years, a solution may present itself."
The sacred relic of Kirkeus: Trill.
If he had that, mending her body would be possible.
Minova nodded.
He didn't press for details on what that solution entailed. Simply having hope was enough for him.
"Understood. Going forward, if you ever need anything, say the word. Anything within my power, I will gladly help you."
Wonderstein politely declined his offer to stay for dinner and stepped outside.
A carriage was drawn up in front of the building.
The luggage rack held the packages sent over from the tailor's shop, and inside the carriage, Clara was still fast asleep under the influence of the sedative.
He was about to call the driver and return to the inn when someone came rushing out of the building.
A young girl with tangerine-colored hair.
Ruelo.
"What is it?"
The moment she stood face-to-face with him alone, she went rigid.
The two of them had never held a proper conversation. She was, by nature, painfully shy around strangers. She took a small, steadying breath and barely managed to open her mouth.
"Um, w-well... Samson says he has something to say......"
"Who is Samson?"
"Th-that's the name I gave him......"
She spoke as she stroked her hair.
At her touch, the strands twitched, like a cat luxuriating under its owner's hand.
"Is that not the demon who tried to steal your body?"
"Samson isn't like that!"
Ruelo suddenly shouted.
Every passerby on the street turned to look at her.
Realizing what she had done, her face flushed crimson. She added in a voice that dropped to a near whisper.
"I've, I've been talking to him all this time, you know...... Samson is a good kid......"
"I wonder. Could it be that Samson is deceiving you?"
"Nggh, I-I told you he's not......"
She clenched her jaw and glared up at him, and Wonderstein broke into a soft smile.
She was so endearing he couldn't resist teasing her a little.
"Very well. Then let's have a conversation."
She hesitated, nodded, and closed her eyes.
A few seconds passed.
When she opened them again, the eyes that met his had settled into a cold calm.
"The Creator."
"Samson."
The two stood still, gazing at each other.
It must have been an odd sight. A grown man and a child less than half his height, staring each other down.
"I hear you have something to say."
"I have questions."
"And those are?"
He gathered his thoughts for a moment, then spoke.
"How was I made? And was your creation of me truly an accident? Was there a purpose, some hidden intention? I've pushed Ruelo deep down so she won't hear any of this. So I hope you'll answer honestly."
A light rose to the surface of his face that had not been there before — something unmistakably human.
Expectation, worry, fear.
He looked like a child who had only just emerged into the world.
Wonderstein explained the process of his birth as faithfully as he could.
He did, of course, leave out the matter of the Devolut.
After hearing the whole account, his expression grew complicated. He lifted his gaze to the sky.
"According to you, then, I am a being born with no purpose at all."
"That's correct."
"......."
He stood there in silence for a beat, then spoke again.
"I had...... hoped. Just in case. That perhaps I had been born with some kind of calling. I kept thinking about you as well — the one who made me."
"What did you imagine?"
"A scientist conducting human experiments. A wicked Madosa. Perhaps a possessed being like myself......"
"......."
"But my guesses were all wrong. Just a magician who learned to wield Chaos. So I was nothing more than a byproduct, an accident of this child's treatment."
A small sigh escaped him.
Wonderstein felt a pang of recognition at his attitude.
It brought back memories of the friends he'd grown up with at the orphanage. They used to wear that exact expression.
A failed creation abandoned even by its parents.
That was how they had defined themselves.
Wonderstein felt a sense of responsibility toward Samson.
No matter what, this was a being he had brought into existence.
But Samson met his attempt at consolation with fierce resentment.
"Shove it! I'm nothing so grand as to need you playing parent. Didn't you say it yourself? I was merely an accident, and none of your intention. Do you also feel responsible for the weeds that sprout from your own shit?"
With that, he turned and vanished back inside the building.
For a long moment, Wonderstein could not tear his eyes from the direction where Samson had disappeared.
***
The carriage hadn't been moving long when Clara stirred awake.
I filled her in on what had happened while she was out.
I left out anything concerning Samson, of course.
I simply explained that a past treatment for Ruelo's body had caused a side effect that made her physically stronger, and that she was dealing with mental instability as a consequence.
A demon possessing a person's body. A manufactured life-form.
Those stories would've been beyond her comprehension.
She bobbed her head drowsily as I talked, then passed right back out.
It seemed I'd injected a little too much of the sedative earlier.
By the time we reached the villa, the troupe was already preparing dinner.
I laid Clara down in her room and came back downstairs. Ella approached me and held something out.
It was a small, palm-sized envelope of gold.
I read the exterior.
It had been sent by Duke Slagbort, the owner of the confectionery factory.
"Candyman wants to invite us over tomorrow afternoon."
"Tomorrow? That's rather sudden."
I examined the invitation more closely, but there were no other details. Only a large, prominent line about inviting the ten most outstanding young acrobats from each field.
"It isn't just me. Maya's been invited too."
"Miss Maya?"
I looked around.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Ella told me she'd been exhausted and had gone to bed early.
"Miss Maya has learned some acrobatics, yes...... but is she really at the level of receiving a duke's invitation?"
"You didn't know? Two weeks ago, when that monster showed up...... a lot of people saw her fight. A thousand blades flying through the air at once. People who saw it are calling her the best knife-thrower around."
"I see."
Just then, a bell rang out through the villa.
Ding-ding-ding.
Mealtime.
"All right, tonight is the culmination of all our hard work!"
"Squeak-squeak, everybody! Eat up!"
Yurakne and the head of the ratmen, Lupe, came out of the kitchen carrying food.
This was unquestionably the most lavish dinner we'd had since arriving in Yeterinpurk.
The main ingredient was the flesh of the pumpkins we'd hollowed out that afternoon.
Beef and pumpkin soup, roasted pumpkin and chicken wings, steamed pumpkin stew.
It wasn't simply that the spread was generous. The flavors were outstanding.
"Wow, today's food is honestly the best thing I've ever had!"
"All that pumpkin-growing this past month was worth it."
"It's genuinely melting in my mouth."
Even I couldn't help marveling as I ate.
Among all the meals she had cooked for us, tonight's was easily the finest.
Yurakne smiled proudly at the troupe's fervent reactions.
"If you're all that impressed already, you'll be in trouble. The best dish of the night hasn't even come out yet."
She glanced toward a corner of the dining room.
There sat a dish that had just recently been taken out of the oven.
It, too, was made with pumpkin.
"Good heavens. You could open a pumpkin restaurant."
"I regret we didn't buy pumpkins every time we went to the market."
"Now that you mention it, Yura, you said you used to tend a garden, didn't you? Did you grow pumpkins back then too?"
At the youngest triplet's question, Yurakne nodded.
"Yes. I don't have old Gaston's knack for it, so I couldn't grow them nearly this big. But harvest season always meant plenty of cooking, so I naturally got familiar with pumpkin dishes."
"Ha-ha, living alone in the woods, what kind of cooking did you have to do that was so—"
Sven's cheerful voice shrank abruptly.
Something seemed to have occurred to him.
The others, who had been laughing merrily, also picked up on something in his words, and their smiles quickly withered.
Silence settled over the dining room.
Yurakne alone remained completely unchanged.
She was wearing the same smile she'd worn from the moment Sven had spoken — holding it so steady, so utterly without alteration, it was unsettling.
Everyone stole glances at her, gauging her mood.
Then, my eyes met hers.
I realized I had been smiling as well, and hastily covered my mouth.
She gave me an understanding nod — as if to say it was all right.
"October was the month of my husband's death anniversary. He loved pumpkins, so I always laid out a generous memorial table."
She rose from her seat.
On the tray in the corner of the room sat the designated star of tonight's meal.
It resembled a giant, golden orb — a full moon made of food.
Six metal skewers fitted with blades were embedded across its surface.
Using all six of her arms, Yurakne sliced them all off in a single, swift motion.
The golden moon cracked open with a sound of parting shell, splitting into six segments.
Clouds of piping-hot steam billowed from inside as roasted meat and vegetables, soaked in a brown sauce, spilled out. She scooped generous portions onto a large platter and carried it to the table.
The troupe members could only sit there, letting out shallow breaths, unable to speak.
She used a large ladle to serve the food onto each of their plates.
"The anniversary isn't today, by the way. It's...... mmm, around mid-October. So this isn't ritual food. Please, eat comfortably."
She raised her voice to a cheerful note and spoke as if this were a festive occasion.
But no one here could match her mood.
Everyone just fixed their eyes on the food she had served them.
"Come now, dig in. This is my secret weapon. It tastes best right out of the oven."
Even at her urging, no one picked up their utensils.
After a long, still silence, Ella and Gaston exchanged a glance.
As if on cue, they both lifted their spoons at the same moment and began eating with gusto.
"Wow! This looks incredible! The meat is so tender!"
"Ha ha ha! The most magnificent golden hue a pumpkin could ever produce. Remarkable! I'd say this calls for even more pumpkin-growing — hard to eat dishes like this otherwise!"
The two of them made an exaggerated show of savoring the meal.
Soon, the other troupe members began to resume eating as well, one by one, following their lead — all the while showering her cooking with praise.
I confirmed the mood had recovered, then tasted the food she had served me.
The melted pumpkin mingled with the brown gravy sauce, producing a deep, rich flavor.
"And how does our Troupe Leader find it?"
"......Absolutely delicious. The best thing I've ever eaten."
"Fufu, thank you. That's the highest compliment I could ask for."
After the meal, we all gathered in the drawing room to enjoy tea and light refreshments — and to hand out the Halloween costumes that had been delivered today.
"For now, everyone try them on tonight and check for any discomfort. The tailor is coming tomorrow morning to make on-the-spot adjustments for anything that doesn't fit right."
The troupe members gathered their respective outfits and returned to their rooms.
I'd stuffed myself to bursting, from the main course through dessert — but I still had something left to consume.
Namely, continuing the experiment I'd been running for the past two weeks.
I took the bottle full of shimmering powder out of my pocket.
Starlight.
I wasn't sure who had coined the name, but it suited the substance to a tee.
I uncapped the bottle and brought it close to my mouth.
Just holding it triggered an instinctive urge to swallow. That was something deep inside Wonderstein — an almost primal compulsion.
If a mere byproduct fragment from making Trill could provoke this kind of reaction, what would happen when I saw the real gem?
Yesterday, after taking about a pinch of it, I'd managed to deactivate my Innate Trait — momentarily, but it worked.
How much would I need today?
Two pinches?
I was just about to tip the powder into my mouth when the door flew open with a bang.
With my fingers slack, the bottle slipped for an instant.
Starlight Powder flooded into my mouth.