11. Wonderland (12)
11. Wonderland (12)
The Slagbort Confectionery Factory resembled one enormous castle.
The sharply soaring smokestacks evoked spires, and the tall outer walls, devoid of windows, called to mind a stone fortress.
But the factory didn't truly lack windows.
The metallic panels used as exterior cladding shone with a silvery luster, making the glass panes slotted between them difficult to discern.
The seams between those metal plates fit so tightly a sheet of paper couldn't slip through. Even more astonishing: not a single flat panel was used anywhere.
The plates curved at varying angles, large and small, giving the factory's exterior a soft, kneaded-dough contour. Like calligraphy rendered in a single brushstroke, there were no sharp corners or breaks.
That extreme curvilinear beauty was hardly fitting for a factory meant to prioritize efficiency and output.
The absence of a boundary wall separating the factory complex from the outside was another oddity. A fence low enough for a child to vault, and a grand arch gate at the main entrance, served merely as boundary markers. There weren't even any patrolling guards.
This open working environment fostered an atmosphere where the confectioners could continuously develop creative products.
The factory manager usually regarded it positively.
But around this time of year, he found himself seriously contemplating the necessity of barbed wire and armed guard details.
October. The month of the Halloween festival.
Throughout this single month, the factory hosted one event: free candy for any child who showed up in monster costume.
Of course, even though they were handing it out, the chosen products were mostly either marked-down items or dead stock.
It was an event held partly to clear out warehouse space before the winter port opened in November and logistics from across the empire flooded into Yeterinpurk.
The manager didn't take issue with the event itself.
He simply feared just how brazen a costumed mob of children could become.
Just look at what happened yesterday.
Only a single day into October, and multiple incidents had already broken out.
Starting with a kid who fell into the chocolate melting machine: another who stole and ate raw ingredients with unneutralized toxins and was rushed to the hospital; one who immediately jumped into an incinerator claiming his pet squirrel had fallen in; another who got sucked into a compactor and nearly turned into a flatbread.
It was a miracle that a single day passed without any fatalities.
The city was already abuzz with the Circus Grand Prix and everything else. That seemed to make the kids even more excited and reckless.
Back in my day, such unruly brats were yanked aside, bent over, and spanked on the spot.
The factory manager sighed as he recalled the children of the past—meaning his own childhood—who had known their limits. He dreaded the accidents the kids would cause over the remaining four weeks.
So when he stepped out of his commuter carriage and saw the reporters surrounding him, his fear was hardly unwarranted.
Had a death finally occurred? His heart sank.
Reporters lurking around the factory at this time was an annual tradition.
But the crowd before him now was several times the usual size. A major incident had clearly occurred.
The journalists swarmed him before he could fully disembark, bombarding him with questions.
"What happened?"
"Is it true?"
"Is it real?"
Firing off accusations out of nowhere was a trademark tactic of journalists. It was a useful question for catching those hiding something off guard.
However, the factory manager wasn't an easy mark who'd fall for such petty tricks. He coolly evaded their questions while assessing the situation.
Frustrated, the reporters tipped their hands first.
"Is the item you purchased at the Vegas auction recently that very thing?"
"How was the item's authenticity verified?"
"Why is the Duke visiting here today?"
Only then did the factory manager grasp the outlines of the incident.
Whatever it was, the reporters camped out front weren't here because of factory business. This was connected to the factory's owner, Duke Slagbort.
He also noted that most of the reporters wore name badges identifying them as "Special Correspondents" for the tournament. These were journalists dispatched to cover the Circus Grand Prix.
Based on those clues, he could infer one fact from the phrase "Vegas auction."
'Looks like the Duke has bought something else again.'
Duke Slagbort was a self-confessed circus maniac. Everyone knew he possessed a vast collection of rare, circus-related treasures.
He had wondered what it was about when the Duke suddenly announced a visit day before yesterday. It seemed he intended to add a new favorite to the exhibition hall arranged in a corner of this factory.
"Make way!"
"Everyone stand back!"
Uniformed soldiers carrying swords emerged from inside the factory.
The Duke's private soldiers.
They pushed aside the reporters hurling questions and respectfully escorted the factory manager into the building.
The Duke's young secretary greeted him.
"Factory Manager."
"What's all this about?"
The secretary shook his head and let out a small sigh.
"It seems word leaked out. The Duke intended to announce the item he acquired once all the guests had arrived, but things turned out this way. My apologies."
"It's fine. October is always like this, after all. And who are these guests?"
"That would be... Ah, here they come now."
The secretary pointed toward one side of the square.
There, a line of five carriages bearing the Duke's crest was entering the grounds.
At the secretary's signal, soldiers rushed outside and swiftly formed a protective escort around the carriages.
The carriages halted right beside the factory's main gate.
As the coachmen opened the doors, the passengers inside began to disembark one by one.
The reporters gathered here were all from performance magazines or newspaper culture desks. They could recognize the people stepping out of the carriages.
Golden Carnival.
Silver Screen Circus.
Morning Star Circus.
Papael Circus.
Wonderstein Circus.
All five were participants in this year's Circus Grand Prix.
They stepped out, recognized each other, and exchanged pleasantries.
Karen, as usual, dashed over to Maya and pulled her into a tight embrace. Ella spotted Ruelo timidly clinging to her father's leg and waved a cheerful greeting.
Wonderstein exchanged greetings with Arno, Minova, and Hobbs.
He had met Hobbs once before at the Rose Windmill Cabaret, but they only properly exchanged introductions after Wonderstein saved his younger sister at the last ball.
Unlike Arno, a man in his fifties, or Minova, who was in his thirties but married, Hobbs was forty and had mainly hung around other bachelors. He possessed an endearingly immature streak.
Like a teasing older brother, he often cracked jokes typical of single men.
He scanned Wonderstein's face, then broke into a wide grin.
"Not bad. Got laid, huh."
"...Can you tell just by looking at my face?"
"Pfft-haha, you're more naive than you look. Answering like that just confirms you were a virgin. With that face, and at this age? So, who'd you sleep with?"
"Keep it down, please."
Wonderstein shot a glance at Ella and Maya, worried they might overhear. Seeing that, Hobbs's expression turned rigid.
"You bastard... don't tell me."
"Don't get the wrong idea. It's not what you're thinking. And could you please stop asking those kinds of questions?"
"What's the big deal? It's just men here."
At Hobbs's words, Wonderstein stole a glance at Arno standing right next to him.
Arno showed no sign of a reaction, simply staring off into the distance.
Just then, the man who had been standing aloofly by himself cut into their conversation.
"That man is nothing special, Troupe Leader Hobbs. He's just someone who goes around hypnotizing women. Heh heh."
At Simon Magier's words, Minova furrowed his brow and spoke.
"Don't give us that rubbish, Lord Fantastic. Troupe Leader Wonderstein is no such man. He's a solid young man, far more than appearances suggest. Let's observe some decorum among fellow troupe leaders."
Lord Fantastic smacked his fist into his palm, nodding his head as if he understood perfectly.
"Ah, of course. Criminals stick up for criminals. This industry has always had its share of rootless people, but expecting me to treat a brawler-turned-thug or some guy who seduces women with hypnotism as an equal is rather difficult."
"What!"
The atmosphere between the two men turned hostile.
The antagonism flowing between them was contagious, reaching even the children.
Ruelo trembled, clutching her father's leg, terrified he'd cause another scene. Ella glared fiercely at Lord Fantastic, who had dared to insult Wonderstein, and at Reina standing behind him.
The Duke's secretary, who had been about to gather the reporters and introduce the troupes, frowned at the unfolding situation.
'This is why I can't stand clowns. Do they have any idea who invited them?'
Fortunately, Arno managed to settle the situation before the secretary had to step in.
He was the eldest among the circus members present. When he calmly admonished them, both Simon and Minova had no choice but to back down.
Wonderstein thought Simon was being unusually prickly today.
The draft system certainly gave him grounds for a grudge, but suddenly picking a fight at a place like this was odd.
Once the situation was under control, the Duke's secretary lined them up behind him and stepped forward before the reporters.
"You may have already heard the rumors, but His Grace the Duke recently acquired a precious item. You've probably heard of it. The 'Illusory 13th'."
At his declaration, everyone present registered a look of shock.
The Illusory 13th referred to the rumored thirteenth script left behind by the playwright Christian.
Though he had officially left twelve scripts, rumors of a thirteenth, completed just before his death but never published, were legendary within the industry.
To think that long-rumored script had finally been discovered.
The area before the factory erupted into a clamor, like a marketplace.
"D-Did you hear? Christian's! Christian's 13th script!"
Among them, no one was as excited as Ella.
She let out a string of breathless exclamations, clutching tight to Wonderstein's arm beside her.
He recalled that she was an enormous fan of Christian.
The reporters fired off their prepared questions like machine guns.
"W-Where did you even acquire it?"
"Has its authenticity been precisely verified?"
"When will the contents be revealed to the public?"
The Duke's secretary calmly answered the reporters' questions one by one.
"It was discovered in an old locker at Rekachev Circus School. As you're all aware, Ursus, one of the Five-Person Gang, and the playwright Christian shared a close friendship."
"It has yet to undergo a detailed appraiser's evaluation. However, the Duke is personally convinced of its authenticity."
"Before revealing its contents to the public, His Grace wished to witness it performed with his own eyes."
The reporters, who had nodded at the first two statements, tilted their heads at the last.
"What do you mean by that? He wants to see it performed?"
"Precisely that. The Duke desires to exclusively enjoy the right to witness the very first performance of this script."
The Duke's secretary gestured toward the ten people standing behind him, representing the five circus troupes.
"These individuals here have been invited precisely to request that performance."