11. Wonderland (48)
11. Wonderland (48)
The moment Rumi opened her eyes, she veiled herself in Arno's illusion. It was a habit so deeply ingrained over the last twenty years that the transformation engaged before she even had time to think.
She had barely settled into his appearance when someone threw open the door to the lighting room and rushed inside.
Karen.
Spotting him sprawled on the floor, she shouted back into the corridor.
"Everyone, I found Troupe Leader Arno!"
They must have only just started combing the area for the missing. Time in Wonderland and time on the surface ran at different speeds, so the gap between her return and the earlier returning parties amounted to less than thirty seconds.
Rumi shot to her feet.
Wonderstein had said he would follow right behind her. Factoring in the temporal difference, he should have surfaced by now.
The moment she stood, a violent wave of dizziness crashed over her.
Her body burned as though she were in the grip of a raging fever. On top of that, the Reaper's curse had already frozen her solid once — physical fallout like this was only to be expected.
"Troupe Leader, what's wrong?"
Karen started toward her in alarm, but just then Ella's voice rang up from downstairs.
"Found him! Our Troupe Leader!"
"Huh, really? Oh, you mean Troupe Leader Arno?"
Rumi shook off Karen's attempt to support her and made for the stairs.
"Out of my way. I need to go down."
Her body was in no shape to stay upright — part of her wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest — but confirming that Wonderstein had made it back safely mattered more than anything else.
The backstage waiting room was already crowded. Everyone had clustered around Wonderstein, who lay motionless on the floor.
"What happened to him?"
Arno's voice was tight with urgency. Ella, who had been checking his pulse and breathing, shook her head.
"I don't know. His vitals seem fine, but... he won't respond at all, no matter how many times we call him."
Rumi swallowed a silent groan.
It had already been a full minute since she returned — which meant nearly two hours had passed down there.
He should have been back by now. Instead, his body lay utterly still, as if his soul had been hollowed out.
Two minutes passed. Then three.
Rumi intuited what must have happened and squeezed her eyes shut.
He failed.
His last smile flickered through her memory.
—Go on ahead and wait. I'll be right behind you.
You rotten bastard.
Tears welled in Rumi's eyes. That promise about going back together — it really had been nothing but a lie, a reassurance to soothe her. He'd meant to throw his life away for her from the very start.
'You son of a bitch. Did you honestly think I could live with myself if you went like that?'
The image surfaced unbidden: him standing in front of that monstrous Reaper, shielding her.
Rumi bit down hard on her lip, tasted blood, and fought back the tears.
The others, unaware of what had truly happened, were trading relieved smiles over having mostly come through unharmed. They believed he would simply wake up. There were no visible injuries — nothing to suggest anything was wrong.
Their guileless, ignorant peace only sharpened her grief.
Just when she thought she could no longer hold back, his eyes snapped open.
"Oh, he's awake!"
"Troupe Leader!"
Wonderstein lifted his head and surveyed the faces around him. The moment he confirmed that Arno was among them, he let out a relieved breath and immediately slipped into performance.
"Ugh, my head... what in the world happened? The stage started shaking out of nowhere..."
Rumi nearly burst out laughing at the sheer shamelessness of it. She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks and glared at him.
Making people worry like that. Unbelievable.
She pulled a lenticular message into view before his eyes.
- What happened? Why did it take so long?
- Long? What do you...
- Nearly FIVE MINUTES passed in real time!!!
Three exclamation points. He must have rattled her pretty badly.
- Ah, that. The whole time barrier collapsed as the Zakanuba Legion was routed. Apparently the time flow normalized partway through.
- What?
She hadn't imagined something like that was possible. If so, she had no reason to be angry at him.
But her expression hardened again a moment later.
"Troupe Leader, are you really all right?"
He shrugged at Maya's question.
"Aside from being unable to move my arms and legs, certainly."
"With your magic, can't you fix that easily enough?"
Reina spoke up, recalling the skill with which he'd healed her own wounds in an instant.
"Possibly. But this seems to be damage to the soul. I suspect it will take some time to mend."
"Then someone will have to look after you!"
Clara's voice was practically sparkling with enthusiasm. Karen caught on with a playful look.
"We'll have to spoon-feed you, change your clothes, bathe you..."
"B-Bathe him...? That's... indecent..."
Ruelo's face had gone bright crimson.
Now that she thought about it, the adults had all gone to check on Duke Slagbort's condition — but every single girl had rushed down here to see Wonderstein.
Watching him laugh among that flock of young women, Rumi felt a sharp pang of irritation.
She was the one who'd shared life and death with him down there...
She wanted to fire off a lengthy protest message, but with everyone crowded so close around him it was far too risky to use lenticular magic. The moment they realized he couldn't move, they'd all clung to his side, chattering away.
Soon enough the three troupe leaders entered the waiting room and reported that the Duke had woken without incident. Mercifully, he believed he had simply fainted from low blood pressure — something that happened to him with some regularity, they said.
Lord Fantastic had been quick-witted enough to spin a story: unaware that the Duke had lost consciousness, they had simply proceeded with the performance on their own.
It was a plausible lie. The Duke, effectively blind, always kept his eyes shut — those on stage could hardly be expected to distinguish between an unconscious man and one merely sunk deep into his seat appreciating the show.
And with that, they fashioned a solid alibi for the missing hour and a half.
"Hoho, a Christian premiere performed while the guest of honor dozed. The papers will have a field day if this gets out. I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind giving it another go? Let's consider that one a dress rehearsal."
Restaging The Five Acrobats was not particularly difficult. A full week had passed, but not a single person had forgotten their part. Besides, this was practically a one-man show — the cast could cycle through and re-review the script backstage.
"We're not going to get sucked back up to Wonderland, are we?"
Karen was visibly spooked. Maya reassured her in a composed voice.
"A coincidence like that is once in a lifetime."
"Promise?"
Ella clicked her tongue, somewhere between wistful and disappointed.
While the actors readied themselves for the new performance, Wonderstein lay stretched out on the waiting-room sofa. Rumi maneuvered her Arno-illusion to pantomime busy work, while she herself remained with him.
He told her everything that had happened after she left.
"Ah, that reminds me — I need to finish the job. Give me your hand."
"My hand? Ah..."
She looked down at her palm. There, grotesquely bared, was a mouth full of porcelain-white teeth, tongue lolling out.
"We need to get rid of that ugly thing. Doesn't it disgust you?"
"Jormungandr is overflowing with far uglier things. There's a morning glory that farts, shaped exactly like a butt."
"...Does it smell?"
"Every day. Sends up clouds of dung-dust, too."
"Truly?"
She puffed her cheeks at his guileless follow-up question — then broke into laughter.
"*Pfft*! You actually believed that?"
Wonderstein gave a wry, helpless smile.
"How like a fairy."
"Hmph. Perhaps. It's been a long time since I've felt like this. It's all thanks to you."
"Me?"
"Yes. If you hadn't found me back then, I would still be buried alive inside my own illusions."
Rumi recalled what Oberon had once said to her.
—What kind of fairy hides inside illusions for twenty years? You're not a shut-in.
He'd been painfully right. The agony of a broken heart had stripped her wings away, severed her ties to her friends, walled her off from the world. She'd lived in solitude ever since.
Twenty years of that.
A fairy's particular brand of childishness and stubbornness, twisting itself into something ruinous.
If no one had reached in and pulled her out, she would have stayed that way until she died.
"Thank you. That week in Wonderland — it felt like being myself again after so long."
"You could keep living that way, I think. Don't you agree, Miss Rumi?"
Rumi's face flushed at his ticklish whisper.
Honestly, these types — they're wizards at seducing women.
"Sh-Shut up! It's 'Troupe Leader Arno'! And you — get on with the job!"
"Heh heh. Understood."
"Stop laughing!"
"I'm always smiling, though?"
"A lie! In front of Kirkeus, you..."
"Now, now — please touch my body."
"Hmph. You just don't want to hear anything embarrassing about yourself, do you? Here."
She thrust her hand toward his face.
She did it without thinking. He'd said he needed physical contact to use his power, so she'd chosen the face — where skin was exposed.
She had utterly forgotten what was attached to her palm.
Whether the movement it made was coincidence or the work of her unconscious, she couldn't say.
The instant her palm met his mouth, the lips attached to it sealed over his and slipped its tongue inside. Its teeth clamped gently down on his lip and nibbled.
The sensation climbing up from her palm was unmistakably that of a mouth and tongue — and she sprang backward as though scalded.
"Uh-uh? Ah— Aaaah! Hey, wha— what is this— you— you— what did you do!"
"I'm the more startled one. This feels profoundly strange. Never thought I'd be kissed by a 'palm mouth.'"
"Wh- Who said anything about a kiss! My h-hand did that on its own! Forget it! A kiss is supposed to be done properly, later—"
"Later?"
"Ah, n-no! That's not— I mean—! Hey, I told you to stop laughing! It's not like that!"
Watching Rumi bristle with her antennae stiff and her face flaming, Wonderstein let out a thoroughly pleased laugh.
Just then, a bell chimed from the stage. The performance was ready.
The country jester and the five acrobats took their places. The three troupe leaders, too, stood ready to play their assigned roles.
The restaging of The Five Acrobats was about to begin — when the main hall doors were thrown violently open and the Duke's secretary came bursting in.
"Your Grace!"
His face was ashen. The people filing in behind him wore expressions equally grim.
The acrobats recognized them. They'd seen these people before the premiere — antiquarians and specialists in ancient manuscripts, invited from the university to authenticate the script's provenance.
"I believe I instructed you not to enter without permission."
"Your Grace... it— it is an urgent matter... I-I'm afraid the evening banquet, and the press conference, will have to be canceled."
"What are you talking about?"
The secretary hesitated, visibly pained, before forcing the words out.
"That is... the thing is... th-the authentication results have confirmed... the script is a forgery."
