14. Melting Point (3)
14. Melting Point (3)
The Board of Directors didn't give Anais so much as a chance to defend herself. On the contrary, they ordered Sir Porshu to gag her. That alone showed how certain they were that the woman occupying the chairwoman's seat was the "real Anais."
She had presented them with concrete evidence—information the Hunting Dog Mars had risked his life to extract by infiltrating the Voodoo Cult's main temple. The report he carried detailed the entire substitution scheme. It even contained secrets that could deal a crippling blow to the Voodoo Cult. That only lent more weight to the documents' credibility.
Bound at the wrists and ankles, Anais examined each piece of evidence they thrust at her. The material, sourced largely from what Mars—a Madosa of Sinepekus—had overheard and pieced together, naturally reflected his methods. A few items could be verified immediately against the company's internal records, and when they were checked, every one of them proved accurate.
But that alone didn't constitute decisive proof that she herself was a fake. If the Voodoo Cult had anticipated Mars's infiltration, they could have deliberately seeded a counterfeit plan among their own members.
The directors were all seasoned, intelligent people. They had that possibility firmly in mind. That level of evidence wasn't what had convinced them she was the real Anais. She had passed a far more definitive test.
A doppelganger possessed the same memories and body as the original—with one exception: a fist-sized orb, a "core," embedded somewhere in its flesh. The simplest way to confirm it was to pierce the body with the Orthodox Church's Stake of Light.
"I proved my innocence by having a Sacred Stake driven into every part of my body."
The woman seated in the highest position on the board smiled, utterly composed.
"That power does no harm whatsoever to an ordinary person. But what about you, I wonder?"
She snapped her fingers. A waiting contingent of clergy filed in, their cold gazes fixed on the restrained Anais. For a moment, Anais flinched, then clenched her teeth, straightened her back, and dared them to try.
'Nothing to be afraid of. I don't know what trick she pulled, but I'm innocent—wait. Hold on.'
The instant the light gathering in the clergy's hands sharpened into distinct forms, a foreboding premonition streaked through her mind. Four months ago, Wonderstein's magic had healed her body. If that power came from a Demon God...?
"J-just wait—Aaagh!"
Over a dozen Sacred Stakes drove into her body. A searing agony erupted from her chest, and she screamed, thrashing across the floor. Relief swept across the directors' rigid faces. This settled it. She was the fake.
Tears and saliva streaming down her face, she lay crumpled on the ground as the "real Anais" stepped forward and stood over her.
"Ready to admit it now, Miss Doppelganger?"
"Haah... haah... Th-that's... it's because his magic... what he used to heal my illness... it's still in my body...."
She forced the words out between ragged gasps, an attempt at an excuse, but her opponent merely laughed as though it were pitiful.
"What a shabby explanation. Then why, pray tell, did I feel no pain at all? Care to work that one out with that clever head of yours, Lady Fake Anais?"
"Sh-shut up! The fake... ngh, is you! I'm the real one! I am!"
"Yes, yes. I understand. You genuinely believe you are. How pathetic."
At her pitying tone, Anais fixed her with a suspicious glare and rasped back.
"What... is that supposed to mean?"
"The clergy explained it to me. A doppelganger believes it is truly the person it transformed into. That's precisely why it defends its identity so desperately. But the time has come for you to wake up from the dream. You are not the real Anais Bergson."
At her pronouncement, the strength abruptly drained from Anais's body.
'I'm a fake?'
She tried to insist she was real again, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. That even believing yourself to be genuine was itself a trait of a doppelganger... it meant she couldn't even trust herself.
"I have already requested an inquisitor from the Holy See. They will come and dismantle your body piece by piece until they locate and destroy the orb. Sir Porshu, take her below."
Her will to resist gone, Anais let him lead her passively away. All night, she sat slumped against the stone wall, listless. But the inquisitors' hands never came to drag her off.
The morning after her imprisonment, the butler arrived to rescue her. On his way back to the territory, he'd sensed something amiss and turned around. A former soldier, he handled the guards with practiced skill before fleeing with her. With a few deceptions and misdirections, they barely managed to shake off the pursuers.
Soon enough, their money ran dry. The constant pursuit kept them from finding proper work, reducing them to a wretched existence on the run—unwashed and half-starved. For Anais, who had always known comfort, it was almost impossible to bear.
'Am I really the real one?'
During the flight, she had contemplated suicide more times than she could count. The single reason she'd held on this long was the butler. He, who had watched over her more closely and for longer than anyone, believed in her. So she couldn't bring herself to give up on herself.
Anais helped him change his bandages. He'd been shot by Sir Porshu during their escape. The wound had missed its window for proper treatment and had festered badly. At his age, even a small injury refused to heal quickly.
"Old man, why did you believe I was real?"
She voiced the question she'd held in for the past three months—a question there'd been neither the composure nor the courage to ask until now.
Bartel studied her fearful expression and offered a faint, gentle smile.
"I have no particular proof. It was simply... difficult to turn away from a young lady in distress."
"That's... all...?"
"We rode the airship together, remember? The young lady I saw there struck me as genuine. I couldn't see it as an act, no matter how I looked at it."
"Ah..."
An overwhelming pang of sorrow nearly brought her to tears. In the end, he'd based his decision on the very fact that she believed she was real. She gripped the fresh bandages tightly and clenched her teeth.
She couldn't bring herself to tell him that a doppelganger deceived even itself by design. She couldn't tell him the woman he'd risked his life to save might be a counterfeit.
Or perhaps—perhaps she'd been certain, ever since they broke out of that prison. Certain that she was a fake.
Even amidst that suspicion, she'd been so happy he'd come for her that she kept acting as if she still believed. All the times she'd claimed to be going out to gather information—much of it had been to persuade him she hadn't given up.
But now she was reaching her limit. Was she truly the real Anais? The voice of Anais echoed in her ears.
This old man gave up everything and followed you, a fake. If any conscience of Anais remains in you, shouldn't you let him go? Do you want to watch him suffer until he dies?
The butler, his strength drained from the mere act of changing a bandage, leaned back against the cave wall, his complexion ashen. They couldn't go on hiding in this cramped burrow forever. He deserved better treatment. He deserved a better master than the likes of her. As if steeling herself, Anais opened her mouth.
"Listen... why don't we just go back?"
"...My Lady...? What do you mean...."
Bartel's eyebrows lifted as he looked at her. She forced a smile and spoke with a voice full of manufactured confidence.
"Staying like this is only ruining your health, old man. There's nothing you can do by being here anyway. So... why not return to Bergson? Pretend you realized the truth late. If that fake thinks the way I do, she'll forgive you. Then you can stay as her butler, gather information, and wait for an opening. Doesn't that work?"
Bartel slowly shook his head. His master had never been any good at lying.
"I could list a mountain of tactical and strategic objections, but since you already seem to know most of them, My Lady, I won't belabor the point."
"Old man...."
"What exactly do you intend to do once you send me away?"
"I'll—I'll keep searching for an opening, obviously...."
"Are you planning to take your own life?"
Feeling caught, Anais shook her head violently, trying to deny it.
"Wh-what a hor-horrible thing to say. Suicide? Me? Why would I do that? If anyone should, it's that fake bitch!"
"I asked because you seem to believe you're a fake, My Lady."
His words struck her square in the chest. Her expression stiffened for a moment, then her shoulders sagged.
"H-how long have you known?"
"From the very beginning. You truly have no talent for acting, My Lady."
The butler let out a quiet sigh. He'd hoped she would simply not entertain those thoughts at all. Once a person started down the path of doubting their own self, they sank into it like a bog—impossible to pull free. No matter how clear the evidence, the quagmire of doubt never stopped dragging at the mind.
He'd wished she would shove such misgivings into a corner and focus solely on reclaiming her position. But he'd forgotten that Anais was still only a young woman barely into adulthood. That was not quite accurate—he knew it, but with both parents gone, he'd deliberately ignored it, wanting the new mistress of the territory and the chairwoman of the company to show no vulnerability.
"It seems I've driven you far too harshly, My Lady. I apologize."
"Ah, no. Don't apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. If there's something wrong, it's me... that I might be a...."
"My Lady."
"Th-then maybe I'm the fake...."
"Young lady!"
His stern reprimand made Anais flinch and curl her shoulders inward. He had never once called her "young lady" since she became the new master of the Bergson territory. Eyes sharp, he looked for a moment like he'd stepped back into the past, back when he used to scold her for her reckless childhood antics.
"Forgive this old man. I kept my rash speculations to myself because I didn't want to plant even a seed of bewilderment in your heart."
"What... do you mean...?"
"You asked me a question earlier. What was my reason for believing you were real. The truth is, aside from what I said before, there was another reason."
He paused, steadied his breathing, and offered a broad, roughish grin at her tear-streaked face.
"Do you recall the conversation we shared on the airship?"
"Yes."
"After you ordered Baron Dosville's information lowered from Level 3 to Level 5, what command did you give next?"
Anais cast her mind back to when she'd received that weekly report. At that moment, she had...
"I issued an order to downgrade Troupe Leader Wonderstein's information from Level 2 to Level 4 as well."
Level 2 meant daily reports; Level 4 meant monthly. Her feelings toward Wonderstein had been at their most turbulent then, and while issuing the command regarding Baron Dosville, she'd decided to bundle that particular worry away as well.