14. Melting Point (17)
14. Melting Point (17)
While the other passengers disembarked from the train, the Monster Circus Troupe remained in their cabin, packed and waiting quietly.
A few minutes later, station workers detached their carriage from the tail of the train. At the same time, a small locomotive clattered in from the end of the tracks. It coupled to the detached carriage, then reversed course and pulled it back the way it had come.
Once clear of the main platform, the locomotive halted beside a secondary platform outside the station building. Though it was called a platform, it was little more than a solitary island — a single roof perched atop a boulder the size of a house.
Chartered carriages, deployed only temporarily, were normally shunted to the depot after their scheduled run. But before entering the yard, they passed through this spot for a final inspection — a check for forgotten luggage or any passengers who had failed to disembark.
The Monster Circus Troupe had deliberately avoided the main platform precisely to exploit this stop. It sat directly beside the iron fence encircling the station. A side gate there allowed them to slip out without ever passing through the crowded station building.
"See? What did I tell you?"
Clara pointed out the window, shrugging with satisfaction. She had been the one to suggest waiting to disembark here rather than at the station proper.
Thanks to her, the monstrous troupe members could exit the train without attracting attention. One by one, they offered her a word of thanks, then gathered their luggage and rose from their seats.
Yet even as the troupe filed out, one among them remained seated. The silver-haired girl sat with doll-like stillness, hands folded, waiting for her designated carrier to arrive.
"Whoa, look at this! The snow's nearly up to my knees!"
"Cold. So cold. So this is a Kiev winter."
"This is nothing! December's only the beginning. The real freeze comes in early January."
"Perfect weather for hibernation. Literally."
Maya watched the first troupe members floundering through the snowdrifts and allowed herself a small, quiet smile. She had her own personal transport. Clinging to his back would make obstacles of such snow utterly irrelevant. The thought of pressing close against him, sharing warmth and breath, made her heart pound.
"Troupe Leader."
She saw the blond man approach and extended both arms, fully expecting him to kneel before her as usual and gather her into his embrace.
Instead, he caught her eye and gave a small shake of his head.
"I'm sorry, Miss Maya. I already have a passenger."
"... What?"
Maya's expression went rigid. Wonderstein offered a rueful smile and turned, showing her his back. A girl with tangerine-colored hair clung there, arms wrapped snugly around his neck.
"The Creator! Until we reach our lodgings, you are my steed. Onward!"
"Calm down. You'll fall off at this rate. Aren't you a little too excited?"
"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to ride on your back these past few days."
"Is that so? I'll make more time for it, then."
Maya stared, hollow-eyed, as the girl hijacked her personal transport and rode right past her. Whether the girl sensed her gaze or not, she turned toward Maya and flicked out her tongue.
'That little—! How dare she touch what's mine!'
Maya felt something boil up from deep within her.
Just then, the towering man with the red mohawk planted himself before her. Catching the glare he was directing at Wonderstein, Maya realized that jealousy over this moment wasn't hers alone.
He knelt in front of her and let out a heavy sigh.
"I've been assigned to carry you. My apologies."
"... What happened?"
"Seems Ruelo and Samson played rock-paper-scissors to decide whose back they'd ride — mine or Wonderstein's. Luri lost. Samson won."
"......"
A blinding white squall filled the air. The Monster Circus Troupe slipped out through the side gate, and it took them only moments to confirm that Clara's judgment had been dead-on.
In weather this foul, anyone stepping out of a station made a beeline for the nearest carriage. The plaza before the main entrance, visible in the distance, was packed with waiting lines of passengers trying to hire rides.
The side road where they emerged, by contrast, was relatively quiet. True, traffic was sparse this close to the rail line, but neither was there any competition for carriages — they had the spot to themselves.
They flagged down every empty carriage heading toward the station. The drivers, glad to avoid plunging into the chaos of the main plaza, took them on eagerly.
Each time they secured a carriage, they loaded it with a batch of their party and sent it off toward their lodgings.
Roughly half the troupe had departed when a roar of cheers erupted from inside the station.
"What's that?"
"A VIP arrival, perhaps?"
"Didn't see any welcoming crowds."
"Hm. Then it's an unscheduled arrival... Wait, I've heard of this. Three possibilities: the Emperor, the Pope, or the Crown Prince—"
"We know who it is."
Dosville cut in, pointing toward a banner several meters long now unfurling from the station rooftop, draped down the wall. Emblazoned across it, bedecked in armor and jewels, was the figure of a bear.
"That's the crest of Crown Prince Nikolai."
"Oh? The Empire's Crown Prince? I'd heard he was touring the eastern provinces..."
Gaston stroked his beard, peering toward the station with lively interest. Within the circus, only he and Dosville ever read the political pages. The two of them often fell into such exchanges.
"This is the east, after all. And there's the Imperial Retreat nearby..."
"The Retreat? That's where the 'original bath' hot spring is, isn't it? Rare alchemical plants grow all around that area — I'd love to visit if I got the chance. But shouldn't we be leaving? Once the Crown Prince emerges, the plaza will turn into a madhouse."
At that, Wonderstein, who had been listening quietly, broke in.
"Actually, watching the Crown Prince come out might not be a bad idea."
"Oh? What's gotten into you?"
Gaston stared at his pupil, astonished. He had dangled talk of wealth and glory before the young man countless times, and Wonderstein had always received it with bovine indifference. Yet a mention of the Crown Prince had piqued his interest.
"Come to think of it, I've never told you much about the Empire."
That was, in a sense, only natural. Gardening was itself an alien concept in this frozen land.
"To the imperial nobility, the position of 'gardener' is closer to that of a gamekeeper or forester. Designing habitats for game to flourish, managing wild ginseng patches or truffle colonies — that sort of thing. If that's the kind of post you're after, I'll need to adjust your training—"
"I'm simply curious about what the Crown Prince looks like."
Wonderstein cut him off, privately marveling at Gaston's stubborn refusal to abandon his dream of turning him into a gardener.
His interest in seeing the Crown Prince was straightforward.
The ill-fated Crown Prince, Nikolai. He, too, was a character from the original story.
After crushing the Voodoo Cult and Comprachicos, the heroes had tracked the final Witch toward the imperial capital. But by the time they arrived, the city had already become a battlefield. The nobility had mustered their private armies, splintered into factions, and seized districts across the capital, slaughtering one another in the streets.
Pulling the strings of this chaos were the emperor's close aides, the 'Imperial Theater Troupe,' and their true master, the 'Snake Witch.' Yet the immediate trigger for the civil war — the reason swords had been drawn at all — was the death of Crown Prince Nikolai.
The Crown Prince had been renowned as a prodigy from childhood. Surrounded by a father and stepmother who regarded him with open hostility, he weathered countless attempts on his life without ever growing twisted or bitter.
The factions arrayed against him schemed relentlessly to bring about his downfall. He overcame every trial. He gathered loyal supporters. At last, he stood on the threshold of receiving the throne from the emperor himself.
The transfer of imperial authority was mere days away. The whole Empire rejoiced at the advent of a wise ruler — and then, ominous rumors swept through the capital. This occurred just after the heroes had smashed Comprachicos to pieces.
The heroes' original plan had been to burn the Child Company's 'merchandise catalog.'
By the time of TT3 — beginning with the Prologue Stage's Viscountess Bergson — people whose lives had been touched by Wonderstein's 'handiwork' in the past were transforming into monsters.
Releasing that list at such a moment would unquestionably have unleashed chaos. Witch hunts would have erupted over who was real and who was fake, over who was a monster crafted by the Black Magician and who was not. Burning the list was the correct course.
But just before the heroes stormed Comprachicos's main stronghold, Wonderstein had seized the catalog and escaped with it. Then he had broadcast its contents to the entire world.
Crown Prince Nikolai's name was among those listed.
The chain of events was this: the Crown Prince's birth mother, then the Second Imperial Consort, had desperately wanted to bear a son. She had calculated that with a male heir, she could manipulate the emperor into naming her child Crown Prince.
But merely substituting a fake infant would never pass the imperial bloodline verification tests. So she chose a different path — transforming the daughter in her womb into a son.
The Black Magician had visited the Imperial Palace during her pregnancy and altered the fetus's sex to male.
Crown Prince Nikolai had been... a woman?
In the instant the political establishment reeled from the revelation, the emperor's forces moved, arresting the Crown Prince.
The label 'Monster Crafted by the Black Magician' shattered Nikolai's faction overnight. His remaining loyalists formed resistance cells and fought on, but they could not save him.
A few months later, the Crown Prince's execution was carried out.
The opposing faction, with calculated cruelty, proved he was a 'fraud' using his own body. Wonderstein himself had helpfully retracted the blessing he had placed before the child's birth.
Crown Prince Nikolai, destined to lead the Empire into a golden age.
Stripped naked, he was dragged into the capital plaza and stoned to death by thousands of enraged nobles. Along with the child that had been forced into his womb.
Wonderstein wanted to glimpse his face because he had never once seen him directly in the game. By the time the heroes reached the capital, the Crown Prince was already dead, and the nobles were busy drenching the streets in blood as they squabbled over the next claim to the throne.
"Hey. Wonderstein. Last carriage."
Somehow, the rest of the party had all departed. Only he, Minova, Ruelo, and Maya remained.
Wonderstein clicked his tongue with a flicker of regret and climbed aboard. Even as they pulled away, the Crown Prince's party had yet to emerge from the station building.
"Right, then. Off we go."
The driver was just about to spur the horse into motion when a voice called out, stopping them.
"Wait! Let us come with you!"
The voice came from inside the fence they had just exited through. Three young people — a man and two women — were sprinting toward them, trunks clutched in both hands. They must have disembarked at the secondary platform as well.
"We're heading toward the Golden Palace, I should mention."
"Same destination!"
The trio heaved their trunks onto the luggage rack at the rear of the carriage and scrambled aboard.
At that moment, the blast of a brass band erupted from the station's main entrance. A wave of cheers followed. The Crown Prince's party was emerging, it seemed.
Soldiers spilled from the station, surrounding the plaza. The carriage they had boarded slipped away just before the cordon closed.
Wonderstein craned his neck, peering out the window. But the carriage rounded a corner the instant the lead column emerged from the station, and he missed his chance to see the Crown Prince.
He heard the three newcomers exhale. Whether out of disappointment at missing the Crown Prince's face — like him — or relief at escaping before the plaza was locked down, he couldn't tell.
Introductions among fellow travelers sharing a carriage were basic courtesy. Wonderstein extended a hand toward them.
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Frank Wonderstein. I'm a wandering magician."
In response, the young teenager seated between the two adults reached out. He was a pretty-faced boy, delicate enough that Wonderstein had briefly mistaken him for a girl at first glance. He appeared to be the group's leader.
"Hello. My name is Nika. Just a traveler, I suppose."
The two shook hands warmly.