4. Ghost of the Cabaret (8)
4. Ghost of the Cabaret (8)
A vacant lot about a kilometer from our hotel.
In the middle of it stood an abandoned well, its floor exposed and long since useless.
An iron grate sealed the mouth, probably to keep careless children from tumbling in while they played.
I drew the Mantula's Blade from my back.
One solid swing and the flimsy grate split apart easily.
I drove the blade into the wall, braced the Mantula's legs against the stone, and descended to the well floor.
A passage pierced one wall of the well bottom, leading into the underground waterway.
I retracted the blade and ducked through the tunnel, hunched over, until I stepped out into the sewer channel.
Rouge was a planned city, built near the canals.
Its water and sewage systems had been laid out with the latest engineering — broad enough to float a small boat, the current running clean and unhindered.
I walked along the edge of the channel, heading for the Ghost's lair.
Getting lost wasn't a concern.
I'd already been through every inch of this place in the game.
Squeak, squeak.
Jjiksun, perched beside my neck, tickled my skin with her tail.
She was writing letters.
Ella was using the Spirit Link to relay instructions through her.
Reading by touch limited the message to short phrases.
-Arrived.
Already there?
Makes sense. In the game, sewer monsters infested the channels and whole sections had collapsed, forcing detours. Here, none of that existed.
-Where?
"Almost there."
I stroked the top of Jjiksun's head with a fingertip and kept walking.
*Sub Quest — Ghost of the Cabaret
: The Ghost, Derek, has become a threat to the circus troupe.
Objective
: Eliminate the Ghost, Derek.
Reward on Success
: [Ghost's Mask]
Penalty on Failure
: None.
***
The boat that had been gliding through the dark sewer channel came to a stop.
The Ghost hooked his oar over the gunwale.
"We've arrived, miss. Were you frightened? You kept your eyes squeezed shut the whole time."
"Ah, yes... a little."
The masked man offered his hand. Ella took it and stepped carefully out of the boat.
The Ghost had appeared without warning in her bedroom that night.
He introduced himself as the 'guardian angel' who lived in this theater.
He said he wanted to capture the 'monster' behind the recent attacks and protect the troupe — and to free Ella, too, from the slavery the monster had forced on her.
Ella played the frightened girl perfectly.
She let him believe she'd fallen for his lies and followed him out.
An island of carved stone rose from the middle of the sewer channel.
A few weak electric lamps pushed back the darkness, but not by much.
Still holding the Ghost's hand, Ella stepped carefully onto the island.
The space above felt almost like an attic hideaway.
An oil-soaked torch blazed at its center; in the corners, a bed, a bookshelf, musical instruments.
"Will I really be safe here?"
"Of course. Even that monster you're so afraid of couldn't barge in here. I've trapped every approach."
Kind, considerate gestures.
A voice that hummed like a melody.
Though a mask hid his face, his words and manner overflowed with goodwill.
If Ella were an ordinary girl, she might have been completely taken in by his mysterious aura.
But Ella had grown too old for such flutterings.
A year ago, maybe — but now, anyone who smiled at her without reason made her wary by default.
Wonderstein, this is your fault.
The man in front of her stirred the same kind of revulsion she felt toward Wonderstein.
Shameless, contrived malice.
If what Wonderstein had told her was true, this man was even filthier.
A few hours earlier.
After the play had been halted and the troupe gathered in the waiting room, Ella had been lost in thought.
Had Wonderstein really dropped that light?
Why on earth would he?
Had she even seen it right?
Those doubts only deepened when Maroine returned from the hospital and brought up the 'Ghost.'
The Ghost had started his activities a week ago.
The very day they'd arrived in Rouge.
So she decided to confront him.
She asked if he was the one behind all this.
But his answers veered into complete nonsense.
-Miss Ella, you signed a contract, didn't you? To be my slave for 'life.'
At those words a concept flared in her mind.
Code word.
Once performers step onto a stage, even fellow acrobats have no way to tell whether each other's actions are real or acted. Live performance especially made improvisation routine — dialogue and gestures adjusted moment by moment — which only deepened the potential confusion.
The real problem came when an accident happened.
Was that person genuinely falling and hurt? Had someone accidentally caught fire? Had a lion actually bitten down on a leg and started dragging? Even comrades in the same troupe struggled to tell.
That's what code words were for.
A performer would agree in advance with their troupe-mates: if you hear me use this specific 'word,' it means I'm in real danger.
Code words only worked when the troupe had the right arrangement.
What arrangement had Wonderstein and Ella made?
He had promised that if they cooperated for just two and a half more years, he would set them free.
Yet out of nowhere, he was asking — hadn't she contracted to be a slave for life?
She'd privately entertained the thought before, of course.
That this might all be a demon's trick.
That after two and a half years he might simply act as if he'd never heard of such a deal.
But for him to bring it up now, barely a week after the promise, at this utterly meaningless moment — that was strange.
His next remark was even more absurd.
-After all, Miss Ella, you don't really 'do anything' in the troupe, do you?
She didn't do anything?
Hadn't they both acknowledged, just an hour or two earlier, that she did far too many things?
That clinched it for Ella.
This was some kind of signal.
A signal meant only for comrades who shared the same information.
But why, all of a sudden, resort to this method?
Ella mulled it over, then recalled what he'd just said.
-The culprit seems to be someone originally from within the troupe.
Exactly.
Even now, the head technician was going from handprint to handprint, trying to match them to a person.
The culprit was an insider.
That handprint did look like Wonderstein had made it, but...
In any case, his resorting to this kind of secret communication meant the culprit had to be nearby.
After a few more exchanges of plausible back-and-forth, he got to the point.
-I'll be taking one of the animals you raise, Miss Ella.
Ella caught his meaning at once.
Her Inspira.
Spirit Link.
She could share the sight and hearing of any animal she had raised.
It was a hint that he would explain the details through that ability.
And so Wonderstein had taken Jjiksun and left the theater.
Ella told the troupe she was going to rest at the hotel for a while.
Having just watched a man die in front of them, nobody objected.
Evening rehearsal would start soon anyway — there was no need for her to stay.
When she activated the Spirit Link, Wonderstein was already waiting with an ink bottle in front of him.
Ella directed Jjiksun to dip her paws in the ink and write.
Having done this once before, the writing came out far more neatly this time.
Wonderstein told her about the existence of the culprit, the 'Ghost.'
Because the Ghost could be hiding in any floor or wall, he'd had no choice but to use a code word.
But one thing still didn't sit right with Ella.
Why had he thrown in all that needlessly hostile talk in the middle of it?
Especially when he said he'd put Jjiksun inside his stomach, or turn her into a monster — that had genuinely made her choke up, afraid he might actually mean it.
Wonderstein chuckled softly and answered.
"I was worried for your safety, Miss Ella."
-What?
"He can phase through matter. He's not easy to catch. Even for me, dealing with him requires thorough preparation. If he takes the approach of tormenting the people around me, I have no way to stop him. So I had to show him, right there on the spot — that you and I have the worst possible relationship."
-Ah.
"That way he wouldn't lay a hand on you, would he?"
-So, you did it for my sake?
"For my own sake. Without you, Miss Ella, who'd handle the troupe's work?"
-Then I could have just left with you.
"Then he would have followed us back to the hotel. He's the type who can't rest until he has a person in his grasp and watches their every move."
-That girl, Shayla... I feel sorry for her.
"I have a way to catch him."
Wonderstein laid out the Ghost's personality, appearance, and everything he'd done so far in precise detail.
Just hearing it made her skin crawl.
"A twisted man who approaches fragile girls, endlessly bestows 'kindnesses' to plant psychological debt, and later demands 'love' as repayment."
-'Twisted,' huh. You've got some nerve saying that out loud.
"Heh heh, do I? My apologies. That was careless."
-No. Still, you do have one thing that makes you better than this Ghost bastard.
"What's that?"
-In two and a half years, you'll leave on your own.
"...I see."
-I'll contact you if something comes up. Oh, and the sunflower seeds Jjiksun eats are on my desk. Don't give her too many at once — one seed at a time.
"...Understood."
The Ghost suggested he help Ella with the next day's play rehearsal.
Wonderstein still hadn't arrived.
Ella accepted the offer without resistance.
She hadn't expected much from the Ghost's skills.
But watching him act, she couldn't help being startled.
His face was hidden behind the mask, but his movements, his vocal delivery — none of it fell short of a professional's.
He was several cuts above the actor who had died that afternoon. Above Paris, too.
She could understand why a girl like Shayla had fallen for this man.
With talent like that and all that devoted attention, it would have been hard not to.
But Ella didn't let herself be deceived.
Skill was no guarantee of character.
Wonderstein was the poster example of that.
Whatever ability this man possessed, he was still a lunatic who leashed children with kindness, reared them, demanded love, and the moment things went sour, resorted to kidnapping and murder without a second thought.
The play hurtled toward the middle of Act Two.
The Ghost looked at her and shouted the line that had been cut off twice today.
"Can you prove it? Can you prove your love?"
He strode toward her.
Confident eyes, unhesitating steps.
A perfect Count.
Too bad.
Ella was not the maid who loved the Count.
The moment he closed in and snatched her wrist —
— a dagger bit deep into his forearm.
"GYAAAAAGH!"
The Ghost shrieked and stumbled backward.
An attack.
Someone had attacked him.
He had to dodge.
He tried to shift into his permeable state at once.
But the power wouldn't manifest.
His arm felt heavy.
Blood soaked the floor.
The dagger was buried to the hilt in his forearm.
Why?
I'm invincible.
Nothing can touch me...
"You can't phase while you're in contact with another living thing."
Ella drew a second dagger from her clothes and leveled it at him.
"And if an object of enough mass gets lodged in your body, you can't phase, either."
Everything she said came straight from Wonderstein.
"You'd better not try anything stupid. When I put my mind to throwing knives, I can punch clean through a block of wood."
Staring at the girl who had betrayed him, the Ghost howled.
Damn bitch.
Tricked.
Tricked again.
Just like that bitch who promised love and ran.
Just like that bitch who swore she'd live for him alone and then wrapped her arms around another man.
"Why — why! Weren't you trying to escape that monster, too!"
"Yeah, I was."
Ella held the dagger steady, eyes fixed on him.
"But even so, I can't bring myself to take your hand. I don't think that demon's about to get done in by the likes of you, for starters. And, well, that man does have one thing that makes him better than you."
"Wh-what...?"
"That man, you see — he found something precious to me, and he called it a contract. He saved my life, and he called it a deal. And today, after doing something similar, he told me: he did it because he needed me. That, I'm grateful for."
Bewilderment flooded the Ghost's eyes.
Why would she be grateful for that?
Wouldn't it be better if he whispered more warmly, more lovingly...?
"Because it means I can hate him as much as I want."
"Wh-why would you—"
"Derek. How did you treat all those girls who passed through your hands?"
At the word 'girls' the Ghost's shoulders flinched.
H-how did she know that—
"When the person doing the teaching acts with the goal of earning the student's affection, it causes problems."
Ella spoke the words she had given Wonderstein the day before.
Two meanings were folded into that statement.
First: teaching requires a stern hand.
And second...
"Affection born out of a clear hierarchy is inherently coercive."
She looked Derek straight in the eye and enunciated every syllable.
That was it. Wonderstein had never demanded their respect. Never demanded their love.
Shunned, cursed at — he stayed utterly impassive.
When he decided they needed him, he stepped in and helped.
That was all.
Ella was genuinely grateful that he gave her the freedom to hate him.
If, after beating the villagers to death, after saving her life, he had claimed he did it because he loved her — she would have broken long ago, her mind shattered beyond recovery.
'But when is that man going to get here?'
He'd said he'd be there soon, and still hadn't shown.
And now Derek was acting strange.
He was watching her and giggling under his breath.
"What?"
"Heh heh, you see, I have a magic lasso."
"What—? Gkh—khhk!"
Something whistled through the air and snapped around Ella's neck.
A rope.
A single rope had flown out of the darkness and cinched tight around her throat.
"Ghk—gakh!"
Ella clawed at the rope, thrashing to free herself, but it wouldn't budge.
Some kind of magical force seemed to be at work.
It didn't twist hard enough to snap her neck, but her air was steadily choked off.
Derek rose and approached her as she dangled in midair.
With his uninjured arm — the one she hadn't stabbed — he drove a fist at her stomach.
Thwack.
"Ghnk!"
"Done running your mouth, you bitch? So what exactly was your point?"
Thwack.
"Ghnk!"
"You took all my help and then rejected my feelings — just like those other whores. That's what you're saying? Huh?"
Thwack.
"Gkh!"
"Haha, die! Die! I'll toss your corpse at that monster's feet—"
In that instant, a silver arc flashed.
The rope snapped with a soft thwip.
Derek let out a strangled gasp and reeled backward.
A mantis-like blade fixed at the tip of a long spider leg.
The same appendage he'd seen on that monster during the day.
It was what had cut the rope.
Another of the monster's limbs gently cradled Ella as she dropped from the air.
Having been seconds from death, she managed only a fit of coughing.
"H-how — that route was loaded with my traps—"
The blond man who emerged from the darkness.
He had appeared from a 'path that shouldn't be passable.'
Step by step, he advanced on Derek.
In the torchlight, his bright smile gleamed.
"Ah, the traps were simple enough to dismantle. Four pressure plates, two wires, three grille traps, and... a nest of sewer Ratmen."
Wonderstein extended the two blades sprouting from his back.
Thick, clotted blood was plastered across them.
"I didn't know about the sewer Ratmen, I admit. There were none when I last passed through."
He fixed the Ghost with a level stare.
His mouth smiled, but Derek could see it.
The killing intent simmering in his eyes.
"I've come to take back my Deputy Leader."
And then, without heat, with the calm of a man reciting a prepared line, he spoke the next words.
"You worthless piece of trash."