5. Mage Maya (1)
5. Mage Maya (1)
Rouge was a city that normally grew rowdy at night and lay comparatively quiet by day.
Like any entertainment city, it bustled after sunset and dozed off after sunrise.
With the Circus Grand Prix's opening ceremony only two weeks away, however, even the daylight hours now overflowed with clamor and brilliant color.
Acrobats from every corner of the world had begun streaming into Rouge for the Grand Prix.
Lively melodies that set shoulders twitching spilled from every alley.
Acrobats flaunted their skills on street corners everywhere.
A dancing girl balanced precariously atop a rolling ball.
A trainer driving a horde of bullfrogs.
Clowns whose arms and legs flailed in wild asymmetry.
An irrepressible exhilaration spilled through the whole city. Even the strictest parents in Rouge brought their children out daily to drift among the spectacles.
Most of the street performers were solo acrobats or members of small troupes.
They showed off their skills on main roads, in plazas, or in front of the inns where famous circus troupes were lodging. For them, joining a major troupe was the only path to the Grand Prix.
Realistically, the Grand Prix could not evaluate every performance company in the world one by one.
So the organizers had established several requirements.
A troupe had to maintain a minimum number of acrobats, and at least one among them had to have received Kirkeus's blessing — meaning they had to possess Inspira.
Those conditions were almost self-evident.
To compete in the Circus Grand Prix, that level of ability was the bare minimum.
The steepest barrier lay elsewhere.
The sponsor system.
Every troupe entered in the Grand Prix had to be guaranteed by a person of social standing.
Furthermore, that guarantor was required to invest a minimum sum into the Grand Prix.
It was a system designed to streamline personnel management and capital acquisition, making the tournament easier to administer.
Because of it, though, small performance groups and individual acrobats found participation all but impossible.
Sponsors overwhelmingly preferred the famous, established troupes.
Roughly a hundred trading companies, enterprises, and noble houses had elected to invest in this year's Grand Prix.
So about a hundred performing companies had earned the right to compete.
That figure was drastically smaller than the number of existing troupes.
And so, with two weeks until the opening ceremony, acrobats who dreamed of standing on the Grand Prix stage flooded the six cities where the preliminaries would be held.
Their aim was to show their skills to the large troupes and win a place in their ranks.
That fit neatly with the desires of the troupes competing in the Grand Prix.
They, too, wanted to secure as many acrobats as possible before the tournament began.
Under the tournament regulations, once the preliminaries were underway, adding new acrobats became restricted.
A rule meant to prevent fraudulent recruitment and collusion.
The competition would run for a full two and a half years.
No one could predict what would happen that far down the line.
The more talented candidates you had, the better.
So the competing troupes roamed the streets until the opening ceremony, scouring the city for top-tier acrobats.
The search was not easy.
The truly renowned, famous acrobats had long since been recruited — not two weeks before the tournament, but well before that.
Those doing the scouting combed the city like prospectors hunting gems buried in sand, and those hoping to be scouted took to the streets again today, dreaming they were that gem.
In the process, disputes over performance spots flared frequently among acrobats.
"<Allen and Joe> starts in five minutes!"
"<Snake Flute Taming> starts in four minutes!"
"Correction! <Allen and Joe> starts in three minutes!"
"<Snake Flute Taming> starts in two minutes!"
"<Allen and Joe>! One minute!"
"<Snake Flute Taming> is starting right now!"
"You blasted woman! Where did you even pop out from?! Go do that somewhere else!"
"You're the ones who should shove off!"
"We've been here since the day before yesterday!"
And sometimes those rivalries boiled over into outright brawls.
The fight unfolding right now in front of the Metropole Hotel was exactly that.
Behind the <Allen and Joe> sign stood two men in bowler hats and black suits, each leaning on a cane.
Behind the <Snake Flute Taming> sign stood a young woman with a jewel-studded turban.
The two sides glared fiercely at each other.
Suave, the snake charmer, adjusted her disheveled turban while stealing a glance at the hotel's second-floor terrace.
From the terrace, men and women who were unmistakably nobles — along with a group in acrobat attire — looked down at the scene.
A small smile flickered across Suave's face.
Operation successful. She had captured their attention.
She hadn't picked a fight with those two for no reason.
They were a tool to show off her own skills. Her real audience were the guests staying in this hotel.
Suave had gotten word that a sponsored troupe was lodged at the Metropole.
An unknown, newly formed circus — but its patron was a famous trading house.
Rumor even had it that the company president had come in person to tend to the troupe, so high were their expectations.
Surely it was an elite, handpicked group, assembled with enormous capital. If she performed here, she could leave a lasting impression.
And making that impression demanded more than just a polite display. It needed a splash.
That was why she had provoked those two blank-faced comedians. Their patter wasn't funny and their slapstick was stale, but their over-the-top reactions were perfect for her purposes.
- Hey, Allen! Help me! There's a nail in my shoe! Yeeowww!
- Joe! Stop! I said stop! Aaagh!
She'd already done her groundwork over two days. They didn't have any skills worth mentioning beyond shouting and falling over.
If they showed even that level of reaction in front of her snakes, it would make a fine show.
The snake charmer raised her flute.
The king cobra in its jar flicked its tongue and reared its head. At the same time, the sack slung across her back writhed.
Inside were green snakes, smaller than the black cobra.
Dozens of snakes, tuned to the sound of her flute, slithered out of the sack in unison.
The crowd that had gathered to enjoy a fight flinched backward with a collective gasp.
The snakes slid smoothly toward the two comedians in suits.
Suave looked at the pair, expecting them to tremble.
But they were startlingly calm.
No — more than calm. Their faces were deathly cold.
"Joe. Looks like it's time to go back to a cage we never wanted."
"This chilly sensation. It's been a long time."
They pulled blades from within their canes.
These two — the same pair who slipped and tumbled every time they leaned on their canes.
She'd assumed the canes were just slapstick props.
Never imagined they concealed swords.
A flash of light, and the heads of two snakes near Allen went flying.
Before Suave could even react, a snake that had been rearing at Joe was skewered clean through, impaled on his blade like a piece of meat on a spit.
'Wh-what the?'
She hadn't expected this level of skill.
The two men swinging their swords held not a trace of buffoonery. They were fully trained swordsmen.
Suave flicked another glance at the terrace.
The audience she'd meant to captivate was no longer watching her.
Every eye was on the pair with the swords — seemingly spellbound by their skill.
'No, no! This just makes me their clown.'
Suave readjusted the flute. She had to give a more aggressive command.
Even if it left wounds — she had the antidote, after all —
But Allen, reading her intent, acted faster.
The sword-cane left his hand like a bolt of lightning.
Shnnk.
The blade touched neither Suave's body nor so much as a thread of her clothing — it sliced only the flute clean in two, then passed between her neck and shoulder and lodged itself in the stone wall, quivering.
"That's enough. I don't know about Joe, but my patience has its limits."
Suave's face had gone bone-white.
She stared at the split halves of her flute with a dazed expression.
What came out of her mouth was neither surrender nor venom.
"Y-you're insane! Why did you cut my flute! I can only handle the snakes with my flute!"
She shrieked.
That agitated the snakes. Their master's alarmed state set them off.
Suave realized her mistake at once.
A blunder. She shouldn't have screamed.
The snakes twisted sharply toward the murmuring bystanders around them.
Sound. Sweat. Vibration.
Everything was setting them off.
It wasn't just Suave who panicked — Allen and Joe did too.
A move meant to end the situation had made it far worse.
The snakes spread in a wide fan and began crawling toward the crowd.
The onlookers stood frozen where they were. Anyone who moved first, they felt, would draw the snakes' attack.
A powder-keg moment.
That was when a whistled melody rang through the street.
"Huh?"
The one startled by the sound was Suave.
Because the tune was the very one she used to call her snakes back into their containers.
Snakes could perceive only a narrow range of frequencies. That was why she needed a specialized flute.
Yet this whistling was playing the melody in exactly that register.
- Hsss.
- Hsss-sss.
The snakes lowered their heads. Their agitation visibly subsided.
They were well-trained creatures, in the best sense. They passed beneath Suave's legs and began returning to their nests.
The green snakes slithered back into her sack; the black king cobra returned to its woven jar.
And there in the middle of the now-settled scene stood a blond man in a black suit and black cloak.
He was the one who had whistled. Every gaze fixed on him.
Suave recognized him.
He had been on the hotel terrace moments ago.
He inclined his head slightly toward the crowd in greeting.
"My name is Frank Wonderstein. I am the leader of the Wonderstein Circus Troupe. We've just put on a brief improvised show in collaboration with these street performers. I hope you enjoyed yourselves."
A quarrel that had boiled into a street brawl. Snakes emerging to frighten everyone. Surprising swordplay that drew admiration. Then the fear when the snakes grew frenzied — and finally, the troupe leader's graceful skill easing the tension and letting everyone breathe again.
Catching up to what had happened, the crowd cheered and broke into applause.
To them, the whole thing looked staged from start to finish.
Which, of course, was complete nonsense.
The three people who had actually been driving the situation knew that perfectly well.
Wonderstein smiled at the three who were staring at him blankly.