076 — Uriel Wayne Dana Alfred
With a thin creak, the Underworld Gate eased open, and Ferzen simply watched what lay beyond it.
…The condition is the same as ever, then. The moment death stands before one's eyes.
He had privately hoped that the book which might be called the Ledger of the Netherworld would appear, just as it had that time, but there was not the slightest chance of it. The gate began to shift from one moment to the next, and the nameplate above it shifted with it. This was Ferzen's first transaction with the third floor, so he had no way of knowing how long the nameplate would take to settle, and he waited some ten minutes beneath his umbrella.
It's taking a long time…
Perhaps a thing that dwelt on the third floor had little interest in an orthodox bargain. The instant the thought occurred to him, the Netherworld's nameplate fixed in place—proof that an anomaly had been arranged for the trade. He ran through the necessary formalities at speed.
Method of exchange: immediate payment.
Term: undecided.
Article of trade: Descent.
Then, with a child's restless thrill, he fixed his eyes on the faint world beyond the Underworld Gate.
The shape in which the nameplate had settled was…
A black feather.
If that was so, would the anomaly that sprang from beyond the door take the form of a bird?
Tok.
"…"
What came through, however, was nothing he had expected. It was an ordinary whistle.
"Has an anomaly of that shape ever been reported?"
"I couldn't say. The anomalies known to the public, however grotesque they may look, have all taken the form of living creatures… hmm."
At the second prince's question, the elder of the Rosewell ducal house stroked his beard. He had meant not to interfere, but curiosity got the better of him, and Theore pressed Ferzen.
"Boy. Hurry up and blow it."
Ferzen hesitated a moment, then brought the faintly glowing silver whistle to his lips…
"Hoo!"
He blew. The note that rang out was clear, yet its tone was no different from any whistle sold on the street, so Ferzen turned to look behind him. He had wondered whether those who heard it might fall under a charm, or be seized by hallucinations—some effect of that kind. But the people standing at his back only stared, blank and puzzled, wearing the same bewilderment as his own.
"Ah…"
"Th-that…!"
A moment later they began, one after another, to point at the sky, and Ferzen lifted his head as well.
"…"
The darkness of the night sky was coming down. Yes—that was the precise way to put it. Like a waterspout rising off the sea, the dark of the night was being dragged forth, and that darkness…
Caw!
It changed into hideous crows, dozens of grotesque eyes studding their bodies, and they took to the sky. Nor was that all. The darkness that existed all around them—even whatever merely happened to be black, whether cloth or iris or hair—was hauled out and became crows, wheeling in every direction. Hundreds, then thousands, settled on the roof of the Magic Society and turned the dozens of eyes set into their bodies upon the people gathered there. Still more kept being dragged endlessly from the surrounding dark, pure disorder, and wandered the night sky over the capital.
Ferzen blew the whistle once more. In accordance with the will he had held as he blew, the crows perched on the roof rose, joined the tens of thousands already aloft, and flew in orderly circles. All the while, crows dragged without cease from the darkness spread their numbers in an instant; before long they had covered the sky above the capital entirely, and even stopped the rain that had been falling.
"Boy… mind if I try burning those?"
At the elder of House Rosewell's words, Ferzen nodded.
Fire roared up. The moment permission was given, countless balls of flame shot into the sky and burned the crows alive—yet from the darkness of the night, from the darkness all around, and from every manner of thing that held the color black, new crows were born in an instant and filled the gaps. If an immortal host existed anywhere, it would surely look like this.
If I named someone… and blew this whistle…
Those crows, no longer tens of thousands but hundreds of thousands, would close around that person and devour the flesh. Even if the victim died, so long as there was darkness. No—even if there was no darkness at all. So long as a single small black speck remained, the crows could multiply without end.
"Count! That will do! The crow is a symbol of unrest by nature… If we throw the skies over the capital into any further disorder, the people will not be lightly shaken."
The first prince came back to himself and spoke to Ferzen.
"Understood."
With that, Ferzen indifferently tossed the whistle in his hand back through the open Underworld Gate, returning it. At once the crows ceased multiplying out of the darkness. Those that had been circling the capital's sky in orderly ranks became a handful of black feathers and fell toward the earth.
Pat. Pat.
The rain that had been held back came sheeting down again. The black feathers vanished as if they had melted into it, gone without a trace, and Ferzen adjusted his umbrella and opened a subspace. Goods amounting to some five hundred and seventy million bern disappeared. There was a loss of about a hundred and twenty million bern in the reckoning, but he was not so poor that he needed to grubbily demand every last detail be itemized. He closed the subspace and turned away.
The man who had originally been assigned to verify his promotion—Melvin—came walking over.
"…Thank you for granting me the chance to broaden my eye."
In the hand he held out was a brooch-shaped insignia denoting a mage of Apollyon rank.
"From tomorrow morning… the capital will be in an uproar."
"Well… let's just hope no one starts preaching some strange apocalypse."
"Crows are… a symbol of unrest, after all."
"Even though, in practice, there's hardly a more filial creature."
Trading that idle talk, Ferzen accepted the finely worked brooch, pinned it at his tie, and smiled. Beyond the others…
Coleone Wayne Bareta Alfred was watching him. What lay in those eyes might well have been the most fervent courtship in the world—a clinging, viscous hunger for the blood of Brutein. Reading it, Ferzen was certain. The old man would not be able to refuse his proposal.
Coleone shuddered. Indeed… were it not for some reason not yet uncovered, the mettle of the man who would naturally have become head of Brutein was formidable. At twenty-four he had become an Apollyon-rank black mage, and the sight he had shown them by opening the third floor of the Netherworld left no choice but praise.
That blood…! If only it were mixed into Uriel…
The mere imagining of it sent a terrible excitement circling through his aged, wretched body, until it seemed that shriveled monstrosity of his stood erect. At length the verification came to an end, and as the gathering dispersed, Coleone carefully followed after Ferzen. Word had reached him that the Uriel he had cast out had met Ferzen, and was living in a small house the man had prepared for her.
Had it been out of pity? No. Not a chance. If a nibble had come this late in the situation, it had to be because of Aslan County, the house into which Uriel was to marry. And if it was tied to that, then he was plotting something in the North. If what he wanted was to call the marriage off…
Then you… need only take her.
Gazing at Ferzen's back, Coleone reached out. The hand met nothing, humiliatingly so. Ferzen, who had slipped his body aside at an angle, looked down at him.
"Do you have something to say?"
The unpleasant habit of stealing up in secret, ratlike, as befitted the chief who ruled the underworld, was hardly welcome to Ferzen either, and his brow furrowed of its own accord.
"The one with something to say is you, is it not."
"…"
"You've been up to something amusing, I see. Well… was there a pleasure of your own in rearing that child Uriel?"
"…"
"But if you thought you could turn your palm over at this late hour and take the child back again, that would be truly troublesome. Unfortunately, a bidder arrived first. Even so, if you still wish to wedge yourself in… you may become a bidder yourself and join the auction. That would be the proper way."
Heh heh. Coleone laughed. Looking at that wrinkled face, Ferzen laughed with him.
"Do as you please. Though I wonder whether an auction will mean anything. A breed like you, in particular…"
Crunch. Biting the index finger of his left hand, Ferzen let the blood fall drop by drop onto the bridge of Coleone's nose, and curled his mouth into a thin, blood-scented smile.
"…"
At the drops of Ferzen's blood running from the bridge of his nose down his cheek, both of Coleone's eyes shook violently.
"Then… I'll take my leave. Set the date as you see fit. It will be nothing but empty ceremony, without the slightest meaning, but I'll play along as much as you like."
Had that been a little excessive? Not entirely without that, perhaps. Turning away, Ferzen set his teeth lightly into the index finger of his right hand, climbed into the carriage, and signaled the coachman to depart.
"Heh, heheh…"
Though he had a handkerchief, Coleone wiped Ferzen's blood from his face with his hand and licked it clean.
Ah…
If there were a taste of heaven, would it be this? The blood of Brutein, which he could never reach and so had called arrogant. Perhaps, before long, it would mix with their own bloodline. The mere thought brought a rapture he could not endure. Coleone stood where he was for a long while, then staggered up into the carriage.
"A reason to live longer… has appeared."
From today he would quit tobacco, and quit drink. And he would gorge on every food and herb that did the body good. Until he held in these arms a boy in whom the blood of Brutein and Alfred ran together, not even a god could take him from this world into the Netherworld.