Lucifer (7)
The sun sank low, stretching out long and thin like a strip of pulled taffy, as if declaring that the normal workday was well and truly over.
The "normal" workday, sure.
Rihardt had announced that he would be using his wish ticket today. Which meant that, like it or not, something was about to happen to me. The mere thought of what lay ahead sent restlessness and anxiety crawling over my skin. You'd think I'd have grown somewhat accustomed to Rihardt's lunacy by now — and yet instead of building a tolerance, I only seemed to be growing more delicate. Was this how an office worker felt, staring down an unavoidable night of overtime?
My breath came out in a thin white haze. Snow wasn't falling, but it was late enough in the year that calling it the cusp of winter wouldn't have been a stretch. Reflexively, I brought my hands together to rub warmth back into my chilled fingers — and they were caught mid-motion. Rihardt's doing. His hands, unlike my frozen ones, radiated a steady heat, and I could only stare at him, dumbfounded.
"Warm, right?"
It was almost funny — my predicament, drinking in warmth from a man as cold-blooded as they came. Before I could answer, he went on.
"That's more or less everything done."
Before the day was out, every last supply for the journey to the capital had been readied. The fruit of his scurrying and mine, with the sorted goods gathered in a separate warehouse.
"If there's something you want to ask, ask, Lucy."
"Out of nowhere, all of a sudden?"
"You're wearing the face for it."
What face, exactly? If a mirror had been handy, I'd have liked to check my own expression right then. Still, I didn't bother denying it. A question had taken root naturally enough while we were laying in supplies.
"Then may I ask one thing?"
"Go ahead."
"Everything we've gathered is portioned for exactly three people. Are there no additional members to the party?"
"No."
Rihardt's answer was firm. Which meant, officially speaking, the only people bound for the capital were Rihardt and me.
Unofficially, it'd be three counting Karen.
However outstanding his personal strength might be, Rihardt was the heir of Count Line. A man in that position, traveling to the capital without a single escort? It would draw every eye in creation, one way or another. I shot him a look that said I knew perfectly well what this was about.
"You declined an escort, didn't you. Said you didn't need one."
"Dragging a whole crowd along would be nothing but a hassle. It's not as if going to the capital is some grand undertaking."
"I can believe the Count would permit it, but the Countess simply stood by and let it happen?"
From everything I'd seen of her temperament, she'd have Rihardt's safety at the front of her mind.
Rihardt shook his head.
"Father agreed with me. So Mother had no room to interfere."
So this hadn't been purely Rihardt's design, then. The Count truly was raising his one and only child tough. Perhaps he figured a half-baked heir was worse than no heir at all. Still — that was his own son, wasn't it?
"A rather cruel father to have, isn't he."
He nodded as though he agreed.
"His methods of child-rearing run on the harsh side."
"It's rich coming from me, I know, but I wouldn't care to have him for a father."
"Whoa, Lucy. There are limits. Bad-mouthing a man to his own son's face?"
"And aren't you the one who can't stand the Count, young master?"
The instant the words left my mouth, I knew I'd stepped in it. I looked at Rihardt with wavering eyes, and Rihardt looked back at me. Silence pooled between us. I was scrambling to apologize when he broke into a sheepish grin.
"True enough."
Now it's even more awkward to apologize. Still, I figured saying it beat leaving it hanging, so I opened my mouth.
"I'm sorry."
Rihardt waved it off like it was nothing.
"Isn't it proof we've grown close enough for you to slip up around me?"
"But still……"
"Don't fret too much. I'll pay this one back properly with my wish ticket."
He cut me off with that reply — which was, in effect, a declaration that he was keeping score. Haah. This mouth of mine was always the problem. I fell quiet far too late; what good was sealing my lips after everything had already come spilling out? The cow was long gone, and now the barn was falling apart too. Depressing, really.
"Besides, it's a rare trip. Wouldn't it be uncomfortable for you and Karen to have anyone else along besides me?"
I'd appreciate it if you'd acknowledge that being with you is the most uncomfortable arrangement of all. Reading the mischief glittering in his eyes, I let out a long, deep sigh.
"So you intend to keep up your leisure activities even while traveling."
"How am I supposed to give up a pleasure I only just discovered? I'd sooner toss aside the heir's seat first."
For a man who claimed he could abandon the position at any moment, Rihardt was remarkably diligent in it — a contradiction to the way he bristled at everything his father did. Come to think of it, that was a genuine mystery. What did he actually feel, standing in the heir's place? A pointless line of thought, as far as my own survival went. I shook my head and raised a different question instead.
"Speaking of which — you're a proper knight now, young master. Don't knights keep a squire?"
In answer, his index finger rose and pointed straight at me.
"There's you, isn't there?"
He means to make me his squire? I'd be the most useless squire the world had ever seen.
"I'd be of no use at all helping you into your armor or maintaining your weapons, and I'm no help in combat either. A maid, perhaps — but the duties of a squire are beyond me."
"Take a joke that seriously and it just leaves me embarrassed."
"I can't tell when you're joking and when you're serious. And is that an embarrassed face, exactly?"
"I'm burdened with an abundance of modesty. It rarely shows."
Modest, he says. Not words I'd ever imagined emerging from Rihardt's mouth. When I squinted my left eye and let my lips part ever so slightly, he only piled on more of the act.
"I have no intention of handing you dirty work. Put my gear in an amateur's hands and it'd end up shoddier than before, wouldn't it? I prefer to maintain my own equipment — that's the sole reason I don't keep a squire. Teaching someone this and that doesn't suit my temper either."
A question mark floated up in my mind. So killing people and disposing of their bodies didn't count as dirty work, then? Noting my puzzled stare, Rihardt jabbed my forehead with his index finger.
"Nothing connected to my leisure counts as dirty work. That part's the fun."
The poke stung more than it should have. Rubbing my throbbing forehead, I answered.
"……Is that so."
"Shall we head down soon, Lucy?"
I didn't bother asking where. At this hour of the night, there was only one place Rihardt would propose going.
Rihardt and I arrived at the basement. Every trace of what had been done to Karen had been scrubbed away without a speck left behind.
With me passed out, I'd assumed no one would have gotten around to cleaning up.
I gave Rihardt a look of mild surprise.
"There's no law saying you're the only one who tidies, is there? I've done my share of cleaning when you weren't around."
So he'd been the one to handle it. Even so, the smell of dried blood still clung faintly to the air.
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me. It's all being stacked up neatly for later."
Petty bastard. Then again, part of me shuddered to imagine the karma I was quietly piling up as well. Anyway — we made our way to the iron bars where Karen Florence was confined.
Her state was immaculate. Granted, her wounds regenerated — but there was no wiping away the evidence of blood, sweat, and other fluids. Nothing explained it unless Rihardt had wiped her down personally.
Is that more karma he's banking, too?
What's more, Karen Florence was dressed in a maid's uniform, just like mine. She was beautiful to begin with, so even this attire came across as adorable, almost quaintly lovely. But her eyes no longer held the bright light they once had. They were clouded over — hollowed out, as if emptied from within. What on earth had Rihardt done to her in the time I'd been unconscious? Straining to smother my unease, I sent him a look that demanded an explanation.
Reading it, he answered lightly.
"She can't very well accompany us to the capital as a nun, can she?"
Fair enough. Strictly speaking, Karen Florence was currently a missing woman.
"So you intend to disguise her as a maid?"
"That's the idea. She agreed to it. Didn't you?"
Karen agreed? Unable to believe it, I was turning my gaze toward her — when Karen Florence suddenly smiled. That smile sealed my lips shut. Something about it felt gloomy. Damp.
"How does it look to you, Lucy? Does it suit me?"
How to put it. It was a manufactured brightness. She seemed to be imitating her old self, but the feel of it, the atmosphere around her, had gone strangely wrong — an uncanny gap I couldn't ignore. Karen Florence, with all her liveliness and vigor snuffed out, hanging limp. It didn't suit her at all.
"……Anything suits you, Karen."
"Hehe, thanks. I'm so glad you said that, Lucy."
It felt like a fishbone snagged in my throat. Karen's brightness, so mismatched to the situation, only pressed the gloom down harder.
"Rihardt, we're doing it again today, right? Look — I'm all ready for you."
Clank.
The shackles on Karen's wrists rang against each other — the sound of her hands slipping beneath her own skirt, drawing her sex open for display. Her pink cunt, despite having taken Rihardt's massive cock more than once, was still shut tight. Likely something to do with the relentless regeneration of her body. But not so much as a bead of arousal trickled from it. For all her talk of being ready, her body hadn't prepared itself in the slightest.
Rihardt made no move to torment her, though. His gaze had settled on me instead.
"You don't need to strain yourself, Karen."
She flinched, body shuddering, eyes wavering as they lifted to him. He stroked her hair and spoke gently.
"Today, Karen, you're the audience."
So that means he isn't going to touch her today. I grasped his meaning in an instant.
"Lucky me, then. I'm the one on the receiving end."
"That's right. You'll be showing me, Lucy."
Of course. That was what the wish ticket was for. I tensed, bracing myself for whatever unpleasant command was about to come crashing down. Karen, meanwhile, simply stared at the two of us without a word.
"I asked you before, remember? How much you'd touched yourself."
"……I remember."
It had been recent, and the question had been shocking enough to burn itself into my memory — though my answer back then had trailed off into nothing.
"Do it. Here, in front of us."
My breath went ragged in an instant, and blood came rushing to my face.
He wants me to masturbate — here?