A Lunch of Fated Encounters (2)
"The merchant Lian is a dangerous individual."
Amone murmured to herself as she walked along the Warehouse District.
Swish... swish...
She had left Lian's shop and was on her way back to the church, cradling a black-lacquered wooden coffin in both hands.
Overhead, the noon sun beat down with a harsh, merciless warmth. The abandoned warehouses cast their shadows all around her, but Amone deliberately avoided them, walking straight through the bright sunlight.
So that the coffin could get plenty of light.
Swish... swish...
Footsteps as quiet as someone treading on fallen leaves. A gait as steady and unswaying as a machine's. Even carrying the heavy coffin, her steps were impossibly light.
"A 'window' connected to an Oubliette is extremely dangerous. It is no different from a monster nest opening up in the middle of the city. Should a monster ever slip through that gap, the result would be a catastrophe."
She spoke to no one — or rather, she spoke as if addressing the corpse inside the coffin.
Naturally, no answer came back.
Amone recalled the blood-soaked merchant who had seen her off just moments ago with a smile on his face.
The merchant Lian.
A man who knew neither mana nor divine power.
If a monster came through that window, Lian would be the first to die.
And even if he somehow survived, the problems would only multiply. The city guards or the church's inquisitors would come storming into his shop on the grounds that he'd knowingly left a danger in place for the sake of profit.
"That is why I must gather information on the 'window' and monitor it to ensure no incident occurs. Once the funeral is finished, I promised to teach the merchant Lian Recovery Magic... so I can use that as my pretext and visit him every day."
As for reporting this matter to the church... that could wait.
Once Lian had gained some proficiency in Recovery Magic, and once he'd learned to control the dark grey particles that leaked from his wounds—
There would be plenty of time to file the report then.
(Not something you sell... is it.)
The memory of moments ago surfaced again. Lian, down his left arm, clutching his customer's longsword to his chest. The fear of a novice merchant, reflected in Amone's amethyst eyes.
(I'm sorry.)
The chill of the corpse that had wrapped itself around her neck.
Amone squeezed her eyes shut.
Foolish people.
"I wish for pure people to go on living purely. Because I believe that is what order means."
Her eyes opened again. The priestess who served the Goddess of Order let the words slip out carelessly, as if it didn't matter who heard them.
The main shopping district had moved on, and this warehouse street had been abandoned in its wake. No one would be eavesdropping.
And even if someone were, it would only be a beggar loitering around the shop.
"This is troubling. I'll be busy with the funeral preparations for some time, so I do hope someone looks after the merchant Lian in the meantime."
It was a voice far too clear to be mere muttering.
And yet her expressionless face betrayed nothing at all.
...Wait.
In that moment, Amone, who had been making her way down the alley, suddenly stopped — as if a single question had just occurred to her.
"......"
Come to think of it, earlier...
When she had climbed the stairs out of the shop, she had supported the staggering Lian and, under that pretext, secretly examined his wounds.
His whole body had been savagely lacerated by something sharp — wounds dealt by a monster. Injuries so severe it defied belief that he was still alive.
"......"
And Amone had seen it.
On Lian's wound-riddled body, near the collarbone of his torn-away left arm—
A dark red bruise, shaped exactly like a human palm pressed into flesh.
As if someone had gripped the merchant Lian by the shoulder and torn his arm off.
What could that bruise possibly have been?
She couldn't make sense of it. All she had was the foreboding that for a while, at least, she wouldn't be able to visit that shabby shop with an easy heart.
Haa.
A sigh escaped her, pushed out by the vague heaviness filling her chest.
'I don't even know where to begin investigating.'
The curtain that had swayed ominously behind Lian's shoulder. The Back Window, connected to an Oubliette. Secrets the squirrel-wary merchant had wriggled and squirmed to hide...
Not that it was a secret she could uncover just because one nosy customer dropped by for a few days. And poking around carelessly would likely do nothing but inconvenience Lian.
But it didn't matter.
She had already made her transaction.
(I will help with the cleaning. If there is anything 'difficult to dispose of,' I will dispose of it for you.)
The merchant had never specified the scope or the duration of the cleaning. From here on, when and what counted as 'cleaning' was entirely up to Amone.
Merchant Lian. Next time, please do read the fine print of your deals.
A priestess playing the part of a janitor — this transaction had cost her dearly indeed.
The nosy customer Amone walked on with her expressionless face. Not a cloud in the sky. The noon sun poured down over her head, and her ear-covering hair glinted gold.
'...I wonder how long it will take you to realize why I meddle like this.'
What an infuriatingly peaceful day it was.
Having walked on with nothing better to do, she took stock of her surroundings. The Warehouse District, devoid of any sign of life. A crumbling wall left unmaintained, cracks spidering through it. Most of the windows in the abandoned warehouses had been smashed — as if someone had gone around throwing stones — and on one window frame, a few remaining shards of glass clung on for dear life, reflecting Amone's amethyst eyes like a mirror.
"......"
Wait.
Amone stopped in front of the broken window.
Her own reflection in the glass shards. The cold, expressionless face. The blonde hair hacked off carelessly near the nape. The black suit that hardly befitted a priestess. And—
『…….』
A single blood-soaked hand, stretched out long from behind her, was gripping her left shoulder.
The exact same spot as the bruise she'd seen on Lian.
Crackle!
She raised her mana in haste. Amone turned her head and looked down at her own shoulder.
...Nothing was there.
"What was..."
Her amethyst eyes wavered, if only slightly. She re-gripped the coffin she'd been respectfully cradling like a weapon.
"......"
Within a suffocating silence, she kept every nerve strung taut enough to sting her cheeks — then looked back at the broken window.
...No monstrous hand was visible in her reflection there, either.
"Just now... what was that."
A chill of cold air brushed the back of her neck. Amone warily scanned the unnaturally quiet surroundings — but the midday sun simply blazed down the alley, bright and clear. Not a single anomaly to be found.
The hour when shadows were shortest. The moment one should be farthest from fear... that was when it should have been.
So why did it feel like she'd just woken from a nightmare?
Squeeze...
She resettled the coffin in her arms.
"...I have never studied exorcism rites, I'm afraid."
Tap. Tap.
Amone's footsteps back toward the church quickened, just a little.
…….
…….
"So this is the manual."
Meanwhile, inside the shop, where shadows lay thick and dim. Lian, having seen Amone off and returned to the counter, picked up the 'manual'.
(The manual is on the shelf. Do read it carefully~.)
Flutter—
At a glance it looked like nothing more than a worn pocket notebook. Slightly too large to hold in one hand — an awkward size, too big for a pocket, too cumbersome to carry around. On the jet-black cover, the words [Back Window User Manual] were written in dark red ink.
"They really had to make it hard on the eyes, didn't they. What would it cost to give the cover a lighter color."
Back Window Manual, huh... Lian glanced back over his shoulder. The wall behind the counter had once been bare and clean, but now a glass window curtained in black had taken up residence there.
Just thinking about reading a manual on that made the back of his neck prickle.
Creeeak...
He rubbed his throbbing left arm for a moment — then, at last, spun his chair around to face the Back Window directly.
Better to keep it where he could see it. Less frightening that way.
Rustle—
The curtain covering the window swayed, as if waving a friendly hello.
"Wind's picking up."
Lian, breezily glossing over it, opened the manual in his hands.
Thump.
He closed the manual without a word.
That was... a lot.
Lian pressed a hand to his forehead and, out of habit, put on his Commercial Smile.
"Maybe the cover's cursed or something..."
Each rule was simple enough on its own. There were just a few too many to memorize all at once. Lian, who'd never been confident in headwork to begin with, decided to simply keep the manual within arm's reach and opened the counter drawer.
Creeeek—
Inside lay the jeweled necklace he'd bought off a customer. Beside it, a bottle of liquor he'd set aside for disinfecting wounds — the very bottle that the expressionless nosy customer and the Beggar Woman had both coveted so shamelessly.
What was so great about booze that was nothing but strong, that people kept trying to steal sips of it?
'Liquor, huh...'
His left arm throbbed. He'd never even tasted the stuff, and yet his eyes kept drifting back to the bottle.
Maybe just a little sip.
Maybe it would hurt less if he drank.
A strange flicker of hope gripped the bottle.
"……"
But in the end, after one sidelong glance at the Back Window hidden behind its curtain, he shook his head and set the bottle back down.
"It's merchandise. Why would I drink it."
He could endure pain of this level.
Rubbing his left arm — now healed up to the elbow — Lian rose from his seat. He was exhausted, and exhaustion bred too many thoughts. Better to get some sleep. He hadn't slept a wink last night because of the pain, and he'd done the cleaning from morning on top of that; his body was in a sorry state.
Step, step, step...
His trembling legs carried him away from the window. The blood-red eyes that had stared at him from the darkness were still vivid in his memory. Even now, this very second, it felt like the Tall Woman might be watching him from beyond the curtain...
'My head hurts.'
Time to sleep.
And let's not come down to the first floor today.
Lian gazed out the window at the sun hanging high overhead, then staggered away from the counter — toward where the light couldn't reach. He passed the L-shaped corridor beside the counter and set foot on the stairs to the second floor.
Creak... creak...
The old stairs wailed mournfully underfoot. It wasn't a bad feeling, really — as if they were crying on his behalf.
"……"
He'd climbed about two steps when Lian stopped.
He leaned back and poked his head out around the corner of the corridor.
The counter, completely deserted. The black curtain covering the window swayed with an unsettling menace.
What am I supposed to do if someone knocks while I'm asleep?
When would a customer even show up?
And if I don't open the window... what happens to that person?
"...I'm tired."
He muttered it like an excuse. He had no spare energy left for helping others.
Lian chided himself and kept climbing the stairs.
…….
…….
...Wait a second!
And less than a minute later, Lian came bounding back down from the second floor, clutching a plush blanket in his arms.
Thump!
He plopped himself onto the counter chair and wrapped the blanket around himself.
"Now this is efficiency."
The novice merchant Lian, seated facing the Back Window. He gripped the blanket tightly in his right hand, curled up uncomfortably in the chair, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Now I can finally sleep.
Wrapped in the soft blanket, Lian's breathing slowly deepened.
…….
…….
And then,
exactly ten minutes later—
...Knock, knock, knock.
"HIIYAAAK!"
The knock came. Lian, on the sweet verge of sleep, jolted awake and tumbled straight off the chair.
CRASH!
It's business time.