The Shepherd Boy's Return
In the end, our boy Bark had become the boy who cried wolf and been dragged back before me once more. Of course, even that name itself might have been nothing more than a fabrication.
But by this point, the name of the sprawled-out boy had become a matter of little consequence.
“I gave you a full month. And it only took three days?”
“In the slums, finishing ahead of schedule is a mark of skill.”
I nodded at Vita’s slightly curt reply.
“I’ll keep that in mind. So you keep this in mind as well, Miss Vita. I’m the sort of person who values how perfect the results are far more than how early they arrive.”
“…I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
Getting to know each other, one thing at a time—that was an important process.
“Then let’s hear it.”
“The short version or the long one. Which do you prefer?”
“Depends on how interesting it is, but for our shepherd boy here, the short version will do. I already knew it would turn out like this when I let him go.”
At my answer, Vita gave a small nod, calmly cleared her throat once, and began to speak.
“We started investigating the target from day one. Tracking him was easy. He had no ability to hide himself, and since he’d come out of the priest’s building—the center of the fire—there were so many witnesses you could trip over them.”
“Following those traces, it took less than half a day to discover that not a single piece of the information you’d given us checked out.”
That he wasn’t from Sector 11 was something I’d already expected before releasing him.
“The target’s real name… if you can even call it that. He’s one of the slaves belonging to a black magician known as Collector No. 7.”
Now that was a rather interesting term that had just popped out.
“A black magician who has a tight grip on the underground interests of the back alleys in the 18th District. His name is Lilter Park. He sells all sorts of potions related to curses and wounds.”
“Like a doctor, then.”
“Someone who can exert considerable influence over the types who make a living hunting monsters.”
“Continue.”
“Once it was clear that everything he’d told you was a lie, we just kidnapped him the moment we found his location.”
“My, my.”
My lips curled up slightly at Vita’s attitude, which made it clear that was the entire story.
“True enough—there was nothing in the contract about uncovering his true intentions.”
The terms of the contract had simply been: if it turns out the boy is lying, bring him before me. That was all.
“May I take my leave now?”
Unlike a certain someone who’d written two contracts and left just a moment ago, she was a thorough woman as always.
“Miss Vita.”
“I politely decline any additional requests.”
“That’s a little heartbreaking, but fortunately for you, I don’t have any further requests to hand over right now.”
She had been about to rise from her seat in a hurry, but only after I made it clear I wasn’t trying to give her another job did she plant her rear back on the sofa.
“Ah, you’re free to stand. What I was going to say was that if that black magician tries any unpleasant tricks on you, I’d like you to let me know.”
“You’re helping me without any compensation?”
“Of course.”
Personally, I liked her, but Verdia’s considerable interest in her also played a part.
“Understood. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”
“I’d like to have at least one way to contact you, Miss Vita.”
“If you leave a note on the first floor saying you’re looking for me, I’ll come by within two days.”
“Very well.”
“Then.”
Vita left, leaving the shepherd boy behind.
“Jamie.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the boy sprawled on the floor and asked Jamie.
“Judging by the way he’s called, he’s roughly a slave who gathers materials for the black magician to use. Is that right?”
“Precisely.”
“I’m curious.”
That was all I said, yet Jamie, who had been standing behind me, stepped forward and firmly stepped on the boy’s left wrist.
Crunch──!!
It wasn’t a mere metaphor—the boy’s wrist truly made a sound just like that. And then.
“───!?”
The boy, who had begun to twitch and tremble, suddenly snapped his eyes open and screamed.
“Gahhk!!”
Then Jamie’s raised foot caught him in the jaw, and he slammed his head into the floor once more.
“Ah, uh, uwaaah……!!”
Whether his jaw had been dislocated or not, the boy couldn’t even manage a proper scream—he could only thrash about from the pain radiating from his crushed, stomped wrist.
“Clean work.”
“Average.”
Having finished her task, Jamie released the boy’s wrist and grabbed a fistful of the sprawled boy’s hair, forcing him upright.
“Hello there?”
“Uwaa, aaaah!!”
“Yes. Nice to meet you too.”
Gazing steadily into the boy’s anxiously trembling eyes—where fear and rage coexisted—I tore a page from a notebook and held it out to him along with a fountain pen.
“I’ve already heard the story about you being a slave of the black magician named Lilter Park. So what I’d like is for you to write down the real reason you approached me.”
“Uh, aaaah!!”
Because of his dislocated jaw, I couldn’t make out a single word, but it was clear the emotion in his voice wasn’t particularly friendly toward me.
So I glanced lightly at Jamie, who was holding the boy’s hair.
In response, Jamie stomped on the boy’s right ankle.
“───!?”
It seemed to be true that when a person’s pain reaches its peak, they can’t even let out a proper scream.
“After the ankle, we’ll do the shin.”
“Understood.”
“───!!”
The moment a massive terror settled over the boy’s face—already filthy with tears, snot, and the drool that had begun to spill because he couldn’t close his dislocated jaw—
“Hnnngh!! H-uhh, uhhaah!!”
The boy began thrashing his intact right arm wildly, desperately trying to snatch the fountain pen and torn notebook page from my hand.
Thwack!!
So when I brought my hand a little closer, the boy snatched them up at once, and only then did Jamie release his hair.
Scratch-scratch!!
The boy began writing at a remarkably fast pace.
“He’s learned how to write.”
“When it comes to surviving, learning anything is a plus.”
“Indeed.”
After waiting a little, the boy—his body a complete wreck after only a few minutes—limped his upper body upright and held out the notebook page and fountain pen to me.
Body hair, nails, dead skin. He said to bring back anything that came from the priest’s body—it didn’t matter what.
I put the fountain pen back in my breast pocket and showed the paper to Jamie.
“What do you suppose he planned to do with something like my hair?”
“I’m a complete novice when it comes to black magic myself.”
“So there are things even Jamie doesn’t know?”
“…Please don’t tease me.”
Jamie was about to hand the paper back, but when I shook my head she pulled a lighter from her clothes and burned it on the spot.
“What will you do about this one?”
“……!!”
At her completely emotionless, dry voice, our boy—with one hand and one foot neatly broken—looked up at me with desperate eyes.
“As expected, getting the answer from the person involved is the fastest way.”
“Priest.”
“I’m not saying I’ll go find him myself.”
When I showed her the smile I usually wore so readily, Jamie furrowed her brow slightly rather than looking relieved—it seemed she was already regretting that I hadn’t just gone to meet the black magician in person.
“Then shall we write a letter to send to our black magician friend?”
“A letter, sir?”
“Yes. A letter.”
I stood up from my seat. Jamie sent me a puzzled look, wondering why I was getting up if I was going to write a letter.
“If I write it here, the floor will get dirty.”
“Priest.”
“Yes.”
“Most people don’t think about the floor getting dirty when they write a letter.”
“Then let’s just say I’m not most people.”
“I can agree with that.”
With her natural intuition, Jamie tucked the wrecked boy under her arm without any separate instruction from me. Confirming that, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife I’d bought but never used.
“Let’s go write that letter.”
“Give me that as well. You’ll hurt your wrist.”
“Aaaaaah!?”
Unlike the frantic boy, Jamie and I exchanged conversation at about the level of deciding what to have for lunch as we moved outside.
After carefully writing and sending the letter addressed to the black magician named Lilter Park, I climbed into the car Jamie was driving and headed for the residence of a man named Coltech.
“Priest.”
“Yes.”
Jamie, focused on driving, glanced sideways at me in the passenger seat and asked.
“In my opinion, there’s no chance of anyone intercepting the letter, but separate from that, I don’t think the letter will actually reach its destination.”
“That won’t be a problem. I never expected it to arrive intact in the first place.”
The reason I’d stripped the boy naked in the middle of winter, carved the letter’s contents into his small back, and sent him back was a sort of greeting directed at the residents living in these northern slums.
“And as for the letter’s contents, they’ll probably get through just fine.”
“…Now that I think about it, you’re right.”
A boy who’d made contact with me once and been released had suddenly vanished—pinpointing the culprit wouldn’t be all that difficult.
And as Ms. Secretary had said, these slums were closed off, but paradoxically, that very fact meant that whenever an incident broke out somewhere, the news spread extremely quickly.
For that reason, even if the boy never ultimately reached the black magician’s side, the message I wanted to convey would be properly delivered to the black magician named Lilter Park.
“Speaking of which.”
“No.”
I turned my head and stared fixedly at her profile, but Jamie didn’t so much as twitch in response, simply focusing on the driving.