Don't Carve the Original
"Playing angel, are we?"
Chris sneered.
"Begone, foul spirit."
If he'd had salt, he would have thrown it.
"Put out the fire."
"No."
"I'll give you everything you want."
The fiend looked him over and went on.
"You don't even have a staff. I'll get you a truly fine one. A special robe with flight magic worked into it, too. I can give you Motaro. Spellbooks, even..."
The moment spellbooks were mentioned, Chris's expression shifted, just slightly. The fiend caught it and shrieked.
"Spellbooks! I'll give you spellbooks!"
Chris put the fire out, then held out his hand.
"Hand them over."
"Because of you, I've burned through every scrap of power I've been scraping together for ages."
"Look at this bastard. I put the fire out, and now he's singing a different tune."
"I need to sleep. If you want to wake me, give me a mana stone."
The fiend slipped into the mask, and silence followed.
Chris planted a foot on it.
"Hey!"
Nothing. He lifted his foot, glared down at the mask, and opened his palm. Flame rose from his hand.
Burn it. Just burn the damn thing?
He considered it for a moment, then snuffed the flame. Sitting well back from the mask, he looked over the way he had come. He'd run without thinking, and the trail was plain enough. Follow it and the tower would be there. He could rejoin the others.
Do I even need to rejoin them?
He didn't see the point. They'd known surprisingly little about the ruins, and the moment treasure turned up, they'd tried to keep it for themselves.
He hadn't been desperate for treasure to begin with. Set it in front of him, though, and greed had a way of appearing. Wanting what you see — the old saying hadn't come from nowhere.
I ought to find some treasure of my own.
Then again, wandering around alone left him uneasy.
I'll wait a day.
If they wanted him, they would come looking.
A day passed. The mask the fiend had possessed still lay on the ground.
"So they've decided I'm surplus."
If the knights had wanted to keep traveling with him, they would have come.
"Or maybe they figured the fiend got me."
Strangely hurt, and strangely hollow, he paced the area. The hurt made sense. Being cast aside by your own party was never pleasant.
The hollowness didn't.
There's no reason I should feel empty.
He rubbed at his face, and then he understood.
Ah. It's the mask.
He'd worn it every day. Take it off, and everything felt awkward and unfinished. Thinking of the mask brought another problem with it: it would be awkward if the knights did find him. Without it, his face was completely different. He drew Number Four's mask from the spatial pouch where he'd been keeping it.
"If I shape this into David's face..."
He'd have to work on his face a great deal, but he was long past flinching at that kind of pain. Then he thought again. There was no need to turn himself into David.
"I'll go as Sid."
Number Four's mask suited Sid's face. One snag remained. He could fool anyone else, but not Number One. Back when he'd spoken with Number One through the mask, he'd reported that Sid was dead. He'd even said Sheikh had cut off Sid's head and carried it away.
"If I walk around in Number Four's mask, Number One's going to get suspicious... Wait. I just don't have to meet him."
He didn't expect to run into Number One in the ruins.
"But what if Number One connects?"
If Number One linked to the mask, he would find it strange that the Number Four window was active.
"If he talks to me... hmm. Ignore him?"
Ignoring him outright would look unnatural.
"I could pretend to be Sheikh."
That would make for an interesting situation.
"Ah, forget it."
Chris put on Number Four's mask, formed a water mirror, and looked into it. A strange face stared back, Sid and David mixed together.
This is a bit much.
He took the mask off and cast healing magic over his whole face. After two hours of treatment he put it on again and studied himself. A face close to Sid's appeared, though not quite identical.
He decided not to touch his face and leave the rest to time. Once the bone he'd carved away grew back, it would match.
"Who actually knows Sid? And who thinks he's dead..."
His station and his face kept changing, and he was getting them tangled.
"I can't afford to get confused."
Turning over old events, he connected to the mask. The Number One window and the Number Three window were still radiating their presence.
Both of them are fine.
To his surprise, there was an unexpected presence as well. The Number Five window, the one the fiend had claimed, was glowing. Chris addressed Number Five.
"Didn't you say you were sleeping?"
"..."
"You asleep?"
"..."
"Are you actually asleep?"
"..."
"Ignore me one more time and I really will burn you."
He could have sworn he heard a sigh.
"I'm in no state for conversation. I don't have power to waste like this."
"How much do you actually know about this mask?"
"An outstanding mage made it to hide his identity. It's precious. Extremely precious. How do you have two of something this rare?"
"I ended up with them."
"And the others?"
"Why? Planning to say hello?"
"Am I not allowed?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Hmm. Why indeed?"
"Are they your enemies?"
"They might be. They might not."
"Sounds like a complicated story."
"Correct."
"Which only makes me want to contact them more."
"Do you want to die?"
Chris didn't stop at words. He showed it. He broke the connection, stepped outside, and set the mask on fire. The fiend crawled out of the flames, shrieking.
"Stop!"
"Going to contact them?"
"No! I won't! Please!"
Chris put the fire out. The fiend made a weeping sound.
"You've weakened me even further. Keep this up and I'll cease to exist."
"That works for me."
"Didn't you want spellbooks?"
"I do."
"I'll guide you to where they are."
"Good. Where do I go?"
"Talking from outside the mask is too hard. Come inside first."
"Fine."
Chris connected. Maybe it was his imagination, but the light of the Number Five window — the one the fiend occupied — seemed to flicker.
"Fiend. I'm in. Talk."
"Why did you disconnect?"
"If I want to use magic, obviously I have to leave the mask."
"Why?"
"Once I'm connected, I can't tell what's happening outside."
"You don't know how to use the mask properly."
"And you do?"
"I do. Not just the mask. There's nothing about magic I don't know."
"Listen to you, laying it on."
"It's not an act. I really do know."
The fiend began teaching him how to use the mask. Chris followed its instructions, chanting and moving his mana, and a large screen rose above the windows. The outside world appeared on it. A sound of pure delight escaped him.
"Whoa. That's incredible."
"Like this, you can watch the outside while you're still connected. No need to disconnect just to check your surroundings."
"You're actually useful."
"Ten."
"What?"
"Tuition is ten top-grade mana stones."
Chris answered flatly.
"Are you insane?"
"High-grade is fine too. But then I want fifty or more."
"You are terrible at this. You teach me and then ask to be paid? Why would I pay you?"
"Nothing in this world is free. You learned something. You pay for it."
"You taught me because you wanted to show off. I never asked."
"You damned bastard."
"The one who tried to kill me has a lot of opinions. Come on. Take me to the spellbooks."
"After what just happened, I know exactly what kind of man you are. I'll be taking payment for the information up front."
Chris picked up the possessed mask and dropped it into his spatial pouch. The Number Five window vanished. A little later, he took the mask back out.
"Don't ever put me in a spatial pouch again!"
The fiend raged.
"Why?"
"I need mana if I'm going to recover my strength. Leave me in there and I'll dry up and die."
"Good news."
"What did you say?"
"Next time you get cute, I'll store you in the pouch."
"You really are a wicked man."
Chris pressed harder.
"Quit the insults and hand over the spellbooks!"
The fiend pushed back just as hard.
"If you want the spellbooks, give me mana stones!"
"Why do you think I put you in the pouch? To torment you? No. I wanted to show you an empty pocket. I'm broke."
The fiend sighed.
"When you get mana stones later, give them to me. Then I'll guide you."
"I'll give you ten percent."
"You'll only be finding them because of my guidance!"
"Then don't."
The fiend made a pained sound.
Chris thought it over.
A fiend, and it still has this much to say.
The fiend spoke in a drained voice.
"I'll take half."
Chris was baffled.
"Half? When people negotiate, they start at ninety percent, then graciously concede to eighty, then seventy, shaving it down a little at a time until they settle. That's how it's done, isn't it? And you're cutting it to half all at once? Are you sick?"
"Negotiation depends on who you're dealing with."
"So you gave up because I'm a master negotiator?"
"No. You're too ignorant and too brutal. Negotiating with you isn't any fun."
"You insult me to my face and still want half? Out of the goodness of my heart, I'll give you twenty percent."
"I can't concede any further."
"I'll burn you."
No answer.
"This isn't an empty threat."
Whether it had hardened its resolve or not, there was no response.
"I'm burning you. I really am."
It wasn't a simple threat. At that moment Chris was seriously considering whether to burn the fiend for real — not because it had demanded half his mana stones, but because it was something he could not trust.
And yet burning it felt like a waste of whatever information it was holding. He knew nothing about the ruins. His chances of escaping them on his own were very low.
He weighed the whole situation carefully, then nodded.
"Fine. I lose. I'll give you half."
Chris swallowed a meal-substitute pill and drank some water. Old Mage Nuba had shared the pills after hearing that his food had run out. They brought no sense of fullness at all, but they held the nutrients he needed, so survival wasn't in question. He still missed bread and meat.
What a miserable place.
Sneering at the ruins, he formed a water mirror. Sid's face looked back at him, not quite the same as before. The nose was subtly off. He was about to remove the mask and put a bit of fine surgery to his face when the fiend stuck its head out.
"Why are you suddenly taking it off?"
The Number Four window had vanished, so it must have realized he'd removed the mask.
"I'm going to adjust my face a little."
He formed a wind blade and moved to score the bridge of his nose. The fiend clicked its tongue.
"This one really is insane."
"This thing runs its mouth at the drop of a hat."
"I'm not running my mouth. I'm pointing out a fact."
"And how is me being insane a fact?"
"Why do you wear a mask? You wear it to change your face. If you're going to ruin that face with a blade, there's no reason to wear one at all."
"I'm only trying to change it a little from what the mask shows."
"Then adjust the mask. Why put a knife to the original?"
Chris went blank for a moment.
"That works?"
"Of course it works."
Utterly deflated, he let his mouth fall open.
"So that was possible."
Thinking of all the pain he'd endured for the sake of changing his face, he was so wronged, and so furious, that he wanted to smash everything around him.
"They say a fool's hands and feet do all the suffering. You've gone well past even that."
The fiend mocked him for a while, then retreated into the mask. Chris pulled it on and connected.
"Teach me how."
He'd expected it to demand mana stones in return. Perhaps it pitied how long he'd been mutilating himself for nothing, because this time it taught him without a fight.