If I hadn't made a habit of having a hot bath right after getting up, could I have managed? Lifting her arms languidly, Esther stretched fully, trying to shake her grogginess.
Imperial people's love of baths was common among Methuselahs and Terrans alike. There were always large public baths in the capital, places where citizens could socialize. Nobles' mansions were also always equipped with private hot baths. The baths came in all shapes and sizes, large and small, but the Marquise of Kiev's setup was very standard, equipped with cold baths and steam baths in other rooms.
"Ahhh, this feels heavenly," said Esther.
When she submerged her body in hot water, all the horrific moments of the recent past—the running amid blood and flames—faded away. Scooping up the milky white water with her hands, Esther narrowed her eyes. "What is this hot water, anyway? It feels good, but it's making me terribly slippery. It can't be water scale, can it?"
"To have water scale would be rude. Terran girl," Astharoshe replied huskily with regard to the suggestion that she would tolerate any sort of buildup in her bath. "The bathrooms in my home are cleaned every day."
"M-Marquise of Kiev!" Esther shouted shrilly after noticing the shadow beyond the steam nearing.
"The slippery texture comes from my family's secret emulsion. It's made by melting essential oils of Mirura, longevity chrysanthemum, fennel, Olivanum, and more, into a cream made of sea-cow milk. It's the absolute best when you're tired. It also works when you have a chill," said Astharoshe.
Esther realized that the Marquise of Kiev was using Roman common tongue fluently and grew concerned that her superior had heard her rude thoughts.
"E-excuse me! I, um . . . was taking a bath. I'll get out at once!" said Esther as she hurriedly jumped out of the bathtub, frantically covering her front.
Before Esther could escape, powerful fingers grasped her hand.
"I don't mind. Regardless of the fact that you're a Terran, as long as you're in my home, you are my guest," said Astharoshe.
The unbelievably gorgeous woman exposed her naked body without shame, pushing Esther back into the bathtub. She tousled her ivory hair with blood-colored fringe and said coolly, "You should make yourself at home. Your name is Esther, correct?"
"Yes, I'm Esther Blanchett. I work at the Vatican Department of Foreign Affairs."
"Hmph, the Department of Foreign Affairs, eh? So you're Father Nightroad's colleague? That's a lot of hard work. I sympathize," said Astharoshe.
"Y-yes," Esther stammered, unsure of how to respond to the Marquise's mischievous smile. Esther felt a strange sense of indignation toward her companion's sympathy.
Paying no mind to Esther's ambivalence, Aste finished pouring hot water on her body and sank into the opposite side of the bathtub. Her every movement was exceptionally controlled; the water's surface barely rippled.
Esther heaved a silent sigh at the mesmerizing sight. The Marquise of Kiev was the most beautiful woman of her kind that Esther had seen so far.
Astharoshe 's frame, taller than that of most men's, was curvy in all the right places — to the point that fellow females, including Esther, were hard pressed not to look. Whether it was due to immodesty or a certain naivety, the Marquise didn't blush a bit when exposing her magnificent naked body.
As she studied Astharoshe's body, which didn't have a blemish on it, Esther grew ashamed of her own body, which she considered far inferior. Because she wasn't raised in a well-to-do environment and was often placed in harm's way, new and old scars marked her skin like cruel seals.
All of a sudden, Astharoshe spoke, as if she'd read Esther's mind. "That's a strange wound," said the Marquise.
When Esther glanced up, the white-haired Methuselah was peering at the girl's face as if fascinated.
"The shape is strange, too, and it's very large. Was your stomach wounded in battle? Pretty amazing for a Terran to survive a wound like that," Astharoshe commented.
"Eh?" Esther shrugged, unconsciously looking down at her own body and covering the large birthmark on her side with her hand. "Ah, this is different. It isn't a wound, it's a birthmark."
"Birthmark?" Astharoshe asked as she wrapped her head in a towel so it wouldn't get wet. With curious eyes, she continued, "It's an interesting birthmark. It's shaped like a beautiful star. Now that I think about it, doesn't your name mean star in Terran language? Is that why your mother named you that?"
"Who knows?" Esther replied.
Esther didn't even know her mother's name, much less what her mother looked like. Her father, Edward Blanchett, had left her as a baby in the Saint Marcarius Church in Istvan, and disappeared. Except for the rosary placed inside her diaper, the only memento Esther had received from her parents was her name, which did, in fact, mean star in ancient tongue.
No, no! I'm too busy for that now! Esther told herself in effort to assuage her hurt feelings. Now was no time to indulge in that sort of thing. Shaking her head once, she tried to redirect her thoughts to the present.
"Your Excellency the Marquise, may I ask you one thing?" Esther asked.
"What?" asked Astharoshe.
Since Esther had arrived at the mansion, there had been one thing nagging at her the entire time. It was difficult asking the Methuselah, who seemed to be at the peak of relaxation with both arms on the edges of the bathtub and her glistening eyes staring at the ceiling.
"Why did you help us?" Esther blurted out. "Why did you get involved? Do you have some relationship with Father Nightroad? How do you know him?"
"Oh, that?" asked Astharoshe. She casually flicked water droplets out of her hair with her long fingers. "I'm old friends with him. About three years ago, I went to the Outer to perform a certain Imperial decree. He helped me when I was unfamiliar with my whereabouts."
"So you helped us this time to repay a debt?" asked Esther.
"You mean a debt from me to him?" asked Astharoshe. At first, the Marquise of Kiev was floored, but then she was simply angry. "Debt? How rude! Even if he had loaned me something, there would be no debt. Don't say such a rude thing again, Esther!"
"Sorry!" said Esther, wondering what in the world the priest had done.
Aste brandished her fist, causing Esther to involuntarily duck her head.
"Yes, he certainly was of use to me three years ago, I'll acknowledge that. But immediately afterward, he sent me something absurd," Astharoshe recounted.
"Absurd?" Esther repeated timidly. "What did he send Your Excellency?"
"Children! And not one or two. He sent me a freighter full of children!" said Astharoshe. The beautiful woman appeared as fierce as if the priest were standing before her eyes. Hot water rippled atop the water's surface when she struck it with her fist. "Can you believe it? A boat full of living children! And they weren't meant to be pets. I was at my wits' end! However, when I listened to their story, I realized they had fallen on terribly bad luck. Because of that, I've made a considerable effort to arrange for them to earn their keep somehow. Really, I hate people's goodness!"
"Yeah?" said Esther. She was completely puzzled as to how she should chime in; but in the end, she decided to make an unrelated comment. "Let's see... so... Your Excellency must have had some reason for helping us. If this rescue effort isn't related to Father Nightroad, then what prompted it?"
Either because she had a frank disposition, or simply a fickle nature, Aste acted as though she'd forgotten all about being angry. "Oh, that," said Astharoshe, lowering her voice as if she were burnt out. "There is one thing I don't understand. Yesterday, Her Majesty granted me an Imperial decree: 'Protect the envoy who is coming soon from the Vatican.'"
"Her Majesty the Empress?" asked Esther, cocking her head as if intrigued. "Isn't that a bit strange? That means Her Majesty the Empress knew ahead of time that we'd be embroiled in a disaster. Right?" asked Esther.
"Maybe," said Astharoshe. Still submerged in the bathtub, the Marquise of Kiev narrowed her amber eyes. "But it's not that strange. Her Majesty is a special person. She can see through everything in the Empire and isn't necessarily a person we can understand. Perhaps she predicted the incident in which you were all involved."
"Yes," Esther replied.
The Empress was also greatly relied upon. Esther felt a bit strange when she remembered that the Count of Memphis also revered their ruler. At any rate, in the Empire, "Her Majesty" seemed to be equal to a demigoddess.
Eight hundred years ago, the legendary person who founded the Empire led the escape of the Methuselahs, who'd been exterminated from the sphere of civilization. Empress Vladika, the absolute ruler of the Empire, revived the land, which had been polluted by Armageddon to the extent that grass wouldn't grow, and warded off numerous attacks by humans. However, her true nature was a complete mystery.
The Empress normally dwelt deep within the private area called the Inner Court, and rarely revealed herself to her people. To maintain her privacy, the area around the throne was always wrapped in a thick veil, leaving no chance for even the nobility to see her face. In the Vatican, her existence was known as "Empress Symbol Theory."
"About how old is Her Majesty the Empress?" asked Esther. She was worried that it was impious to ask such a question, but overcome by curiosity, she let the question blurt out anyway. "This nation was founded about eight hundred years ago, right? So Her Majesty is at least eight hundred years old. I know Your Excellencies have lived very long lives, but too much—"
"Yes, we live a long time, but the longest lifespan is about three hundred years. We couldn't possibly reach the age she's achieved," said Astharoshe. By some miracle, she didn't become annoyed, despite the question's boldness. "But I did tell you that she is special. She is the future, eternal, and only Empress of we Methuselahs—the person who was our mother. She was there in the past, is here in the present, and will be there in the future, so that our Empire will continue forever."
A smile stretched across the Marquise of Kiev's pink-tinged cheeks for the first time. As soon as her warm body emerged from the bathtub, she kindly informed the girl, whose head was beginning to get dizzy from too much heat, "If it is Her Majesty's Imperial decree, I will risk my life to protect all of you. Come, you should get out now, too, Terran girl. A rank uniform has been prepared. You should eat once you've changed."
***
"Ho-ha-he-re-ha-fu-ha, hooo, heee, heee, haaaa, he-hei-ho-fu-ho-ho-ha," said Abel.
With a cruel stare, the Marquise of Kiev sent daggers in the direction of her guest, who resembled a snake trying to eat an egg whole as he mumbled while eating. "Finish what's in your mouth first, Father," suggested Astharoshe. "And after you do, you should try to speak in human tongue."
As soon as he gulped down the food crammed in his cheeks, the priest changed the subject to their forthcoming plans. Wearing an unusually serious expression, Abel blinked and said, '"Scuse me. Look, I think we should start after we reconcile the unjust accusation against His Excellency the Count. As things stand, isn't His Excellency the main suspect in the crime against his ancestor? If we don't clear him of false charges, we won't be able to meet with Her Majesty the Empress."
Listening to Abel speak in a rare forthright manner, Esther agreed with a deep sigh. "It's true. As things are, we can't even go outside, let alone the Imperial Palace."
In the Marquise of Kiev's private room stood a table where, until minutes before, a magnificent spread of food had been served. Now the food was all but gone. Seated on a cushion, Aste drank red Aqua Vitae, and Esther, who wasn't used to Imperial cuisine, snacked on a small amount of sponge cake with yogurt on it. Ion was downcast, with circles under his eyes, and didn't even drink the water. The majority of the meal ended up disappearing into only one stomach.
"Your Excellency the Count, please eat just a little," Esther urged.
She had stealthily hidden a small plate of baklava from the priest, who searched the table as if he were a demon hunting for a soul.
Observing the boy noble's gloomy countenance, Esther remarked, "And your face .. .You didn't sleep well, did you?"
"No," said Ion in a thin voice.
It made sense. Only a few hours ago, Ion had lost his grandmother, his home had been burned down, and he'd even been accused of killing his grandmother. How could he possibly eat? When he considered the trials he'd endured, even Ion knew that if he didn't recover his physical strength just a little, his body wouldn't last, regardless of his being a Methuselah.
"If it's too hard to eat, how about something to drink—or some fruit?" said Esther. "If you don't nourish yourself properly, you won't last in an emergency."
Aste laughed lightly as she heard what Esther said. "She's right, Count of Memphis," said Astharoshe. Extending a graceful hand, she offered Ion a small plate of well-ripened pomegranate. "Even we get tired and hungry. If you can't sleep, you should at least eat sufficiently."
"I don't want any," said Ion, shaking his head. "Leave me alone about that, Marquise of Kiev. It isn't any of your business."
"None of my business?" repeated Astharoshe. Her amber eyes narrowed beneath her blood red hair. She looked like a wounded tiger. "Don't be impudent, you brat!"
"M-Marquise of Kiev! "Esther exclaimed.
Aste's slender hand extended like a whip and grabbed Ion by the throat. Ignoring the pleading girl, the beautiful woman lifted the unresisting boy to eye level, twisting her lips into a hateful expression. "You weren't saved because I liked you. I saved you because of an Imperial decree. Personally, Astharoshe Asran doesn't care at all if you fall dead in a field, or die in a dungeon!"
Struck silent by the violent words, Ion barely glanced up. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't. One transparent drop of water leaked from his tightly closed eyelids.
"Hmph!" Aste glared disgustedly at Ion's tear of regret, but proceeded to dump the boy on the sofa as if throwing away something filthy. "For somebody who calls himself an Imperial noble to cry in front of people — in front of Terrans! — is cowardly. What kind of grandson did the Duchess of Moldova raise, anyway?"
The instant his grandmother's name was mentioned, Ion's manner changed.
Standing up indignantly and baring his fangs, he shouted, "Don't insult my grandmother! If you insult my grandmother further . . . Marquise of Kiev, I won't forgive you!"
"You still have enough willpower to get angry, do you?" asked Astharoshe, showing no sign of being moved as she watched the enraged young man.
Esther, who'd been nervously watching the two of them quarrel, tried to interrupt with a hand gesture, but Aste stopped her and said icily, "Hadn't you better attend to your own body before getting angry at me? And have you considered the feelings of the girl next to you who is full of worry? Such a pitiful sight. You should think about what your grandmother would say if she saw you."
Shame caused the boy's face, which was previously pale with anger, to go crimson. His shoulders shook as he held his head in his hands. "You're right, Marquise of Kiev," said Ion. "I won't grieve any longer."
"You said it. Now prove it with your actions from now on," said Astharoshe, quickly turning her back as though she'd lost interest in the boy.
As proof that she hadn't become completely sidetracked, she took back a plate of food from the priest, who'd been absentmindedly eating throughout the argument, and, ignoring his bitter protest, placed it before Ion.
"Eat and get your strength back. You'll be a nuisance if you hinder us," said Astharoshe.
"I will accept it gratefully," said Ion.
Bowing his head slightly, Ion picked up a spoon. He began to shovel food into his mouth as if it were a despised enemy.
Patting down her chest in relief, Esther glanced up at the Marquise of Kiev, but the tall Methuselah had returned to her own seat. As the Marquise continued to drink her Aqua Vitae, she revisited the topic in an extremely businesslike way. "Let's go back to talking about what comes next. I think we've already heard from the priest, but Astharoshe Asran has a prudent temperament."
"I don't know this Astharoshe Asran that Aste keeps talking about," said Abel, "but if you have some clue, can I ask— Owww!"
After silencing the priest with a backhand to his nose, Aste turned to the remaining two. "Even I, being prudent, can only think of one plan to break the deadlock of this dreadful situation you're all in. It will be considerably risky, but I suggest you directly appeal to the Diwan."
"Diwan?" said Ion. Hearing the word made his face light up for the first time. He leaned forward as though he'd discovered a magical light in the dead of night. "Will the Diwan be convened, Marquise of Kiev? When?"
"A notice was released a little while ago, saying that it would be urgently convened in the Celestial Imperial Palace after six o'clock. Presumably, there will be a notification about the Duchess of Moldova's death. No matter what you might say, the highest official in the Empire is dead," said Astharoshe.
Esther was self-conscious about butting into the conversation, but she timidly raised one hand. "Excuse me, what is that Diwan'?" she asked. "Is it some kind of meeting?"
"It is. However, it's the highest meeting. Her Majesty the Empress attends," Astharoshe explained. Combing back the blood red hair that hung over her face, Aste grinned. "We're Imperial nobles, but we can't easily get in to see Her Majesty the Empress. Those who aren't Imperial Guards or State Secrets Institute-class statesmen are rarely allowed inside Her Majesty's Inner Court, the Imperial Palace. But if it's a Diwan—"
"So it's an ideal chance," said Ion. His expression still wasn't cheerful as he listened to the beautiful woman's explanation, but life was coming back into his eyes. He readjusted his collar and turned back in Aste's direction as if an entirely different. "As you say, it seems there's no chance of a sudden reversal if we allow this chance to escape. Marquise of Kiev, can I rely on you?"
"Leave it to me," said Astharoshe. "I'll get you in to see Her Majesty without fail, and will report the facts of the matter to the throne. This has become fairly interesting, hasn't it?"
Esther began to sense an ill-fated premonition behind the woman's smile.
Having finally finished stuffing tissue paper into his nose, Abel raised his hand and asked, "Can I come, too? I'm certain private citizens can also attend a Diwan, right? Can't I go with you as Aste's private secretary?"
"You, Father?" asked Astharoshe, her mouth half open. Her face gradually tightening into a vengeful scowl, she continued, "Private citizens are allowed to attend, but you happened to be present at the scene of the Duchess of Moldova's assassination. If you're discovered, won't it be a bit awkward?"
"It'll be fine, because I'll go with my face hidden. Besides, even if Aste petitions for a private audience with Her Majesty the Empress, there are no witnesses or evidence, so you won't get permission so easily, will you? Her Majesty doesn't have a lot of spare time, does she?" asked Abel.
"That's true, but.. ."Aste still appeared hesitant, or she simply didn't want to take this man out with her in public. The quality of their private citizens was one of the essential parameters by which the family traditions and status of the noble who was their master were measured. Her gaze wandered indecisively as she fingered through her white hair. "When you say proof, what have you got, Father? Isn't it meaningless if you can't prove your status or true identity?"
It seemed as though Astharoshe were trying to find some reason to reject the plan, but Abel smiled with satisfaction, as if he'd anticipated her question.
"I have proof! Esther, please loan me Caterina's letter," said Abel.
"Ah, yes!" said Esther.
Abel quickly took the document Esther handed him and thrust it in front of Aste's face, flaring his nose proudly. "This is a private letter from the Duchess of Milan to Her Majesty the Empress. With this, I will accompany Aste. And when I get in to see Her Majesty the Empress, I will explain the circumstances directly. How's that?"
"Hmmm," said Astharoshe.
It was a strange plan showing good sense. Aste moved her lips as if still trying to refute it, but unable to devise an effective debate against it, she clicked her tongue. "Very well. Although it is indeed a rare thing, what you say is correct. I'll let you go with me as my citizen. It's still strange...."
"What is?" asked Abel.
"For some reason, I've had the irresistible urge to wring your neck for quite some time now," said Astharoshe.
"Hmmm, maybe that's a serious problem rooted in your character development from childhood. Or a calcium deficiency?" said Abel.
Esther pleaded with the woman, who'd begun to slowly strangle the priest to death. "Ah, um, Your Excellency the Marquise, please let me go, too!"
Esther didn't know why she'd come to this remote foreign country if she was going to be left behind like this. She looked up imploringly at Aste's tall body. "If Father Nightroad can go, naturally I can go too, right? I'm the Duchess of Milan's messenger, and two witnesses are better than one."
"I'm sorry, but that's impossible, Terran girl," Astharoshe replied.
Throwing the priest, with his bruised face and wildly kicking feet, to the side, Aste shook her head in a conflicted manner. In a gentle but firm tone, she said, "I can't take you into the Celestial Imperial Palace. You should wait for news here with Count of Memphis."
"Wh-why?" asked Esther. "As an envoy, I — "
"The answer to that is simple, Esther," said Abel once he managed to stand. Rubbing his neck, which had finger marks on it, he explained to the tearful girl, "You can't speak the language here, can you? No matter what you say, you can't enter the Imperial court. If you aren't at least fluent in the language, it will be off-putting."
"Oh," said Esther. Knowing what Abel said was true, Esther was at a loss for words.
It wasn't that she had no talent for studying languages. Far from it, in fact. Besides Hungarian, which was her mother tongue, she was equally fluent in Roman common tongue, Latin, and Albionese, which was her father's language. She'd also achieved a conversational level of speech in five other languages, starting with Carthaginian. And at the training ground, she'd received an A rank in languages. Unfortunately, only Imperial language was completely unfamiliar to her.
During the three months since being chosen as an envoy, she'd been assiduously taught by Ion and had managed to speak single words, but that was far from the level of a native speaker. It would be the end if she ever had to speak to somebody in the Imperial court.
Still refusing to accept the answer, Esther tried to argue. "M-maybe it really is as Father says, but . . . but, if you're going to say that, aren't you the same, Father? If so, I'm still better if I can speak one word."
"Hey, who did you say can't speak Imperial language? How rude," said Abel in Imperial tongue.
Esther's jaw dropped. "Huh?" she said, staring aghast at the priest who suddenly began to speak in an unknown language, using perfect grammar and pronunciation.
"You can speak the language here, Father?" she asked.
"Yes, although it would be a problem if I were asked to write a thesis or give a speech," Abel joked, chuckling proudly. Pushing up the bridge of his glasses, he continued boastfully, "I'm confident enough to believe I won't be suspected if I pretend to be a citizen. There's no mistake that I'm far more natural than Esther."
"But, if so, why haven't you said one word until now?" asked Esther.
"Well, hey, don't they say that in order to deceive your enemies, you have to first deceive your friends? Depending on where the enemy is, of course" said Abel.
The priest threw back his head as if he ruled the world. Wriggling his nose, he chided, "If you're staying here and not working, Caterina is going to give you a pretty hard time when you return home. Go ahead, do your best work!"
"Being scolded for not working? But I'm the same!" cried Esther.
"I know that. However, palace service is the path of bloodshed. Won't you please serve as a sacrificed pawn here? In a supporting role, for indispensable me?" Abel asked.
The priest patted Esther's shoulders, gazing somewhere in the distance. Esther's fists trembled violently.
"Ahhh, I'll never forget your noble sacrifice," said Abel. "When you manage to return to Rome, you should tender an application for sainthood. Doesn't 'Saint Esther' have a nice ring?"
II
The Imperial capital was divided across the Bosporus Channel into the territories of the western coast's European side and the eastern coast's Asia-Indian side. However, most of the Methuselahs lived on the European side. The west coast district was further divided into north and south by the Halic, which cut deeply inland like a river.
The city area of the west coast district's north division, which rested atop a rather steep-sloped peak rising from the shores of the Halic, was a high-class residential area where the Methuselah nobles' mansions stood in rows. It was here where the infrastructure was concentrated. It consisted primarily of public water, underground power facilities, and the majority of military facilities, including training grounds and naval ports.
The entirety of the south division, a wide area enclosed by seven hills and abundant forests, was the private domain of only one person. Its actual size was forty times that of San Pietro, which was said to be the largest palace in human society. The site had thirteen large domes and close to a hundred spires, and was inhabited by a hundred Palace Guards, a few hundred Methuselah nobles, close to ten thousand Terran citizens, and countless automata, who all spent their daily lives there, serving one mistress.
The master of the Empire, the central authority, had erected a series of tiled roofs within the broad territory. From the perfectly controlled factories that operated silently underground, nearly all of the essential goods for daily life were supplied. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the existence of this lot, where complete self-sufficiency was possible, had achieved nation status.
The Celestial Imperial Palace was the heart of the Empire, in every possible way. And it was the residence of the sole and eternal ruler of the New Human Empire, Empress Vladika.
Even the boyar already seated, numbered no fewer than five hundred. When counting the private citizens who stood behind them and the waiters serving tea to them, close to three thousand people were gathered in this space.
The Diwan Human extended below the huge dome, which seemed to brush Heaven. In it remained one conspicuously empty space. Cushions embroidered with the family crests and colors of each nobleman covered the attendees' seats, and made it appear as though the autumn sky had fallen into that very room.
"Wowee, look at all these people! When you said 'meeting,' I thought it would be a snug place with seven or eight people at the most!" said Abel.
"Idiot. My underling and I couldn't attend such a place, could we? Never mind that, lower your voice. You're calling yourself my private citizen. Citizens don't shame their masters," Astharoshe hissed, sharply rebuking the young man, who spoke fluent, but remedial Imperial language.
A high-class smile was fixed upon Abel's slightly made-up face. The pair advanced through the corridor as they returned elegant nods to Aste's acquaintances greeting her as she passed.
From the State Secrets officials who were class-one bureaucrats, to the class-nine bureaucrats in miscellaneous posts, the nobles seated around the Imperial throne were situated in a folding-fan shape according to rank. The employment rank of Directly Reporting Chief Inspector, a post that dealt with nobles' misdeeds, was class seven. On the third tier from the edge, Aste's tall chair was prepared.
Aste finally sat down on the cushion decorated with the Asran family crest—"Virgin Carrying Spear"—and her own signature, and ordered a waiter who quickly approached. "I'll have warm milk," requested Astharoshe. "Slightly warm. Violet honey will be fine. Will you have anything to drink?"
"Tea—with thirteen sugars, please. By the way, Aste, which one is the Empress?" asked Abel. As he watched the waiter leave with their orders, the gangly citizen standing behind the Marquise of Kiev whispered quietly, "And where is the throne?"
"Idiot, can't you see Her Majesty?" Aste scolded the silver-haired young man who was looking around unabashedly.
If it were discovered that Astharoshe had brought an outsider into the Diwan, beheading was a given. She carefully scanned the eyes surrounding them. "The throne is behind that bamboo screen. Look, there. The place where the Ienichieri are lined up," she said, gesturing toward the screen.
Next to a wall stood a group wearing masks and enveloped in scarlet armor. They were Palace Guards, armed with electromagnetic flamethrowers that fired solid bullets or liquid explosives by magnetic - field effect, and broad sabers equipped with a high-frequency producing mechanism.
Aste jutted her chin toward the top of the stairs beyond where the guards stood unflinchingly. There hung a gossamer green curtain. Amid the nobles' blue uniforms, the citizens' black uniforms, and the monarch's guards' crimson armor, a sparkle of jade flickered elegantly. Jade was the precious color not to be used in the Empire by anybody except the Empress. There was no way to see inside the bamboo screen, but a few State Secrets officials—the cabinet ministers said to be the Empress's highest advisors—repeatedly glanced in its direction.
"Hey, so that's it? It does look expensive," said Abel.
"I'm begging you, Father. . ." said Astharoshe. Clenching her upset stomach, Aste turned toward the overly curious priest. "Won't you shut up?" she pleaded. "Do not cause a problem under any circumstances!"
"Don't you know me, Aste?" asked Abel.
"I'm worried because! know you. Anyway that's it. It would've been right to bring that Esther girl along. On the day I brought that girl along with you, I was in for trouble," said Astharoshe.
Aste grumbled as she pushed her palm against a slit in the tabletop. As the computer collated her social status based on her palm print and her cells' genetic information, she added gravely, "That girl is like I was a long time ago. I, too, felt exactly like that when I hadn't yet mellowed, personality-wise. If you leave her alone, might she get violent?"
"Well, her speech was challenged, so all we could do was leave her quietly in the mansion," said Abel.
Suddenly, a holograph solidified before Aste.
Peeking over Aste's shoulder at what the computer wrote with directional lasers, the priest nodded sagely. "Isn't she probably quarreling with Count of Memphis by now? She's worked very hard until this point, so don't you think we should at least let her rest a bit?"
"Ha! That's not all, is it, Father?" asked Astharoshe, grinning as she looked up from the daily agenda dictated by the holograph. "You don't want to make that girl cross a dangerous bridge, do you? Although you used her unfamiliarity with our language as an excuse, the truth is, you were actually unwilling to expose her to danger."
"Huh? What do you mean?" asked Abel.
"I'm saying your meddlesome nature is the same as always," said Astharoshe with a wily smile. "It's just like it was three years ago—"
Suddenly a familiar voice called from beside her. It wasn't the priest's apathetic voice, but a more powerful voice of a mature man. "It's been a long time, Lady Astharoshe," said Sulayman. "Has it been four years already? Do you remember my face?"
"Duke of Tigris!" said Astharoshe, her mouth stiffening. Staring at the smiling face gazing down at her, she stood up as though an electric current had passed through her.
"Excuse me, Your Excellency the Duke!" said Astharoshe.
"You can call me Sulayman, princess. Or 'Uncle,' as you did so long ago," Sulayman replied.
The man had the stature of a magnificent hero as he smiled wryly at the Marquise of Kiev, who was stiff and formal. His true age had to be close to three hundred years, but his outward appearance retained the youthfulness of his late thirties. Distinguished looking, he was a head taller than Abel; and because his muscles were compact, he lacked the oafish characteristics of ordinary large men. Based solely on his kind smile, soft demeanor, and gentle outward appearance, it was difficult to fathom that he was a member of distinguished military services vying for first or second ranking in the Empire.
Sulayman, Duke of Tigris, was the Second Privy Counselor and so-called Vice Prime Minister. The great lord among lords who had supported the Empire's body politic for a few dozen years, addressed Aste encouragingly. "Please don't be so formal, princess, simply because it's been such a long time. I'm sorry I was unable to pay my condolences when your mother died last year," said Baybars.
"N-no, Duke of Tig—Uncle—you have nothing to apologize for, because you'd been appointed hard work. I was rude for not visiting often," said Astharoshe.
With a courteous smile, Sulayman studied the Marquise of Kiev's discomfort, but his gaze moved to the citizen behind her and grew suspicious. "Princess, today your citizen is different than normal? What happened to old Chadarli? He can't have — "
"No, the old man is fine. It's just that today he had some business he had to settle, so he couldn't come. This is a person named Abel, who recently joined our family. Oh, dear, because he's clumsy, and a terribly careless person, my fingers are getting burnt," said Astharoshe.
Abel raised his eyebrows. "Ah, terrible. When am I care—"
Silencing her protesting citizen with a blow to the pit of his stomach, Aste managed a strained smile. "As you can see, he's just come from the country. I truly am ashamed."
"No, no," said Sulayman.
The Duke, who was a distant relation to the Marquise of Kiev's family, watched over the girl contentedly, but his expression changed as he lowered his voice. "Oh, yes. Princess, do you know today's agenda?"
"Information about the Duchess of Moldova's death. I've read it, but . . ." said Astharoshe, trailing off.
The Duchess of Moldova's death hadn't been formally announced, but it was already common knowledge. It was also widely known that her death wasn't natural and that her grandson had killed her. Nearly all the conversation ensuing in the meeting hall was surely being monopolized by the topic.
"I overheard a worrying rumor that she was killed by her grandson, Count of Memphis. Because it's merely a rumor, I won't say anything," Astharoshe assured the Duke.
"The facts are as you've stated them, princess. The only problem is — " said Sulayman.
"Problem?" Astharoshe interrupted.
Sulayman seemed hesitant to answer Aste. He stood, frozen in thought, as if a classical statue; however, after a moment, the great nobleman drew a long breath.
"This is only a rumor, of course, but they say two people were with Count of Memphis then—a man and a woman. They were supposedly two Terrans," said Sulayman.
"Two Terrans?" asked Astharoshe, cocking her head dubiously. "But there are Terrans everywhere in the Empire."
"Sure, there are Terrans everywhere in the Empire. They're even in this Celestial Imperial Palace. But they're probably not Terrans who can quote the Bible in Latin," said Sulayman.
"The Bible?" asked Astharoshe. Glaring out the corner of her eye at the man behind her who was gazing off into nothingness, Aste bit her lip and thought to herself, This idiot. . .
Terrans who could speak Outer languages weren't particularly rare in the Empire, because there were many opportunities to travel in the Outer for secret trade, information gathering, and so forth. Outer languages were even included in the curriculum for citizens' training course.
However, when it came to Terrans who could quote the Bible, it would be impossible to discover one if you scoured the entire Empire, because for some reason, all church activity was forbidden in the land. Imperial law forbade the boyar and Terrans alike from holding or propagating beliefs. If there were an eccentric bunch of "Terrans who could quote the Bible in Latin" they must be limited to Outer people and Vatican agents.
With no means of knowing what was happening in the thoughtful lady's heart, Sulayman shook his head gravely. "This might turn out to be a serious situation. If the Outer, and furthermore the Vatican, are involved, the Duchess of Moldova's death is no ordinary death."
Sulayman was known among the nobles to be particularly Terran-loving. Even if he were no match for the "Terran-lover" Marquise of Kiev, Aste had to tip her hat to his profound opinions about the Outer. Eighty years ago, when he'd been appointed Governor of Misr after expertly suppressing the plague that had spread among Terrans, he was revered like a god. From his point of view, this incident was a situation worthy of his concern.
Sulayman grew increasingly melancholy. "However, Her Majesty's judges will decide everything, but if the Outer is involved in the matter, you might be consulted, princess. No matter what you say, you have the most experience with the Outer. Is your heart prepared?" he asked.
"No ... I ..." said Astharoshe.
Aste waved her hand hastily, but Sulayman kept smiling compassionately. He was going to say something encouraging to her, but suddenly cocked his head as if called by somebody. "It seems we're starting," said Sulayman.
Faint signs of stress were noticeable in the State Secrets official as he peered through the green bamboo curtain. In fact, everyone there appeared to be on edge. The continuous hum dwindled to silence as if the tide had come and gone, and people walking along the corridor hurriedly returned to their seats. One after the other, holograms began to float up from the seats of the inner circle, those of the second and third rank officials. It seemed this Diwan had also summoned the city commanders and governor-class senior officials of the local towns.
"Well, Marquise of Kiev, I must go now," said Sulayman, leaving Aste's side. But as he was leaving, he suddenly turned around as if he'd remembered something, and whispered, "If it's all right, may I have a bit of your time soon? I'd like to ask your opinions about the Outer."
"Yes, gladly," replied Astharoshe.
Beaming at the Marquise, who was still maintaining the utmost reserve, the great man turned on his heel again and returned to the front row. Aste saluted again and took her seat when the bell in the front of the meeting hall rang loudly.
One of the State Secrets officials who stood up raised his voice to make the announcement. "The New Human Empire's eternal ruler, the mother of all we Methuselahs." Bowing his head respectfully toward the stairs, he said, "Her Majesty the Empress has arrived!"
The veil fluttered.
The attendees rose simultaneously and bowed their heads, imitating the five State Secrets officials who stood up in the front row, when a slim shadow took a seat beyond the veil.
A computerized voice accompanied by an oppressive drone rang down from above the attending nobles' heads.
<An assembly is troublesome, my lovely children of the night. >
The voice, which echoed from the great dome, was articulate, but its tone was altered to sound as if countless people, young and old, male and female,, were talking all at once. It was impossible to guess the speaker's emotions, let alone her age.
But this time, the Empress of the New Human Empire, Augusta Vladika, seemed to heave a faint sigh.
<I think you already know, but twelve hours ago, our Chief Privy Counselor Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova died. I mourn the fact that her graceful wings, the strongest pillar in the Empire, have left us. I will personally conduct her memorial service five days from now. Duke of Tigris?>
The Empress called quietly to the Second Privy Counselor, who stood up with his right hand on his heart.
"Yes!" said Sulayman.
<I leave the practical business to you, Sulayman. Perform it so that nothing is omitted. >
"With pleasure," said Sulayman.
The tall Methuselah bowed deeply, but his anxiety was obvious. Now that the Chief Privy Counselor was dead, he who was in the post of Second Privy Counselor was the first on the list of important retainers. To be told that the details of the Duchess of Moldova's funeral were his responsibility was proof of the Empress's trust.
<Various duties will be allotted to others as well. Assist Duke of Tigris, and manage it as you see fit. Well, everyone, although it's a pity, I must now inform you of a very disturbing thing. >
The modulated voice disguised the identity of the Empress, but a hint of her emotions grew more and more detectable as she spoke.
<The death of the Duchess of Moldova was not natural. My daughter was killed by a sword wielded by another. Concerning that point, there is a report from the Chief of our Palace Guards, Baron of Khartoum, at the front. >
A conspicuously large shadow advanced from the line of Palace Guards. With eyes gleaming like burning lava, Baybars, Baron of Khartoum, bowed toward the throne. "Yes, as Her Majesty just said, the Duchess of Moldova was killed. And the one who killed her was her grandson, Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis."
A tense atmosphere and expressions that seamed to scream,"! thought so!" filled the hall. One person leaned forward as if waiting to hear more; another person drooped his head and sank into the sofa. But everyone looked troubled.
Taking in the stifled atmosphere, the black Methuselah continued his report in a sonorous voice. "Four months ago, Ion Fortuna was given an Imperial decree and went to the Outer. However, he returned secretly to the Empire yesterday and seems to have gone to the Duchess of Moldova's mansion and caused violence. Further, in the report from the Heraklion Capital Guards Department, four days ago, Count of Memphis and his citizen requisitioned the Heraklion's deep-sea assault vessel Nereiades. And ten hours ago, in the suburbs of the Imperial capital, wreckage that appears to match the same ship was found; it is currently under investigation. For details, scan the materials you have on hand."
As if responding to Baybars' words, laser-written letters floated above many of the nobles' desks.
"Twelve hours ago, I was entrusted with an Imperial decree, and went to the mansion to see the Duchess of Moldova privately. But when I arrived there, the mansion was already on fire, and there was nothing anyone could do. At that time, we discovered Count of Memphis and his two Terran companions. I demanded to hear their explanation, but the three of them denied the request, and after they resisted, they managed to escape. Those are the circumstances of the matter," explained Baybars.
A report presented by the Palace Guards was displayed after the full report about the shipwreck. Pointing at it, Baybars concluded his report. "It isn't mentioned in the report, but all of the Palace Guards including me heard Count of Memphis and the two Terrans traveling with him conversing in what seemed to be Outer language. The probability is extremely high that they are Outer agents from the Vatican. I propose that we capture the three of them quickly, and make them explain the details."
After the Chief of the Palace Guards bowed toward the throne, he returned to the ranks. His towering figure was like a living statue of a war god. To a person any bit inferior, Baybars probably would've passed for the god of plague himself.
An annoying voice addressed Aste as she scanned the document, still grimacing. Standing behind her, Abel whispered, "This is a bit dire, isn't it, Aste? Never mind Count of Memphis and we asking to see Her Majesty the Empress. We'll be killed as soon as we're seen, won't we? Marquise of Kiev, use your influence here somehow."
Still grumbling, Aste raised her hand. "I know, leave it to me. You really are a frivolous fellow, though."
In reality, speaking in front of people wasn't Astharoshe's forte, but now it didn't matter. Preparing herself, she sought to speak. "Wait . . ."
"Wait, I object!" said Sulayman.
In that instant, Aste lost her chance to execute her resolution because a voice filled with more strength and intelligence interrupted her".
The most important retainer in the Empire stood up in the front row. The voice of Sulayman, Duke of Tigris, was quiet, but its substance and certainty didn't waver. "Baron of Khartoum, I have grave doubts about what you say. Count of Memphis was at the location of the Duchess of Moldova's death, but that doesn't automatically warrant him being a suspect. How can you decide that the Duchess of Moldova's murder is her grandson's crime at this point in time, without any evidence?"
The attendees listened intently to the Second Privy Counselor's words. There wasn't so much as one cough heard in the meeting hall as Sulayman exercised his power of persuasion.
"Secondly, regarding the Nereiades, you've accused Count of Memphis of this crime without any evidence, too. The connection between the Count requisitioning it on his Imperial envoy's authority, and the disaster of the same ship, is a matter that should be resolved following an accurate investigation. I'm afraid that conjecture at this point in time should be dismissed as presumptuous slander. Coming to a conclusion based on hearsay and speculation only invites undesirable results. Baron, I'd like to ask you to speak cautiously," said Sulayman.
"Duke of Tigris, are you saying that Count of Memphis is innocent?" asked a young, arresting woman with her waist-length black hair bound up high. She glanced toward Baybars who'd opened his mouth as if he'd wanted to make a counterargument. The Third Privy Counselor Marquise of Damascus, Feron Lin tilted her elongated eyes upward and cast a meaningful glance to the Duke of Tigris, who was still standing. "Because Count of Memphis returned to the Empire secretly, without visiting the palace for a greeting when he returned, it caused an incident. Doesn't it seem as though he is rebellious in nature?"
"Regarding the notion that Count of Memphis secretly returned to the Empire, I'm not suggesting it isn't suspicious. I'm merely saying that it may be unjust to accuse him of treason based on that one fact," said Sulayman.
After he took a breath, Sulayman sipped his tea. His eyes, full, of quiet but spiritual strength stared at his brethren. "Assembled lords, the problem has to do with high treason. If you say you'll prosecute the young man as a traitor in the future, certain proof must be supplied. So long as that is not provided, it is unfair to inquire about the Count of Memphis's guilt. Lords, what do you think?"
"Unfortunately, Duke of Tigris, there is proof of Count of Memphis's treason," a young man interjected in an oddly thin voice. Despite his lack of vocal brawn, the man commanded the attendees' attention. "I myself am proof of that. He ran to the Terrans who call themselves the Vatican, and tried to sell his mother country to them. He wounded me when I tried to stop him, and vanished. I hereby accuse Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis, of attempting to sell out his country."
"You?" Sulayman gasped, his eyes open wide in shock.
The blue-haired Methuselah narrowed his bronze eyes and bowed to Sulayman. "Radu Barvon, Baron of Luxor. I have just returned home."
III
Ion tried reading the map spread on the stone pavement with up and down reversed, but couldn't make heads or tails of it. Next, he tried reversing it left to right. It was still incomprehensible.
"To tell you the truth, this is the first time I've come to the Terran district," he confessed to his companion.
Ion had fled the Marquise of Kiev's mansion, practically kidnapping the girl who stood by his side. He couldn't help but speak in an apologetic tone. "I didn't think it would be such a different environment. It's actually quite mysterious."
"This seems more normal to me," said the red-haired girl squatting next to him. Esther stroked the curb as she tried to explain her impressions, perhaps out of consideration so as not to embarrass her companion, who'd gotten them completely lost while talking big. "Of course, day and night are reversed, but except for that, it isn't really that different from Rome. At least, it's much easier to understand than the west coast area."
Esther returned her gaze to the network of streets. There were large and small shops whose eaves lined the street on the left and right, and endless crowds that were never seen from the opposite shore of the channel, the nobles' district on the west coast. The hallmark of an old downtown section, small buildings were densely packed together, and the long streets and narrow alleys that stretched like a honeycomb between them were filled with frenetic activity. Beneath the streetlights that hung like bells from the ceilings, the rows of shops overflowing with goods were a magnificent sight.
"There are people and things, and it's busy. Somehow, it isn't at all different from the Outer," said Esther.
"Maybe. But it does have some differences from the Outer. Have you noticed?" asked Ion.
"Hmmm, differences? There aren't any alcohol vendors?" asked Esther.
In the Imperial capital, there were shops that sold general goods and such, but there were things missing among them that existed in the Outer. For example, there were no shops selling alcoholic beverages, nor were there any tobacconists. The reason was because these luxury goods, which had a danger of harming Terran health, were considered contraband in the Empire, and their sale was strictly prohibited. The capital was full of public baths and teahouses instead of bars.
"Alcohol? Yeah. But there are others. For example, this building behind us," said Ion.
"Eh? This?" asked Esther. She looked up suspiciously at the building. There was no way to see if there were any lights on in it, but it had a clean and tidy facade. The faint scent of alcohol wafted from it.
"A hospital?" asked Esther.
"Close, but wrong. This building is a blood extraction office. It's a place to collect blood, which is the raw material for the Aqua Vitae we dose ourselves with," said Ion.
"Blood?" said Esther with a slight tremor. She must have known that the Aqua Vitae she'd seen Ion and other Methuselahs frequently drinking was to suppress chronic anemia, and that it was made from Terrans' blood. But she was probably surprised to hear that they drained that blood from Terrans. Somewhat apprehensive, she stood up hurriedly.
"It goes without saying, we don't extract blood by force," said Ion. Cognizant of her fear, her added rather hurriedly, "Blood extraction is always the Terrans' free will. However, because we exchange a considerable amount of money for it, it's a valuable source of revenue for low-income slaves. To put it in your words, it's a 'welfare policy.' That way, the Imperial government can support the lives of poor slaves."
From Ion's point of view, each was compensating the other for its wants, so it seemed like a good deal, but there were probably certain points that a Terran like Esther didn't understand. With her cold eyes still turned toward the building, she backed up slightly.
"I suppose my explanation was bad," said Ion.
Ion sighed, giving up on trying to make Esther understand, and turned back to the map. More than two hours had passed since escaping the Marquise of Kiev's mansion without permission. If they didn't finish their business and return before the Marquise of Kiev came home from visiting the Celestial Imperial Palace, he didn't know what that bloodthirsty beauty might do to them. His face became serious as he studied the map.
"Let's see, first, we crossed the Bosporus using the great bridge. So we entered the market from this street? From there, we went down this way, right at that corner . . ." said Ion.
Ion heard a voice clear as a bell while he grappled with the map. Naturally, the Imperial language didn't mean much to Esther.
"Hey, hey, brothers, don't you want some tea? It's delicious," said the voice. "Well? It's twenty akuche per cup, but I'll let you have two cups on special for thirty."
When Ion turned around, he saw one girl standing there. She seemed about two or three years younger than Esther. Beneath her short, black haircut, her pale face was white, nearly transparent. A brass pot hung from the belt she wore over her ash-colored clothes that indicated she was of the slave class. Small glasses full of ruby-colored liquid were lined up on a tray she held in one hand.
"We don't need any tea. We don't feel like it," said Ion, trying to shoo the girl away with a wave of his hand. "Leave at once, girl. I'm busy."
"Don't say that. Say, that girl there looks like she's thirsty?" said the girl.
It was rare for a slave to be so unafraid of a citizen.
She narrowed her green eyes shrewdly and began to poke at the arm of Ion's citizen's clothes. "Do the two of you have a date today? You suit each other!" said the girl. She followed her remark with a whistle.
"A date? Do we look like we're on a date?" asked Ion, pointing to himself and Esther. "You're a very rude girl. So, how much is it?"
Contrary to his first reaction, Ion quickly took out some change. The amount the girl stated was more expensive than the market price, but he still offered three aluminum coins on his palm.
"I don't need change. You should be grateful and take it. By the way, girl, what area is this?" asked Ion, pointing on the map to the tea-seller while handing Esther her cup. Bathing his chin in the steam rising from the glass, he said, "We were looking for a pharmacy managed by the citizen Mimarl. How do we get there from here?"
"Mimarl's shop on the pharmacy street?" asked the girl. She put the aluminum coins in her apron with a scrupulous gesture and felt her sharp chin. "Yes, I know that one. If it's all right, shall I guide you there?"
"Really? That would help. Let's go, Esther. This girl says she'll guide us," said Ion.
It seemed as though their luck had turned for the first time tonight. Hurriedly finishing the tea, Ion urged Esther in Roman language, so the slave girl wouldn't understand: "Let's hurry. We have to return to the mansion before the Marquise of Kiev comes home."
Quickly supping her tea, Esther stood up. She returned the glass to the girl after politely wiping it with a handkerchief. "I know," said Esther, "but does the incident at the mansion really have anything to do with him?"
There was no spirit in Esther's voice. As she began to walk hesitantly after the boy, she timidly voiced her doubts. "Mimarl was very kind to us. Honestly, I don't want to believe that he had anything to do with this incident."
"And yet traitors betray," said Ion, casually cutting the girl off. Yes, traitors betray, he thought as he folded his map. Hadn't he had a sufficient taste of that in that desert town?
"The ones who attacked our mansion seemed to be waiting for our return. That man is the only one except for us three who knew the exact day and hour of my return home. Isn't that reason 1 enough to suspect him?" asked Ion.
"That's true," said Esther, "But—"
"If you don't want to come with me, I don't want to force you," Ion candidly told the girl who seemed resistant. "I'm fine on my own now. Esther, you go back to the Marquise of Kiev's mansion."
"If Your Excellency is going, I will go, too. I can't leave Your Excellency alone," said Esther.
"Oh?" said Ion.
After the girl nodded dutifully, Ion looked away.
The girl who sold them tea had gone pretty far ahead. Before they knew it, the three of them had left the main street and entered one of the side streets. Although it was an alley, it was brightly illuminated like the Imperial capital, and it was swept so clean that there wasn't one particle of dust. The noise of the night began to thin with the crowds.
"So, girl. Are we at Mimarl's shop yet?" asked Ion.
"I'm using a shortcut. It's right ahead. By the way, it's become bothersome; so don't call me 'girl' all the time. I have a splendid name: Seth," said the girl.
"Seth?" asked Ion, smiling weakly.
The Empire was a nation of many races, and just like skin colors, there were many variations of names. But if Ion's common knowledge was correct, wasn't 'Seth' the name a Terran from the Dead Sea area gave to a son?
"Interesting. Did your father want a boy?" asked Ion.
"Who knows? I have two older brothers, so I think he must have had enough boys, but . . . Never mind that. Look, we've arrived," said Seth, jutting her chin boldly.
Before they knew it, the three of them had returned to a main street again. But compared to the main street they'd been on earlier, there was remarkably less foot traffic, and even the assortment of goods in the shops appeared far simpler. The unmistakable smell of medicine still wafted in the air.
"This is the pharmacy street. Mimarl's shop is the one on that corner," said Seth.
"I see," said Ion.
The girl puffed her chest proudly as Ion placed coins in her hand.
"Thank you very much, girl. You can go now," said Ion.
"Wow, check out how haughty this guy is," said Seth as she counted the aluminum coins in her hand. "Say, sister, isn't it a lot of work going out with a guy like this? Take my advice. You should choose your partner carefully."
"Don't butt in!" said Ion indignantly.
He wasn't interrupting because he was angry, however. It would be awful to let Esther speak, when she didn't know half a word of Imperial language. Waving his hands to shush her, he tried to chase off the girl, who appeared to have more to say. "She's still shy, having just come from the territories. Don't talk to her familiarly."
"From the territories? You two belong to the Marquise of Kiev's house, right?" asked Seth.
Dropping her eyes to Ion's hips, Seth noticed the hilt of the short sword he'd borrowed without permission when they'd fled the Marquise of Kiev's mansion. The family crest of the Marquise of Kiev, the "Virgin Carrying Spear," was engraved on it. Only one sharp slave girl would have noticed that.
"So your master is Lady Astharoshe Asran? What business do the Directly Reporting Chief Inspector's citizens have at a pharmacy?" asked Seth.
Seth was intrigued as she watched Ion grow increasingly flustered.
"Let's see, um, our business is . . ." Ion began when suddenly his face tensed.
Something had stimulated his sense of smell. His hand extended reflexively and grasped the hilt of his sword. Unable to identify what he'd noticed, he peered toward the shop on the corner of the main street.
"What's that smell?" asked Ion. Pointing his well-shaped nostrils upward, the boy groaned quietly. He certainly sensed it — a peculiar odor that seemed to rot the mucous membranes in his nasal passages.
"What is it, Your Excellency?" asked Esther.
"Grab hold, Esther!" yelled Ion.
Before Esther knew it, Ion's hand had encircled her waist. Holding her tightly, he jumped off the floor without hesitation.
Seeing out of the corner of his eye that Seth's eyes had grown round, Ion leapt at least sixty-five feet. Mobilizing all the muscles in the lower half of his body, he kicked a wall along the way. Leaping an additional thirty feet, he landed on the second floor of the target building. Unfortunately, there was a closed glass window there. The boy and girl looked as though they would crash through it, but—
"Urgh!" said Ion, using his sword to cut the glass that stood in their way in two.
Like a shard of glass, the boy flew into the shop, still gripping Esther, and lightly landed on the carpet.
"Argh! Too late!" said Ion.
Rage darkened Ion's face. It wasn't because Mimarl's bloodstained body was rolling next to the wall with his eyes wide open, however. It was the giant in a military overcoat hefting a red battleaxe. The eyes visible through its gas mask gleamed under the dim light of the ceiling lamps.
"Y-your Excellency, be careful!" cried Esther.
The corpse began to move with a swiftness that belied its huge body. Recognizing that the two newcomers were attack targets, it entered battle mode in accordance with its attack program.
Ion had also assumed a defensive posture. Pushing Esther behind him, he held his sword in front of his body. The giant prepared for attack, its axe raised.
"Urgh!" grunted Ion.
A sharp scream overlapped with a wheezing cry.
Ion exhaled as he jerked his body, nimbly moving behind the giant. By the time the monstrous axe cut the air and gouged through the floor, Ion's short sword had struck the nape of his target's neck, disappearing somewhere in between it and the head.
While listening to the echo of breaking neck, the boy mumbled, "Battle isn't just wrangling from the front."
His enemy's immense body crumpled into a heap and didn't make any more movement following a sharp shudder.
Looking down at it, Ion said, "However, it seems like a very cowardly way of doing battle to me. As for me, more like this — "
"Your Excellency, p-please come here a moment!" said Esther in a shrill voice. Running up to the bloodied Mimarl's side, she turned around urgently. "This person . . . Mimarl is still alive!"
"What?" said Ion, flabbergasted.
Esther laid Mimarl's head in his lap. Mimarl had probably received one axe blow. The man's flank had been severed and was stained bright red: The thick leather vest he wore under his citizen's uniform had likely averted instant death. It was unclear what point there was in having his severe pain prolonged for the few seconds before he died, but still, barely alive, the young Terran was lying prone.
"Mimarl, can you hear my voice?" asked Ion as he peered into the man's face. Worried that Mimarl's life was ending by the second, Ion continued, "If this disgusting corpse came here to kill you . . . After all, it was you who gave information about me to these people. But why? Why did you betray me?"
"Forgive . . . Please forgive me . . . master," said Mimarl, opening his chalk-white eyelids weakly. Barely audible, he said, "I never thought that person, the mansion . . . meant to kill the Duchess of Moldova . . ."
"That person?" asked Ion.
A deep canyon emerged between the boy's eyebrows. When a citizen said "that person," it probably meant a boyar. It was undoubtedly one of the hard-liners. But what did he mean by "impossible"?
"Tell me, Mimarl!" insisted Ion in a seething tone. He couldn't let such a valuable piece of information die with the family retainer.
"Talk! Who made you a traitor? Who killed my grandmother?" asked Ion.
"That's . . ." Mimarl began. Inhaling one last breath, his chest swelled. He was in a serious ischemic state. Even his blood had already slowed. But the traitor still managed to eek out his remaining strength. "His Excellency the Baron .. .Baron of Luxor ... Radu Barvon."
Ion felt the blood drain from his face. "What did you just say?" he asked.
Forgetting that the hand he extended involuntarily was stained red, Ion grasped the chest of the bloody citizen's clothing and howled, "I'm asking you what you just said, Mimarl! It's Radu? Impossible! He's long since dead!"
Mimarl attempted to cough out a few more words, but a clot of red-black blood leaked from his lips instead. All of a sudden, his body fell back into an arch.
"Oh, no!" cried Esther.
By the time she opened his mouth to clear his airway, Mimarl's body became still as if some switch had been thrown.
"He's dead," Esther muttered as though she herself were half dead. "Lord, guide his soul to Heaven. Amen."
Making the sign of the cross, she gently closed the former citizen's eyelids, which had lost their power of sight forever. They remained pointed peacefully toward the sky.
"Radu?" said Ion, without a care for the newly deceased. "That's crazy! He died long ago. And before my very eyes!"
That man had certainly died in the desert city. Burned by the sun, showered with bullets, then he'd fallen into the sea far below and died. He shouldn't have had a chance in Hell of surviving. Surely what Mimarl had said was some kind of lie. He was undoubtedly trying to deceive him until the end.
But why? Why go that far to fool me, Ion wondered.
"Look out, Your Excellency!" Esther screamed.
Had Ion caught a glimpse of himself reflected in Esther's eyes, he would have noticed the threat that lurked behind him and pounced on the spot, drawing his sword to thwart his enemy. But the boy was caught completely by surprise and foolishly turned around at the wrong time. Reflected in his eyes was the giant Ion had thought he'd defeated before. He failed to completely sever his enemy's neck. The lower half of its body seemed unable to move, but it managed to arch the upper half of its body just enough to swing the axe mightily toward the petrified Ion.
"Crouch down, Your Excellency!" Esther yelled.
If she hadn't charged with all her might to knock Ion down, his head would have been struck clean off. The battleaxe ripped through the air, grazing the two of them before it noisily struck a stone on the wall, pulverizing it.
Amid the chaos, Esther had withdrawn her sawed-off shotgun from beneath her citizen's clothing and aimed it toward the zombie's head. With a roar, the zombie's head spewed blood plasma. Its trunk fell face up, and this time, it couldn't get up again.
"Is it possible it can still move? You saved me, Esther," said Ion. Shuddering, Ion rubbed his head, which was horrifyingly close to being decapitated.
Esther didn't respond to Ion's gratitude. Still gripping her shotgun, her body shivered slightly. Glancing at her, Ion noticed that a strange, warm liquid was dripping from her body. "What's wrong, Esther? Is ... is that blood?" he asked.
Esther gritted her teeth through her curtain of red hair; her face was blanched. The shotgun fell with a clatter from her powerless fingers right before a large quantity of blood began flowing from her right shoulder.
"E-Esther, hang on! Argh, this is . . ." Ion stammered, glaring at the evil weapon lodged in the wall.
The axe had probably deeply gouged Esther's upper arm. She was losing a lot of blood, but wasn't making so much as a sound she was in so much pain. The sweat that poured from her stark white face drenched Ion's hand.
"We need to get to a hospital at once!" said Ion.
"N-no, Your Excellency," said Esther, her breathing ragged. The nun slowly opened her eyes and grabbed the panicked boy's sleeve. "No hospital. It would only offer a clue to your pursuers."
Ion was completely confused and was fraught with worry that the girl's face was beginning to look waxen. If the blood loss continued, the frail Terran would certainly die.
At his wits' end, Ion looked up toward Heaven. What should I do?
"You look like you're in a fix. If it's all right, can I help?" asked Seth. "Sister, you're badly hurt. If I leave you here, you'll surely die. May I at least check you?"
"You?" asked Ion. He had no idea when the tea seller had reappeared. And why was she here?
Ion bared his fangs and shouted angrily, "Get out, girl! This is none of your business!"
"Hey, are you really in the position to say that kind of thing?" Seth asked. "If you don't hurry, that girl — Oh no! Shock is setting in!"
It almost sounded as if Seth was bluffing, but what she said was correct. Esther's body was starting to shake in Ion's arms. The blood loss was causing shock.
"Esther!" cried Ion.
"This is no time to dawdle. Let's stop the blood loss immediately. Boy, you press here. Don't let go until I tell you. All right?" said Seth.
It was rare for a slave girl to say things in this manner. Seth's tone took no account of the boy's nobility.
The girl's delicate hands held a bandage she had hidden on her person.
"What are you?" asked Ion, staring at the girl. He was astounded by her efficient first aid skills. " Who are you?"
"Hmmm, me?" asked Seth. Her hands continued wrapping the bandage with surprising dexterity. Winking one eye mischievously, she said, "Didn't I tell you before? I'm Seth. Just a pretty girl."
IV
"I'm very sorry, Your Majesty," said Radu. The blue-haired Methuselah knelt awkwardly, bowing his head as a sign of respect to his ruler beyond the bamboo screen.
"The crime of a courtier who returns late is worth ten thousand deaths. Yet, because there is a reason, please forgive me," said Radu.
<That's enough. Never mind that, Baron of Luxor. >
A minor Shockwave rippled among the attendees. But the Empress's voice echoed heavily, overpowering the noise.
<Is what you said just now true? If true, it is serious. Answer carefully. >
"Regrettably, it is completely true, Your Majesty. Count of Memphis betrayed this Empire and allied with the enemy called the Vatican. I steadfastly attest to it," said Radu.
The Baron of Luxor's face was severely pale, but the man remained impressively calm. Nodding sincerely, he regarded the throne and those within the assembly hall.
"As Your Majesty knows, three months ago, Count of Memphis and I were charged with an Imperial decree and arrived in Carthage. He then entered a Vatican building alone and contacted one of the Cardinals. I didn't accompany him, but he must have plotted some sort of conspiracy with the Terrans at that point. He also proposed that I, the Assistant Envoy, help carry out that plot. As soon as I refused, he tried to murder me," said Radu.
<And the plot?>
All ears in the assembly hall concentrated on a single disturbing word—not murder, but plot. The Empress was no exception.
<What was the plot, Baron? What do you mean when you say he was plotting with the Terrans?>
"I meant that ..." said Radu.
Whether he was self-conscious or simply nervous about speaking in front of an audience, Radu glanced at the bamboo curtain as he hesitated to speak.
<I'll allow it, Baron of Luxor. You should testify before the lords.>
"Then I will say it. The Vatican and Count of Memphis were plotting to end Your Majesty's life," said Radu.
Assassinate the Empress! A loud uproar broke out inside the hall. Only the Palace Guards, standing like a motionless red wall, remained silent. All the other attendees were talking to their neighbors, unable to conceal their shock.
Radu kept silent, waiting for the impact of the blow to diffuse, but then he continued to summarize his report in a pained voice. "As your retainer surmises, the Duchess of Moldova's misfortune is probably related to that plot. She may have been killed for refusing to cooperate with Count of Memphis, as I did. Aren't the two Terrans accompanying Count of Memphis assassins sent by the Vatican?"
"Did you hear, everyone?" shouted Baybars in support of the blue-haired Methuselah. "Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis's rebellion is clear from Baron of Luxor's testimony. This is treason!"
Nobody was more silent than Sulayman, who bit his lip hearing Baybars speak.
Glaring back at Sulayman, the Chief of the Palace Guards raised his voice even louder. "Lords, this is a declaration of war upon us. Count of Memphis's treasonous conduct and the Terrans' involvement is proof of that. We should penalize those lawless Terrans of the Vatican immediately!"
A low voice cut off the black giant, who was still speaking zealously.
<Enough, Baybars.>
The ominous voice of indiscriminate gender silenced Baybars and then ordered with icy calm: <You should desist. My mind is already made up. Listen, my beloved children of the night .. .>
The shadow behind the bamboo curtain wavered slightly, likely because the Empress had arisen from the throne. The nobles waited with baited breath as the Empress slowly opened her mouth.
<My proud swords of the Empire, I address all of you when I say that our Empire will rise to its full strength and investigate the true cause of Mirka Fortuna's death. The police authorities have been given full authority to do what they need to find Count of Memphis and the two others. I will absolutely not tolerate their escape. >
All the members of the Inspection Institution, which controlled the nobles, and the Patrol Institution, the capital's police force, nodded sternly. It was rare for the Empress to exhibit this much emotion. It went without saying that the attendees had little hope for a vacation.
<Until the truth is discovered, I order each of the City Guards in Timisoara, Heraklion, Athens, and Alexandria to be ready for battle. City Commanders, take heed.>
The City Commanders, whose holograms were combined into the second row, bowed reverently at the Empress's words. Along with the Commanders-in-Chief of each local army, the City Commanders also possessed the authority to rule the local lords in their jurisdiction. Soon, the national boundaries would bustle with the rush of nobles and their private armies responding to the call. A whirlwind of tension swirled about the assembly hall.
The Empress fell silent, having finished issuing Imperial commands. No one could guess what expression she wore, not even a Methuselah, who had the power of sight. It was nearly certain, however, that she sat behind the bamboo curtain with her eyes closed.
The heavy hush seemed to last forever, but then a deep, maudlin voice echoed throughout the hall.
<My children .. .>
It was not the sound of someone who would crumble or cower easily. The low drone was that of a goddess of judgment who'd sworn vengeance.
<Our lovely daughter's death is unforgivable. I will spread the wings of vengeance over the heads of those who killed her, and anyone who had anything to do with it. Whether it is an individual, a nation, or an organization, I will show no mercy. So heed.>
Awed by the Empress's anger, those assembled hung their heads.
Aste also bowed her head reverently, but she unintentionally raised her eyebrows. This has gotten bad, she thought to herself.
It was the worst possible scenario for both the Count of Memphis and the Vatican's envoys. Aste went over every detail of the dire scenario in her head: I've come to the place where I may be charged as a suspect in the Duchess of Moldova's death. If we are unwise in trying to defend ourselves now, this time Aste herself might be strung up.
Although I haven't been directly connected to the murder at this point in time, the Imperial order given to Timisoara and Heraklion could become a profound problem. The four City Guards who received Imperial orders are all military positions located at the border qf Terran nations. If these outfits assume battle posture, it mil naturally heighten the Outer's concern. If the situation escalates, it may even cause strife with the Outer.
"Father, I'm certain you said Baron of Luxor was dead," said Astharoshe angrily. She had every intention of protecting Count of Memphis and the other as long as possible.
Before Abel could answer, a passerby appeared. Aste turned around to ask again, but the man who was standing there had vanished like smoke.
V
The Celestial Imperial Palace was the center of the Empire. It was a place of government and was the location of the Empress's residence castle.
Compared to the complex architecture of the Outer Court, a place of statecraft north of the Imperial Palace that was open to nobles, the Inner Court in the southern section contained the Imperial Palace—the Empress's private domain. The Palace Guards strictly guarded it, allowing only a few nobles who received the Empress's permission in. Care for the Empress, as well as the rare animals she kept as pets, was almost completely carried out by automata.
The Inner Court's "Boundary Room," situated in the innermost section of the Imperial Palace, served as the Empress's living room. The interior of the expansive room was manmade, yet it was always filled with the scent of green woods and the chirping of the dozens of wild birds that had been released inside. But this night, the voice that rang throughout the emerald chamber sounded like thunder off in the distance.
<Lord Baybars, have you discovered Count of Memphis's whereabouts yet? And what about the Vatican Terrans accompanying him? It will be a big problem if those people have any chance of escaping. >
"I take that point very seriously," said Baybars.
Beyond the rolled-up bamboo curtain, a huge door that resembled a castle gate loomed. The black giant bowed reverently toward the Imperial throne.
The Chief of the Imperial Palace Guards Baybars, Baron of Khartoum, shrugged his broad shoulders, and reported to the Empress: ''If we search every corner of the city, we will find them for certain. If we hurry, the search should be finished within one or two days."
<Hmmm . . .>
The sigh of the girl seated on the throne wasn't deep or resounding. The jade-colored veil that hung in front of her face didn't only mask her countenance, but it also mechanically altered her voice so no one could guess her true feelings on matters.
For a moment, the Empress of the night gazed at the ceiling as if she were letting her thoughts flow upward, but before long she nodded at the Chief of the Palace Guards.
<Fine. You must be tired, Baron. Go and rest.>
"Indeed!" exclaimed Baybars.
The bulky Methuselah lowered his head even farther as he turned on his heel. The red-masked Ienichieri followed, leaving the room.
The room, now empty except for one, seemed immense. The sole girl remained seated until the footsteps of the Palace Guards grew distant and finally faded away. She placed her painfully slender fingers to her face and nonchalantly flipped up her veil, revealing a head of black hair and a nearly transparent face.
"There we go," said the Empress.
The raven-haired girl jumped down from the throne with fairy-like lightness. Her copper-colored eyes flashed mischievously as she walked toward the window.
Beyond the large crystal window was a huge forest, which occupied eighty percent of the Inner Court. Myriad rare animals had been set loose in it, forming a rich ecosystem. At the edge of the trees, on the opposite shore, between the Celestial Imperial Palace and the Halic Golden Horn, shone the city lights in the Methuselah district. The beauty of the illusory light amid the heart of darkness was indescribable. The Empress frequently gazed upon the forest and city, and the strange harmony they created.
Her gaze still fixed outside the window, the Empress turned when she heard a bell-like voice behind her. "Who's there?" she asked. "A daring rascal who's invaded my palace? An invader who knows that this is the Imperial Palace of the New Human Empire?"
One of the tapestries on the wall fluttered, producing a slender shadow next to it.
"Excuse me," said Abel apologetically. "I wouldn't have gotten to see you if I'd followed the proper procedure. I humbly beg your pardon for my rudeness.
The girl turned her cold eyes on the silver-haired young man. "Terran?" she asked. "Who are you?"
"I am Father Abel. I've come from the Vatican's Department of Foreign Affairs," said the priest.
He'd probably snuck through the forest to get from the Outer Court into the Empress's chamber. Without even brushing off the leaves that stuck to his dolman, the tall man bowed reverently. "I'm the one who brought a document from my superior, Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, to Your Majesty."
"From the Vatican," repeated the Empress flatly.
It was difficult to tell whether she was being respectful or didn't feel threatened by the Terran. Either way, the Empress's demeanor was calm. Her eyes, on the other hand, appeared to be made of countless icy needles.
"Then it seems my document arrived safely. I'd like to thank you for your long journey, but—" said the Empress, stopping herself. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed. Her voice was soft as silk, but subtly hostile. "Where is the envoy I sent? Where is Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis? And the incident the other day, where Mirka Fortuna's mansion was burned . . . Isn't there something you want to tell me, Vatican man?"
"Before I explain that matter, I'd like to ask one thing," said Abel with a calm face. He showed no sign of fear standing in front of the Empress of the vampires. But what he said next was highly inappropriate. "Who are you?"
"What?" asked the Empress.
The Terran knew who stood before him, and had purposefully come to see her. But he was bold to have asked, "Who are you?" Still, he didn't hesitate. His eyes appeared infinitely calm and wise.
"You who are before me, who in the world are you?" asked Abel.
"You say strange things, Vatican envoy," said the Empress. After she stared at the face beneath the silver hair for a full thirty seconds, she added expressionlessly, "This is the Boundary Room, the Empress's living room. Who else could be here but the Empress of the New Human Empire? We are the only ruler of the Empire, Augusta Vladika."
Despite hearing her name presented so grandly, no sign of acceptance crossed the priest's face. In fact, he looked more suspicious than before. "Really? Are you really the Empress?" asked Abel.
"What are you trying to suggest, Terran?" asked the Empress. Her slender hand slowly reached toward the short sword hidden on her hip. "What are you trying to say? No, I'll change the question. What do you know?"
All of a sudden, a gruff male voice thundered from outside the door. "Excuse me!"
As Abel and the Empress whipped around, somebody came bursting through door with explosive force.
"The Ienichieri on night watch found evidence of an intruder at the gate! It's possible that somebody tried to invade the Inner Court. Urgh! This guy?" said Baybars. The pitch-black Methuselah's eyes fixed on Abel, and for an instant, Baybars stood, his mouth agape. But the next instant, he unsheathed his prized sword from his back with a high-pitched clank. "Outsider! Who are you?"
The black sword sliced through the air, but the silver-haired man nimbly dodged its wrath. Ducking his head low without hesitation, Abel charged toward the window. His movements were fast for a Terran, but the act was reckless considering his opponent was a Methuselah, who boasted the fastest reaction speed on Earth.
The menacing shadow seemed to disappear for an instant, but then it darted before Abel's eyes like a daydream.
"You think you'll escape?" shouted Baybars. "Die!"
"Stop, Baybars!" ordered the Empress. Her hair mussed, she stood with both arms spread wide before Baybars' sword. "I need to question him. Don't kill him!"
As Vladika roared at the Chief of the Palace Guards, Abel tucked his body into a ball and plunged through the glass. A high-pitched shattering noise reverberated as his tall body fell like a pebble toward the darkness below, wrapped in powdered snow-like glass shards. One breath later, they could faintly hear the sound of tree branches breaking.
By the time the two Methuselahs, the Empress and the Chief of the Palace Guards, ran to the window, the priest had already disappeared. Darkness was no hindrance to the sight of a Methuselah, but the towering trees obstructed their view.
Baybars stared into the forest that had swallowed the priest, muttering, "He's fast for a Terran, but .. ."
Shadows of Ienichieri beginning to deploy in the darkness were visible down below. They'd probably heard the disturbance.
"... no Terran can escape my Ienichieri," Baybars continued. "We'll capture him quickly. Please don't worry, Your Majesty."
However, the Empress didn't hear the Chief of the Palace Guards' words. Her face reddened as she gazed down at the forest that had devoured the tall shadow. "He can't ..."
In the sky above the forest, the two moons shone down upon the city full of people, casting a pale white light onto the Empress's face.
VI
"Esther?" said Ion. Her dream interrupted by the voice, Esther's instinct was to jump. But her body twisted at the severe pain that ran through her shoulder.
"No, Esther, don't move! Your wound will open!" Ion warned, grabbing her wrists.
She was in so much pain that she didn't bother to open her eyes. The aching felt like being hit with a whip of fire. She desperately opened her lips, allowing oxygen to flow into her lungs. The smell of alcohol mixed with fresh air filled her nose, and soon, one part of her brain began to operate normally.
"Esther, Are you all right?" asked Ion, gazing down at his companion.
"Your Excellency the Count?" asked Esther, peering into the copper-colored eyes that kept watch over her.
Still looking up at Ion and the unfamiliar ceiling above him, Esther attempted to knit together the threads of her memory. It seems as though I was having a very bad dream, but I don't want to remember. Why am I sleeping in a place like this? And why is my body this hot? Yes, I'm certain that I snuck out with this boy while Father Nightroad was gone and escaped into the city, and then in Mimarl's shop . . .
"Y-yes! After that, I—" Esther exclaimed out loud.
"After that was a big uproar," Seth interrupted. "Besides the shop owner being killed, an unidentified body was rolling around. It was difficult to escape. That's that. So how do you feel, Sister?"
It was obvious to Esther the voice wasn't the boy's. Based on her outward appearance, the girl's age wasn't that far from Ion's.
"You? The girl who sold us tea before?" asked Esther.
"I'm Seth," said the girl, smiling mischievously as she tossed a bundle of bandages like a ball.
She wasn't wearing the gray clothes of a slave now. Instead, she wore a white dolman, the uniform of a student in a specialty-training course before being appointed a citizen.
"My main job is medical student, studying at the high-class medical hospital. The tea selling is only to earn pocket money. I really earn a lot at that job," said Seth.
"A medical student at the high-class medical hospital?" asked Esther.
A high-class medical hospital would certainly be located at a high-class educational institution, likely at an Outer university. Could a child like this be a student there? She looked at least three or four years younger than Esther.
Esther's doubts were probably written all over her face.
The girl twisted her lips impishly. "Well, Sister, it's up to you whether to believe me or not. But I'm the one who tended to your wound. If you'd depended on those doctors, you might have died," said Seth.
"You did this? And here in this room?" asked Esther.
The red-tinged Bosporus and the Methuselah district, both far off in the distance, were visible from the bedside window. That meant this was definitely the Terran district on the east coast, a place not far from the city center.
The high-ceilinged room was clean, but it was rather plain and seemed unsuitable for the adolescent girl. The only furniture in the room was the bed Esther was resting on and a desk, with a tea set placed on it. One of the walls had a built-in shelf for clothing, but because all the outfits were gray, there was a lot of extra room.