13

The sun peeked through gaps in the clouds, shining down on the bright chocolate-colored mud. The swamp stretched as far as the eye could see, and here and there were lush ferns with modest flowers, creeping over mossy rocks.

The Northern Shimobuki Wetlands saw a gentler climate, free of the blizzards that ravaged the land farther south. It was funny to think that this mosquito-filled marsh made for a welcome sight to merchants on their way back home to the north.

The body of a fallen traveler lay facedown on the ground, half submerged in mud. From time to time, a small gust of wind would blow, and the cloak would give the occasional flutter, as if finally remembering the laws of physics.

A single swamp pig swam through the mud and approached the body, examining it carefully with its nose. Soon another pig surfaced, and the two began to circle the corpse, each regarding the other’s movements with no small amount of suspicion.

Then one of the pigs made a move, catching the corpse’s arm in its tusks and cutting into its flesh. Red droplets sprayed from the pink fat within, imbuing the marshlands with the foreign scent of blood. At this, the pigs were able to contain their hunger no longer and descended on the body, mouths slavering.

Just then, mud scattered everywhere as the corpse gripped the pig by its tusk and leaped to its feet. The pig sailed through the air as if it were no heavier than a dandelion puff, before coming down hard, striking its head on a nearby rock and falling into unconsciousness.

The other pig gave a crazed squeal and tried to flee, but the young man who had been lying on the ground quickly reached toward his back and pulled out his bow. His sapphire eyes sparkled as the supple wood creaked under the force of his draw. He exhaled slightly and fired. Fwsh! The sky-blue arrow flew toward its target and penetrated the swamp pig’s belly just as it reared up to dive down under the mud. The stuck pig fell into the mud and floated along its surface for a while, before a flurry of bright-red mushrooms burst to life with a Gaboom! all across the animal’s body.

The boy remained in his firing posture for a few seconds, then cleared his nose with a sniffle and wiped the mud off his panda-like face, smiling brightly.

“All right! Two of them!”

It was several days after they left the Weeping Valley, and the end of their long, arduous journey was almost in sight. Compared to when he first left Imihama, Milo’s growth was remarkable. He had shown an excellent aptitude in archery, crab riding, and survival skills. When combined with his existing medical skills, Milo was quickly becoming a first-rate Mushroom Keeper.

“…These should be quite nutritious. We’ve had nothing to eat but veggies lately…”

Milo tied up the two swamp pigs with rope and dragged them back to the traveler’s lodge where he and Bisco were staying, excited for his partner to finally have something decent to eat.

Bisco’s wounds were bad.

It was hard to tell just from looking, as Bisco was quite good at hiding the pain, but his battles were starting to take their toll. During his fight with the Pipe Snake, he had taken a hit for Milo, and the snake’s slow-acting venom was finally beginning to take effect. On top of that, he had Kurokawa’s parting gift to deal with. Even after Milo removed the bullet, the Rust continued to eat away at his skin surrounding the wound, and it was abundantly clear to Milo just how much pain Bisco was in every time he moved.

Bisco wolfed down the meals Milo cooked with glee, but in the night, he would wake up to sneak outside and vomit profusely. Though he tried to hide it from Milo, Milo’s senses had been trained by the best, and for better or worse it was hard to hide anything from him anymore. The sight of Bisco’s suffering was like a knife in Milo’s gut, and he cursed his lack of ability to help ease his partner’s pain.

He must be so bored. I don’t think we should set off yet, though.

Since leaving the Weeping Valley, Milo had taken on all of Bisco’s usual tasks, from hunting, to checking the safety of camp, to looking after Actagawa, on top of tending to Bisco’s wounds four times a day. The stress of not being allowed to do anything was starting to get to Bisco, so Milo had decided to teach him the subject Jabi had given up on: how to brew medicine. Bisco protested like a child asked to practice their multiplication tables, but after Milo told him it was a skill that all great Mushroom Keepers possessed, Bisco suddenly seemed to find new interest in the idea. Another thing Milo had learned was how to deal with him. And Bisco was quite proficient with mushrooms, though he preferred to use them offensively. He would have no trouble learning the recipe for preparing the Rust-Eater medicine. (Just so long as Milo wrote it down in simple words so he could understand.)

“I’m back, Bisco! I caught two pigs today!”

Putting on his best smile, Milo burst through the cabin door. However, his partner wasn’t there. He checked all the rooms, including the outhouse and the storeroom, but Bisco was nowhere to be found.

…Don’t tell me he waited until I was gone…!

Milo felt his blood run cold. Letting the pigs fall to the ground, he dashed out the front door and headed toward the swamp, when…

“Hey, where ya goin’? Two’s more than enough, ain’t it?”

“…Bisco!”

Bisco appeared, rather anticlimactically, riding on Actagawa’s back. Meanwhile, Actagawa himself had a somewhat irritable air about him. Having spent so long with him by now, Milo was beginning to be able to tell.

“He went off on his own ’cause he saw a girl crab he liked,” Bisco said with a chuckle, patting Actagawa on the head. “But she shot him down ’cause he doesn’t have his big claw anymore. Heh-heh-heh, chin up, soldier! Size isn’t everything, remember?”

At this, Actagawa reached up with his great—well, medium-sized—claw, lifted Bisco off the saddle, and flung him into a nearby pile of mud. Bisco stood up, laughing, and wiped himself down, only to see Milo glaring at him, a dead serious expression on his face.

“I said you were to stay in bed! Why aren’t you listening to anything I say?”

“Wh-what’s the big deal? I couldn’t help it. Actagawa went off on his own. Besides, you try doing science experiments like that for three or four hours. My brain’s gonna rot before my body does.”

“…I was worried about you, Bisco,” said Milo, peering up at him with a slightly bitter look in his eyes. “I thought you’d gone away somewhere…”

“Huh?”

At that point, Actagawa lumbered away, visibly upset, and Bisco hurried after him.

“Come back here, Bisco! Are you going off hunting again?”

“Well, we have to feed Actagawa, or he’ll be sulky all night! I’m just gonna catch him some fish!”

“No! Bisco, come back!”

“I’ll only be gone ten minutes! It’ll take you that long to cook the pork, right? I’ll let you handle the skinning, ’cause I don’t like doing that.”

Then Bisco left, as if completely unaware of how much Milo was worrying over him. He leaped aboard the giant crab’s saddle, took the reins, and steered him expertly through the swamp.

“…Gr… Gnh… Bisco, you idiot…”

Milo watched Bisco leave. His lips trembling, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Then he set about preparing their supper, solidifying all the rules by which he would give Bisco the cold shoulder upon his return.

There were no other travelers at the lodge. A flashing television set illuminated one corner of the cabin, playing the only channel available this far northeast. Milo sat pulling strips of pig flesh with his knife, only half watching. On the screen, a gray cartoon cat chased a small brown mouse. Alas, the poor cat had fallen for one of the mouse’s crafty schemes and was now screaming in agony, its tail caught in a mousetrap. Milo, considering himself more of a cat lover, reached to turn it off, when all of a sudden there was a burst of static, and the image on the screen changed.

“Ahem, testing, testing. It’s peaking; turn it down. You idiot, you’re overexposing it. If you don’t know how to do it right, just set it to automatic… Yes, like that. Amateurs. Ahem. This is an official broadcast of the Imihama Prefectural Bureau.”

Milo’s hand froze as he recognized the calm, chilling voice of Governor Kurokawa.

“This is my regular message to the criminals Bisco Akaboshi and Milo Nekoyanagi. I’m pretty sure you’re in the northeastern broadcast area… I just hope you’re watching.”

Kurokawa stood in the center of the screen and coughed as he straightened his necktie.

“My dear Milo. Your sister may be a thing of beauty, but she’s got no brains. She never guessed I might be keeping tabs on the old man. What a fight she put up. Alas, her skills with the staff came to naught once I threatened to shoot my hostage. See for yourself.”

Kurokawa wheeled out a giant crucifix in front of the camera. Milo’s eyes were drawn to the human figure silhouetted there, strapped to it, their throat issuing forth a voiceless, guttural groan.

“One of the strange things about fools is that they often win fights. Well, that must make your sister a very foolish fool, indeed. I thought for sure she was going to crack my skull wide open, but for some reason, she opted to spare the life of the senile old Mushroom Keeper she so detested… Hey. Don’t you have something to say?”

Kurokawa brought his microphone close to her, but Pawoo turned her face away. There was blood dripping from the corners of her mouth, and her fingernails had all been pulled out. The sight was hard to stomach. The traces of torture were plain to see across her entire body.

“What’s that? Nothing? That’s strange. I could have sworn there was something…”

Kurokawa turned and pulled a red-hot branding iron from out of a nearby bonecoal stove. Then, without hesitation or warning, he thrust it into the skin at the side of Pawoo’s hip, just above her underwear.

“Aaaaaaaaghhh!”

Pawoo’s flesh sizzled, and she let out a scream. A sound that made Milo feel like he was being stabbed in the heart. Kurokawa showed no trace of emotion whatsoever and asked her in his usual bored tone:

“Is there really nothing you have to say? I’m sure there was. Remember it for me, won’t you?”

“Mi…lo…!”

“Ah, thank goodness, there was.”

“Take Akaboshi…and run! Leave Jabi to me! I’ll get him out of here! Forget about me! Stay with Akaboshi! He’ll… He’ll… Graaaaaaghhh! Aaaaagh!”

“Stick to the script, sweetheart. No improvising.”

“Kurokawa’s a piece of shit! Imihama’s a den of corruption! You two stay far away from this place!”

“I told you to zip it. Look, just do this by the book. I really don’t want to have to mess up that pretty little face of yours.”

As he said this, Kurokawa brought the iron closer and closer to Pawoo’s cheek. Pawoo let out a couple ragged breaths without looking up, and then the corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile, and she began to chuckle.

“Stick to the script, you say? Ha! You really think Akaboshi will just curl up and die because it’s in your script? You can’t even handle one Rust-eaten woman.”

“…If you don’t keep your mouth shut…”

“It’s you who should start running, Kurokawa.”

Pawoo leveled her gaze, her fierce eyes challenging his own.

“Akaboshi is strong. Your schemes won’t be enough to save you this time.”

“That’s enough out of you, you little bitch! Die, dieee!”

Kurokawa flew into a rage. For an uncomfortably long time, there were only the dull sounds of his fists raining down on her body. Then, at last, he was finished, and she hung limply from the cross. A pathetic groan was all she could muster. Kurokawa steadied his breathing and, hands still shaking, snatched up a bottle of pills and shook it into his mouth. After crunching them between his teeth and washing them down with a glass of water, he at last recomposed himself.

“Haah… Haah… What a detestable woman. She’s going to give me nightmares, talking like that… Ah, look at all this blood. This suit is Armani, you know… In any case, you see what I’ve had to deal with. Rest assured, she never gave up your location…or that of the real Rust-Eater, either.”

Kurokawa turned toward the camera once more, producing an orange vial and flicking it with his fingernail.

“What a marvelous medicine… You knew this whole time, didn’t you, Nekoyanagi? That poor excuse for a mushroom can’t possibly be the legendary Rust-Eater…”

Here Kurokawa’s voice deepened, and he brought his jet-black eyes right up to the camera and muttered.

“The last Sunday of this month is a very special day, indeed. For that day, I will ensure your sister meets a most untimely end. These are my demands. One: Reveal to me the truth of the Rust-Eater. Two: Hand over the redheaded monkey. I’ll trade both of those for your sister… Ah, I’ll even throw in my manga collection. Look at this, I’ve got Phoenix, even Slam Dunk… Oh? I only have up to Volume 9 of that. Wait, that’s all? That’s no good…

“Anyway, you get the idea. The next date with your partner will be to Shimobuki Garrison. And do hurry. I’ll be waiting, and there’s very little to do out there. Until you show up, I’m just going to have to keep making these announcements.

“See you then. Ciao.”