THE WOMAN IN THE WATER

CHAPTER 4

-

I

-

Although to May’s eyes D appeared to have recovered completely, the truth of the matter was that even now, a heated battle was taking place within his flesh. The bloodsucking blooms Crimson Stitchwort had unleashed were far more virulent than the ones the Hunter had once removed from the baron’s lungs. Toxins excreted from the tips of the hairlike roots were able to transform even the blood of a dhampir like D into something vile—the blood itself turned into poison, for these flowers loved polluted blood. Moreover, the instant they were about to be extracted, they released ten times the normal amount of toxins, as if they intended to drag their victim down to hell with them. Even now they contaminated D’s blood and coursed through his body.

D possessed the ageless and immortal flesh of the Nobility, and his blood had the ability to cleanse itself of impurities. But would that take twelve hours, or a day, or three days more? Until just before noon, he remained motionless in the water wheel’s shed—or rather, in the factory.

May was worried about Taki. The night before, that fat pig had said that Taki was in Lord Vlad’s castle while D had him by the throat. He’d also stated that Lord Vlad was quite fond of the blood of virgins. It might be that it was already too late.

What’s D doing? she thought, but when she looked, she found the gorgeous figure in black walking around the factory without making a sound. Not in contemplation, but more likely he was taking everything in. From time to time, he would run his hand over some machinery whose purpose was utterly foreign to May.

Hurry up and go save her!

Though she felt exasperated, as a woman of the Frontier, she recognized the hard facts when they reared their ugly head. He had neither a duty nor an obligation to save them. His job was to deal with the Nobility—to hunt down vampires. And while it was as strange a thing as could ever be imagined that he would play bodyguard to a pair of Nobles and wage a constant deadly battle all the way to their destination, given that the gorgeous young man had a strange personality far removed from that of both humanity and Nobility, it wasn’t completely beyond comprehension. For that very reason, May found it utterly impossible to fathom why D had broken with his own creed and rescued her the previous night.

In that case, he should help Taki too, May thought, but she didn’t say anything. The gruesome surgery he’d performed there in the hut had made it clear exactly how dearly he’d paid just to rescue her. Now he’d completely healed—or so it seemed. But she couldn’t bring herself to say that now he had to go save Taki.

It was almost noontime.

In the vast building, a third voice—one that couldn’t possibly be there—remarked in a hoarse tone, “Looks like rain, eh?”

Streaks like silken threads fell at an angle beyond the window.

“Doesn’t look to be just a passing shower. That throws a wrench into things.”

Making no reply, D gazed at the ever-growing torrents of rain.

An hour after high noon—that was the time the Nobility were at their weakest, their “hour of doom,” as it were. The biorhythms of those slumbering in coffins would reach their nadir, and the Nobles would be practically unable to move a muscle. Even Baron Balazs hadn’t been able to speak to D during that period. And his father, Lord Vlad, would be no exception, either.

The rain fell with a dull thrum.

What happened at such times?

Based on readings taken by a number of the Nobility’s scientists, the drop in their biorhythms would be less than usual for high noon. Although rain was indeed one of the forms of running water that constituted a weakness for vampires, by blocking out the sun at noon, it actually served as a kind of antidote—like using a snake’s venom to make antivenin. However, for a dhampir like D, it was nothing short of a major ordeal. The rain only aided the Nobility because they were shielded by their coffins. On the other hand, D would be forced to expose his skin to running water. His muscles would lose both strength and speed, his form would grow heavy, and horrid chills and fever would assail his body by turns. Most Vampire Hunters avoided doing battle on rainy days, as Nobles in their coffins would be ready then for hired assassins.

Picking up his saddle, D walked over to May. As the girl stood bolt upright in shock, he said to her, “I’m leaving town.”

The girl’s eyes were tinged with understanding—and with despair.

“Or would you like to hire me instead?”

It was a few seconds later that there was a booming toll in May’s head, like that of a great bell.

“Me—hire you?”

“I’m a Hunter. I make no distinctions between employers.”

“But . . .” May realized that something warm was rising in her chest. Raw emotion. “But, I don’t have any money.”

“You can pay later,” D said in a cold tone.

“In that case—in that case, you’re on. D—you’re hired. Save Taki!”

“Understood,” said D.

They now had a contract.

“I’m going to the castle. You should—”

Stay here, D was about to say, but then he turned and faced the windows again. The rain already blanketed the world like smoke, making the entire scene one of blurred shadowgraphs. And he had heard the sound of hoofbeats in the distance.

“They’re coming,” remarked a hoarse voice that May couldn’t hear.

“The enemy’s here. There’s a boat tied up outside at the dock. Get in it and wait.”

Although the Hunter spoke softly, there was a resolute steeliness to his tone, and May dashed for the back door with a face void of emotion.

Seeing that she’d gone, D then advanced to the center of the shed, where he stood silently. Five seconds passed. Then ten.

The sound of the iron-shod hooves came to a halt right in front of the shed.

“Ten of them,” his left hand said.

“Come on out, Hunter!” a voice was heard to call through the door via a microphone. “We know what you are. Come on out into the rain. Or if you’ve got a problem with that, we’ll give you five seconds before we blow this shack sky high. Five . . . four . . .”

When the voice reached “one,” D stepped through the door.

Through the world-shrouding rain, the figures that had already dismounted and the pair who still remained in the saddle came into focus.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” a young man on horseback said, his lips twisting into a grin. “As you may already know, I’m Zanus. A servant of Lord Vlad. And this is Sai Fung of the Thousand Limbs.”

“You sure went and made a fine mess of things,” Sai Fung said with clear disbelief. “Forcing your way into Fisher Lagoon’s, making a fool out of one of his clients, and cutting down guards to boot. That’s no ordinary whorehouse, you know. In a manner of speaking, it’s the other sanctum here in the village.”

“That’s more than enough out of you,” Zanus said, glaring at Sai Fung.

“What’s the problem? We’re gonna kill him here and now anyway. If we send a Vampire Hunter into the hereafter without him even knowing why, there’s no guarantee he won’t come back as some kind of ghost,” the other man replied, but it seemed that he really just liked to talk too much.

“You know why it is that his house can go about its business so flamboyantly? Well, this is just between you and me, but the place has the Sacred Ancestor’s—Oof!” he groaned, the wind knocked out of him by the leg Zanus had driven into his side.

Though Sai Fung’s face contorted with pain, his normal expression quickly returned as he continued impassively, “At any rate, no one’s allowed to spill blood there. You’re the first one to ever break that rule. Matters of right or wrong aside, I’m impressed with you, and it’s on account of that we wasted no time in hunting you down. When the lord caught wind of it, he was royally pissed, which is why he had folks spread out all night searching the whole village. This place was spotted thanks to a mountain dove with a TV eye mounted in it. Of course, it would’ve been better if it’d been in the morning. Due to the downpour we’ve got now, it had to get pretty close before we could tell.”

And having brought that to a close, Sai Fung caught his breath.

“Do you recall the name Galil?” Zanus inquired coldly. “He led the Dark Water Forces—who you probably slew—but those you see here were modified after that into the most elite corps of the entire army. Try not to let yourself get butchered before it’s our turn, D!”

And saying that, Zanus gave a toss of his chin, and the shadowy figures who up until that point had been standing there in the driving rain croaked in reply and began to advance on D without another sound. Some splashed through puddles as they advanced. Some had their torsos still half-melded with the ground. But the strangest of all did some of both—slipping in and out of the water.

Standing there impassively, ready to meet them, D said, “Last night, a young lady and a man paid a call on your master. What happened to them?”

“Oh, wow!” Sai Fung exclaimed, raising one hand and drawing a glare from Zanus once again. “I heard about that from Dr. de Carriole. By ‘a man,’ you must mean Master Byron. Sad to say, the young lady in question had her blood sucked before his very eyes, and then he was dumped into the running water. I wonder what’s become of him now. Probably still down there, a bloated meal for the fish. The whole story just brings a tear to my eye.”

“Once we knew you’d arrived, security around the castle was increased tenfold. Nothing can get in, be it god or demon. Not that it’s anything you’ll need to concern yourself with anyway. Get him!”

At the command Zanus barked, two of the water warriors leapt at D. Rain spattered off the bastard sword each held in his right hand. Although D didn’t appear to move at all, the two attackers seemed to take it upon themselves to slip right past him on either side, crashing into the door behind the Hunter. With a sound like a slap in the mud, they were promptly smashed flat. All that remained were viscous black stains.

While it was unclear when D had drawn the weapon, the sight of the dully gleaming blade in his right hand made the two men on horseback look at each other.

“Hell, they’ll just be throwing their lives away,” Sai Fung said as he gazed with pity at the half-dozen water warriors still surrounding D. “Stand back. I’m coming through.”

“No,” Zanus countered. “I let you deliver that Noblewoman to Dr. de Carriole. Now it’s my turn to have some fun.”

Digging his heels into the belly of his cyborg horse, he advanced on his mount through the rain.

“You look weary; you know that, D?” Zanus called down to him from horseback. Astonishingly enough, he’d been able to ascertain D’s physical condition from the last bit of swordsmanship. From a stroke of such ungodly speed no one should’ve detected anything out of the ordinary.

“Let me share something else with you. You’re already under my spell.”

Surprise was shown not by D, but rather by Sai Fung.

“Go!” Zanus bellowed, and this time a trio of figures rushed D at his command.

After each and every one of those around him had been reduced to something that was neither muck nor clay, fresh blood erupted from both of D’s shoulders.

“Your arms didn’t seem to move very well. That would be thanks to the doll you found out on the road through the rocks. It had the same face as you, didn’t it? Well, that’s because it’s you. And through that doll, you yourself are now a puppet under my control.”

-

II

-

“How do you like this, Hunter? I made another one!” Zanus said, reaching around to his back with his right hand, and holding a fresh and lovely visage glowing in that same hand when it returned. It was D’s face—or rather, a mask of it.

In antiquity, it was believed that photographs or masks that reproduced someone’s face had the magical ability to draw the soul out of their subject, and the masks crafted by this Zanus character seemed to exhibit the very power mentioned in those old tales. For the briefest instant, D’s soul would be transferred to the two masks that were identical to him and he would fall under the control of their creator, Zanus. Just enough time for him to fire a stake through the Hunter’s heart.

The remaining water warriors crushed in around D, and a second later, a flash of white light sliced off their heads, melting them away.

But look. Bright blood was gushing from D’s right side.

“All while under my spell—you’re good,” Zanus remarked with unexaggerated admiration as he pulled tight on the reins. Whinnying, his cyborg horse poised to advance. “At long last, it’s me you’ll face. Keep your gloves on, because you’ll be needing them to knock on heaven’s gates.”

The grayish horse and rider raced through the driving rain. Zanus’s right hand already gripped a longsword.

Even covered in fresh blood as he was, D stood like a solitary piece of black ironwork. His face looked at the other. It was at just that instant that a crack ran down the length of the beautiful mask the man held up so high.

“Ah!” Zanus cried out in desperation on noticing the crack, but only after he’d bounded for D.

The black-garbed figure of unearthly beauty who’d leapt up over his head brought his blade down with a might and speed that showed no sign in the least of being spellbound, splitting the mask maker from the tip of his head to the middle of his chest with one stroke.

A vermilion hue swirled through the ash-gray world.

As D came back to earth, the wall of rain slapped against his face, seemingly whipped by the wind. Yet his eyes didn’t so much as blink as he watched a shadowy form dwindle in the distance with a thunder of hoofbeats, the man already so far away that it would be impossible to give chase.

Whatever kind of swordplay he’d used, not a drop of gore remained on D’s sword as he returned it to his back, turning then to face the shed.

From behind him, a voice that didn’t seem like it could’ve come from anything living rolled across the ground.

“Could it be . . . that I . . . underestimated you? You . . . the man they call . . . D?”

It was Zanus’s voice. While he had indeed been slashed from the crown of his head to the breastbone, he still sat on his horse gripping the reins. His entire body—and the back of his horse—were soaked with blood. And blood continued to spill from the wound, but perhaps he was running dry, because the gore was washed away by the torrential downpour to reveal a terrible gash and skin as pale as paraffin.

Ordinarily, D would’ve been merciless in delivering the coup de grace at this point. What stopped him? Was he strangely moved by the willpower of his foe?

“Just tell me . . . one thing . . . How come . . . my mask . . . didn’t . . .”

Though the words came from a dead man, D didn’t reply.

At that point, the rain that hung like a screen between them was blown off in another direction by the wind. Zanus’s face was already a rictus, and when his eyes lit up with amazement, it then swiftly took on a look of comprehension and even tranquillity.

“So, that’s it? The real thing . . . was just that handsome . . . was he? In that case, I guess I wasn’t up to capturing it . . . with my own hands . . . My mask . . . must’ve been an embarrassment . . . You pretty boys are a whole different ball of wax,” Zanus muttered in the end, the words of admiration slipping from him as his body fell out of the saddle and hit the ground.

Not even bothering to check the corpse, D walked back to the water wheel and its shed in the driving rain.

May raced over to him. Disregarding his instructions to stay in the boat at the dock, she couldn’t help but stay and watch the deadly battle out in the rain. The fresh blood dripping from one side of his black raiment tinged the girl’s retinas with crimson. Stopping cold for just a heartbeat, May then quickly tore one of the sleeves off her blouse and attempted to press it against D’s wound.

“Don’t,” D said tersely as he walked deeper into the building.

“Why not? I’ve got to patch you up. Dhampir or not, you’re hurt real bad!”

“It’ll heal soon enough.”

Though soft, his refusal came in a tone infused with a force and a weight that paralyzed May, but she swiftly mustered her courage again.

“No way. There’s gotta be germs everywhere around here, after all. Now, let me have a look at it.”

Surprisingly enough, D halted, saying nothing as he showed her his side and the black clothing that covered it.

Pushing the fabric aside a bit, May let a cry of “What in the world?” slip out.

The flow of blood had stopped as if there’d never been any bleeding in the first place, and the blood that clung to him had dried into complete blackness. Utterly at odds with everything she knew, the healing that’d taken place was almost miraculous.

But even for a dhampir?

Yes. No one had ever mentioned anything about an ordinary dhampir displaying such fierce recuperative abilities.

In any case, May hadn’t been able to help at all.

As the girl stood there frozen in a daze, D took two or three steps before halting and turning to her with one hand extended.

“I’ll take that,” he said.

May’s face was beaming.

The young man, beautiful and cold as a crystal-clear winter night, hadn’t forgotten how to take the feelings of others into consideration.

Holding the cloth to his wound, D said, “We’re leaving right away—get your stuff together.”

Their hideout had been discovered.

“Okay.”

As the girl gave a vigorous nod, her eyes reflected the figure of D slowly sinking to the ground.

“D?!”

Dashing over, May turned her eyes to D’s wound. He was down on one knee.

The cloth was deep red and soaked.

“How?” she exclaimed despite herself.

Just then, from between the cloth and the wound, something resembling a bloody root suddenly wriggled out. No, it most definitely was a thin root. The seeds Crimson Stitchwort had sown in D’s body had drunk his blood and grown to the point where they were now breaking out. Although D’s taking that blade in his side had been due to the falling rain and to Zanus’s spell, the effect of the menace within him had also been great.

As the root tried to wriggle free, D grasped it firmly and jerked it right out. With the sound of ripping flesh, a bloodied mass appeared. Seeing that it had the form of a disturbing flower, May had to fight desperately to keep her consciousness from slipping away.

“What is that thing?” she asked.

D stood up again, throwing the fearsome vampire bloom on the ground and crushing it beneath his foot. A copious amount of blood surged out around it, like ripples on a pond.

Before May could do anything, he told her, “Wait a second,” then entered the staff quarters in the back.

Closing the door, he took a seat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a knife with his right hand.

What was he going to do? Perform an operation. He was going to carve his own chest open in order to root out the bloody blossoms that riddled his body and even now continued to strengthen their hold.

Though his gorgeous face had lost what little color it normally had, not a hint of pain lingered on it as D cut open the left side of his chest. Fresh blood gushed out. Merely furrowing his brow a bit, D coolly held the knife, slicing a cross into his chest and then sticking his right hand in through the opening.

Each flower left a bloody trail behind as it was pulled out, and ten minutes later, they numbered a half-dozen.

Covered with a thin sweat, D gave the knife a small flick to clean off the beads of blood before ordering in a low voice, “Show yourself.”

The door opened slowly.

“So, you noticed me after all, as I might’ve expected,” a strapping man in a black mask muttered with delight from the doorway.

His mask had openings for neither his eyes nor his mouth. He was, quite literally, entirely featureless. From the way he wore the combat belt around his waist and the artless angle of his longsword, one got the feeling this was no run-of-the-mill fighting man, but a daunting professional. The reason D hadn’t taken any action earlier despite noticing the man’s arrival was because he hadn’t sensed any murderous intent.

With a light shake of his black-mask-shrouded head, the man said, “Well, that’s not good. Just looking at you makes my head swim. I didn’t think there was any man in the world as good looking as all that.”

Having said that with a sigh, he continued, “At the request of a certain person, we’re to guard you. Kindly get your gear together.”

“And who is this certain person?” asked D. There wasn’t anything at all in his voice to hint at the fact that he’d just opened his own chest and performed an operation.

“Even we don’t know that,” the man replied. “All I can tell you is that we got the request in the middle of the night last night, and we were told where you could be found. Now, if you’d kindly come with us.”

“Not yet,” D replied, opening a compartment on his belt and taking a small leather bag from it.

Once he’d sprinkled a brownish powder on his wound, the man in the black mask shouted to him with some agitation, “Hey!”

Sparks went up. A mass of black smoke drifted into the air. As it spread, it carried the pungent odor of cooked flesh. It was gunpowder that D had sprinkled on the wound. Though this was a common method of sterilization out on the Frontier, it did seem a little rough when someone did it right before your eyes.

“There’s more to you than we ever heard,” the man in the black mask said, not so much because of the actual treatment, but more likely because not a single trace of pain had shown in D’s expression. His surprise was all the greater when he saw the Hunter stand again at the edge of the bed without any real effort.

Exiting that room, D found five more people in black masks standing in the center of the hut, protecting May. It was clear from the way they carried themselves that they were all highly competent. To hire a half-dozen pros of this caliber—or perhaps even more—their employer must’ve been extremely well to do. Apparently May understood that the men were on their side, for while she looked somewhat uncomfortable, there was no sign of fear in her.

The group went outside, all of them dissolving into the rain like black smoke.

Avoiding the main road, they took a byway that came to a fork. If they were to keep going straight, it would bring them right into town, while branching to the right would lead to forbidden territory—the home of Vlad.

Halting his horse, D asked, “Where is this hideout you mentioned?”

The first of the black masks replied, “In a certain warehouse on Thornton Street in town. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Just take the girl and go,” the Hunter told them.

May turned and looked at D in amazement.

“Where are you going?”

“I have an employer of my own, you know,” D said, raising one hand to May.

By the time he’d raised it, he’d been reduced to a black silhouette the rain bounced off.

“Wounded like that? He’s a hell of a man,” a black mask said in a rusty tone. “So, he’s headed off to Vlad’s manor, is he?”

D had already melted into the rain.

“Well, not even the man known as D is a match for Lord Vlad,” he continued in a tone that made it seem a truth not even May could deny.

-

III

-

D halted at a spot where the mightily flowing river made a broad turn to the right. Once that turn had been made, the manor would be visible. A blue pendant glowed mysteriously against D’s chest. The sensors searching for him and all other electronic devices were rendered ineffective. Or rather, they’d be completely unable to catch D’s form. His foes would have no choice but to rely on spyglasses with old-fashioned lenses, or the naked eye.

Tethering his horse to a nearby tree, D went down to the riverside. For some time now the cawing of crows could be heard. D had recalled the weird birds that sailed through the sky above Lord Vlad’s manor. Making a detour around the manor, he’d gone around to its rear. During their journey, he’d heard all about the manor and area surrounding it from the baron. And the Nobleman had never said anything about the flow of the river being gentle. As it struck the rocks along the riverbank, the water bared white fangs.

D entered the river quietly. It wasn’t very shallow. The first step found him waist deep, and the next made his shoulders vanish. His traveler’s hat alone floated like a piece of black jetsam, and then that, too, quickly disappeared from view.

Needless to say, D was moving underwater. And the river’s flow was sucked under the manor about five hundred yards ahead.

Ordinarily, water would be necessary for drinking and other uses. However, the Nobility’s castles had no need of water. Although they had a use for the river, they wouldn’t really consider the water itself important, and the castle contained machinery that could make it rain. D didn’t know why Lord Vlad’s manor had this most exceptional need for water. But taking the long view of the structure of the castle and the river, he’d deduced where the water would enter.

In no time, he came to an enormous black intake that was like a cavern. Thick iron bars ran the full height of its opening. It came as no surprise that measures had been taken to guard against underwater intruders. D grabbed hold of two of the bars, one with either hand.

Did he intend to bend them? Even with the blood of the Nobility within him, it would be impossible for a dhampir to bend those inch-thick rods of a special metal alloy. Especially not underwater, where the Nobility were at their worst.

Air bubbles rose from D’s lips. And at the same time, an inky streak spilled from the corner of his mouth to spread like a net. Blood. He’d bitten his own lip.

His right arm made a rough jerk, and the iron bar bent like rubber. The one in his left hand followed suit. Twisting his body to slip through the bars, D had a bewitching blood light in his eyes as he was swallowed by the blackness of the hole. Having drunk his own blood to unleash the Noble power within him, D had transformed his handsome features into those of a vampire so cold and cruel the devil himself would’ve gone to great lengths to avoid him.

Once the flow had grown gentler and a blue light shone down from above, D started back toward the surface. There were no signs of life. When he surfaced, it was by an inspection catwalk that ran alongside the waterway. There were doors at either end of it. Making a quick check of his surroundings, D then headed toward the entry before him. It was a computer-operated door. There was a gleam of blue light from his chest. The door opened without a sound.

An incredible sight greeted D. Black pistons of ridiculous proportions ran the length and breadth of the room, and all were in motion. For every turn of the arm that drove them, white steam sprayed out from nowhere in particular to obscure D’s form like some mist-shrouded beauty. The arm had to be easily one hundred and fifty feet long, and the base to which it was attached was unbelievably high and wide, probably tipping the scales in the area of a thousand tons. The sound of each and every rotation was fierce, ringing out like dreadnought-class thunder, and had this not been D, he would’ve gone mad, or perhaps he would’ve ruptured his own eardrums first. No doubt this equipment met the horrendous energy needs of the castle. The black machine that flickered through the white wall of steam was like a giant from some other world slaving away for all eternity, raw and breathtaking.

“That’s a hell of a setup, ain’t it?” a voice said from the vicinity of D’s left hand.

“What do we have here?” it added a second later, letting its own suspicions slip out as D’s eyes also left the titanic machinery and turned to the walkway ahead.

Twenty-five or thirty feet ahead of him stood a woman in a white dress. Her whole form was wrapped in pale white light that could almost be described as phosphorescent. So lovely and graceful was her figure, the Hunter’s left hand let slip a cry of “Oh, my!”

However, it quickly added, “She’s a dead woman, right?”

And as if that remark had reached her, the woman collapsed into nothing.

Hastening over, D found that nothing was left of the woman; not even her clothes remained. There was only one thing there: the stone walkway, which was utterly soaked.

When the palm of his left hand was placed against it, it told him, “This ain’t true water. The river water’s been one hundred percent filtered out of it. I guess you could say the woman was made out of water. No, I’m just joking. Bwa ha ha!”

Before the laughter had ended, D made a great leap to the right and threw himself into the waterway.

From between the machines, a form like a gigantic stag beetle appeared and closed on a puddle on the walkway made from water that’d dripped from D on his way over there. The front half of the beetle’s body turned to face the waterway. While it was unclear what it intended to do, D had long since been swept away to the watery depths. In a manner of speaking, the beetle was a kind of patrol car making its rounds in the manor. D was right to suspect that his intrusion had been discovered.

Less than a minute after he’d entrusted himself to the flow of the waterway, D suddenly found himself surrounded by a vast, open space. Water stretched endlessly on all four sides. The flow that’d carried D here no longer had even a trifling effect on the world, while the blue light was the only saving grace of the motionless void. Making for the light, D started to rise toward the surface.

“This is one weird place,” his left hand said. Its voice was muffled. They were still underwater, after all.

Sticking just his head out, D looked all around. The ceiling was curved in a great vault and had lost the coarseness of natural stone. This was most likely a natural cavern that had been modified.

“Water flows here from the river. But for what? There ain’t so much as a minnow down here!”

At that point, D turned his gaze down into the water and said in a low voice, “No, there is something.”

A pale woman’s face was gazing up at D from below. Her gaze, which could be described as earnest, carried all the solitude of her watery existence, while her white dress seemed to speak of long years that it hadn’t been allowed to flutter despite being underwater. It was definitely the same woman as earlier.

“When did she . . . ?” D’s left hand muttered, and that was probably the very same thing the Hunter was wondering. For not even D’s ultra-keen senses had detected the woman’s approach.

D sank into the water once more. Perhaps he thought the woman really wasn’t suited to being out of the depths.

“Welcome, O mighty one,” the woman said, her voice ringing in his head. It wasn’t telepathy—the woman’s lips were actually moving. And her voice did indeed echo in D’s head.

“Are you the baron’s mother?” D asked in his usual voice. It was quite strange how it sounded normal even underwater.

“Oh! Is my child well?”

“Didn’t you see him?” said D.

“You mean—he has come here?”

“Indeed.”

“In that case—in that case, my husband . . .”

“Your son was out to get his father. Would his father have any compunction about doing the same to his son?”

“No, he would not.”

“If he were slain,” D said coolly, “what would be done with his remains?”

“They would go into the subterranean incinerator or the river.”

“Someone else—a young woman—should’ve been brought here as well.”

“I know nothing of that.”

“Where is Lord Vlad’s bedroom?”

“In the north end of the basement. Or at least it was. Long ago.”

The last phrase seemed tied to boundless thoughts. There wasn’t resentment or anger or even grief. The only emotion in this woman was a calm as still and clear as the waters that surrounded her.

Just as D was about to kick away through the depths, the woman called out to him, “Could I not trouble you to hear a certain tale? You, who have the blood of the Nobility in you but are no Noble, who have the mind of a human but are not human—I should like one such as yourself to hear this. To hear our tale.”

The woman’s voice held emotion for the first time. And that meant chaos and destruction for this placid world.

“Wow!” the Hunter’s left hand remarked.

A fierce turbulence that would’ve left any ordinary person unable to keep their eyes open speared through the crushing depths of the water, tossing D like a toy.

The woman could do more than merely drift peacefully.

Just then, the waves that traveled through the water carried a different sound.

“An intruder has been detected,” said a voice that reached them underwater—the voice of a machine. “No one’s come this way, have they?”

“Leave me!” the woman said, her lips moving.

“Pardon the intrusion.”

“Oh, now there’s something you don’t find much. Fear in a machine’s voice. It seems the lady ain’t just a sunken stiff.”

While it was unclear just where the left hand had learned such colorful terminology, it fell silent after that.

“I’ll hear you out,” said D.

The woman’s violent emotion had already been lost.

“You see, a month before my child—Byron—was born, a certain august personage came to our manor,” the woman began, speaking through the water. “Ah, yes—he has an air about him that is so very much like yours, the great one does.”

All she could remember was a giant figure in black standing there in the center of the great hall—this is what the woman told him. Her husband and their retainers had prostrated themselves, and when she followed their example, that great personage declared, “Your child shall be born in a month’s time—but I want to perform a certain procedure on him immediately, and I shall take custody of him for three months once he is born.”

“Forgive my impertinence, but what are you trying to say?” Lord Vlad had asked.

“I shall make a new Nobility!” he answered instantly.

That reply caused the woman to tremble. Persistent rumors circulated about the great one abducting large numbers of human girls and also performing bizarrely inhuman experiments on Nobility. She thought her husband would object. However, with the great one before him, her husband consented readily, saying, “This is a great honor. Kindly do as you see fit, and allow us to serve in any way that we may.” And as he expressed his approval, he smiled so broadly his cheeks seemed fit to burst.

For the following month, the woman was troubled. The mixing of human and Noble blood—that was the sort of thing the rumors described. For a woman of purebred Noble upbringing, that was every bit as cruel as plummeting straight to hell. Especially when that fate might be her child’s. She worried, contemplating everything from running away to killing both her baby and herself, but she was unable to pursue either course of action. Knowing well what weighed on his wife’s mind, the lord had her under strict surveillance.

Presently, the day of the delivery came and the great one called upon them once more, taking the infant away just as promised. After her husband returned from seeing off their guest in the most obsequious fashion, the woman rebuked him violently.

“Why didn’t you try to stop him? How could you let him take our treasure? I despise you. And I shall never forgive you, for so long as I live,” she said, spitting the words out like a gout of blood.

In reply, her husband merely said, “Wait three months.”

For the woman, those three months were like flesh being shaved from her bones. And then her baby returned. The shadowy figure that towered once again in their hall set the peacefully slumbering babe on the floor and turned to leave without speaking a single word.

Her husband called out to his back, “Were you successful, or was it—a failure?”

There was no answer.

“Byron grew up without incident. He was showered with blessings by my husband, myself, and everyone else. And as my child grew, my hatred waned.”

Watching her child grow into a fine young man, the woman swore to herself that she would protect him no matter what happened.

The change, rather, came in her husband. It was when Byron was five or six that she noticed a disapproving gleam drifting through her husband’s eyes whenever he looked at the boy. With each passing day it only grew in intensity, until it took the form of cruel violence unleashed on Byron’s person. One day, his coffin was taken from its place in the basement and left out in the sunlight unbeknownst to anyone. A timer had been set on the lid so that it would open at a certain hour. Byron’s entire body was burnt, engulfed in flames.

“I’m not sure whether or not you know this, but when a Noble’s flesh is charred by the rays of the sun, it never again returns to its original pallor,” the woman said sadly. “Perhaps that would’ve been for the best. Ever since that incident, my husband’s feelings toward our child could only be described as murderous . . . ever since our child’s skin returned to normal that very same day.”