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The pair the Hunter held aloft screamed.

“It’s the fountain plague,” said Juke. “Sergei, get that medicine ready.”

Halting the wagon, Juke climbed down from the driver’s seat. Along with Sergei, who came out of the vehicle carrying a paper parcel, he hurried over to the boy and girl. However, before they got to them, the two youthful figures fell to the ground.

On reaching them, Juke and Sergei held their breath and froze in their tracks. Neither of them had ever seen a victim of fountain plague in the flesh before.

The boy and girl were both covered with blood, but they weren’t injured. The men knew that. Even now, fresh blood continued to ooze from the children’s faces, necks, arms, and legs. It came from every pore in their bodies.

According to The Complete Book of Frontier Medicine, which was distributed to every village on the Frontier, this strain of bacteria was carried by an as-yet unidentified species of supernatural beast, and when it infected humans, they would experience intense vertigo, malaise, and fatigue. What’s more, within three hours they would begin to bleed from their pores starting in the area near the lungs, and if no effective steps were taken to treat them, they would be dead within twelve hours after the bleeding started. Although the immediate cause of death was blood loss, the process by which the bacteria inside the body caused this reaction was still being investigated, and no effective treatment had been discovered. The sight of an infected person staggering around covered with blood was chilling, and the relentless manner in which the lifeblood pumped from her body led to the sickness being dubbed “fountain plague.”

Though the sight was so horrible it had made the transporters stop in spite of themselves, their human emotions soon returned to them. Tearing open the package, Sergei took out a pair of painless disposable syringes loaded with medicine and handed one of them to Juke. The drug was injected directly into a vein. The children were so emaciated there was no trouble locating a vein, so that part was easy enough.

“I wonder if we’re in time?” Sergei inquired, a grave look on his face, but Juke could only tilt his head to one side with an even graver expression. It certainly looked like they were too late.

The boy and girl had fallen still holding hands, and their eyes opened simultaneously.

“Holy!” Sergei whooped with joy.

“Get ready to do a transfusion,” Juke ordered him before leaning over the children to ask, “Are you in pain?”

“Yeah.” The boy probably lacked even the strength to lie. He inquired feebly, “What about Ann?”

Juke replied gently, “She’s right beside you. Holding your hand.”

“Good. I didn’t want her to go alone. I’ll go right along with her.”

“Don’t talk. You’ll feel better soon.”

But once he’d said that, Juke realized the gravity of the situation, and he made a wretched face.

“I’m glad. This sickness really, really hurts.”

“I know. You’ve held up so well,” Juke said, taking his hand and wiping the boy’s red face. There was a chance of catching it through epidermal contact, but that didn’t bother him. The skin that appeared had a waxy hue.

“Mister . . . have you got medicine with you? Can you cure this?”

“Yeah.”

“Then . . . save everyone in the village.”

Juke suddenly looked next to the boy—at the girl.

“My father . . . and my mother are suffering . . . The two of us . . . came to get help,” she continued. “But . . . those men shot at us . . .”

The two men averted their eyes from Juke and Sergei.

“She—she’s lying!”

“They’re horrible!” the girl said. Her cute little face was stained red up to her hair. “They told us to go get money . . . from the villagers. Said they’d let us go if we did. But all they did . . . was take the money . . .”

“You fucking bastards,” Sergei said, rising to his feet.

He drew his gun. Pressing it against the forehead of one, then the other, he said, “I know you couldn’t let them out. But stealing money from them when they’re just trying to buy their own survival is something even the damned Nobility wouldn’t stoop to!”

And while he was saying that, the emotion within him grew stronger and stronger, until he was ready to explode.

“Die!”

A second later, the pair vanished from in front of his quaking gun barrel. D had hoisted them up.

“Stay out of this!” the transporter told him.

“These two will get the death they deserve,” the Hunter replied in a voice that called to mind the stillness of a wintry night, and it chilled not only the pair, but Sergei as well.

“That’s right,” Juke said in a low tone. “Right now I don’t feel like seeing any more death. These two kids just passed on.”

—

II

—

Sergei’s shoulders drooped, and he gazed down at the red faces of the dead.

“You know, it kinda looks like they’re smiling.”

“They probably felt relieved because they ran into us. Even if I wind up going to hell, that’s bound to make my punishment a little lighter,” Juke said, gently stroking the cheeks of the two children.

“Shouldn’t we bury them?”

“Later. Let’s get the medicine to the village.”

“Okay.” Putting his gun away, Sergei spat at the two men, then went back to the children and folded his hands.

A beautiful shadow fell beside him.

“D?”

Setting the two men he held down on the ground, the gorgeous Hunter pushed their faces toward the innocent faces of the dead. Although the men kicked against the ground and tried to flee, his iron grip would never allow them to escape.

“Stop it!”

“Help! You’ll get us infected.”

Their pleas gave way to screams as he pressed the men’s lips against the cheeks of the boy and the girl, as if to kiss them goodbye.

The pair collapsed on the spot—D’s spell over them had finally broken. They didn’t move a muscle. They’d fainted.

“They got what they deserved . . . but you can still be pretty harsh,” Juke said as he gave D a fearful look. “They’ve lost their minds! Of course, where the Frontier’s concerned, that’s probably all for the best.”

As he was about to walk back to the wagon, he gasped and stopped in his tracks. In front of him stood the other girl named Ann.

“He said her name was Ann, didn’t he?”

Eyes as sharp and clear as glass reflected the face of the girl on the ground.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Why do human beings die? From sicknesses and things like that, I mean.”

“Because we’re human!” Juke answered.

“Hmm. Are you crying?”

“I suppose I am.”

“But you know human beings die, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why does this sadden you? It’s the natural outcome.”

“I’ll murder you, you little monster!” Sergei shouted in the distance.

“Knock it off,” Juke told him, and then he said to Lady Ann, “Don’t you feel anything at all about that other Ann dying?”

“Not a thing.”

Juke nodded. His expression suggested he’d just confirmed something.

“Good enough. Now, get back to the wagon. We’re going into the village.”

—

At just about the same time that D and his group were having their confrontation at the blockade, Grand Duke Mehmet was in the northern forest. An enormous figure leaned against a tremendous languia tree that looked to be thirty feet in diameter, while beside that figure there was a second that looked exactly like it but smaller—a normal, human-sized figure that was also the grand duke. Now his actual form and his surrogate were finally face to face. The strange thing was, when the real grand duke put his hands behind his head, the oversized impostor struck the same pose.

“That D is a monster,” said the Noble, who, from the human perspective, was considered nothing short of a monster himself. “I saw the Duke of Xenon’s remains. Dr. Gretchen, too, has been destroyed. It doesn’t seem there’s a chance in the world of me triumphing over him all alone. I think perhaps it would be best if I made a stealthy retreat from the front lines.”

Taking his hands from behind his head, he ran them over his upper body.

“I was cut here . . . here . . . and here,” he said, staring at the same spots on his gigantic doppelgänger.

As long as his true form was unharmed, his copy couldn’t be defeated, and as long as the copy remained functioning, his true form needn’t fear a mortal injury. But somewhere along the line the laws of physics had to be respected, and when the copy was damaged, the same spot had trouble healing on the real Nobleman.

Not even faded light leaked through the heavy forest, and the two of them were in deep shadow.

“That’s decided easily enough—however, one essential question remains unsolved. Why were we brought back to life? To destroy D?”

Just as the face in the shadows took on an even darker expression, the doppelgänger stirred up a breeze as it hastened to its feet. While the grand duke knew it mimicked his every movement, it still held him spellbound.

From the depths of the forest—off to the south—a tall figure was approaching. Covered from head to toe in armor the hue of the darkness, the figure halted about thirty feet from the grand duke.

“Are you working for D?” the Nobleman inquired, even though he knew that couldn’t possibly be the case. But the murderous intent that billowed at him was so far beyond the pale, he couldn’t help but ask.

“He’s one of your colleagues!” General Gaskell said, his words raining down from nowhere in particular.

“General?”

“He’s an assassin I summoned. His name is Lord Rocambole, and—”

Whatever the great general had intended to say next was cut off by Grand Duke Mehmet’s cry of surprise.

“Lord Rocambole—an atrocious fellow who was never supposed to be brought back, no matter how it might change the history of the Nobility.”

“You might well call him a god of atrocity,” the disembodied voice said with relish. “You and the others have disappointed me. I summoned all these vaunted figures, yet I’m terribly let down that you haven’t finished off that stripling yet. Everything has to transform, from the ground up. In other words, we need a change of personnel.”

“So you intend to replace me—with Rocambole? The curse of Mehmet will be on you for generations!”

“Unfortunately, you alone won’t suffice. I had to throw in two more—Baron Schuma, and the Duke of Xenon’s daughter. Even with this three-for-one trade, the lord seems a bit dissatisfied. He claims he requires four lives to slay D for certain.”

It was unclear whether or not Gaskell’s words reached him; the armored figure hadn’t made a single movement. Compared to the Duke of Xenon’s modern armor, his suit seemed horribly antiquated. Now, his right hand rose. As he reached for the longsword on his hip, his movements were terribly jerky. He’d be no match for D like this. And yet, the real Mehmet leapt back a good ten feet.

“The lord is still half asleep. We haven’t fulfilled the part of the contract yet where the three of you are slain. However, even in that state, he’s still up to fighting you. Just try him, Grand Duke Mehmet.”

“Actually, I had intended to flee,” Grand Duke Mehmet said, determination filling his eyes. “But I can’t step aside now, general. For my sake and the sake of the others you’ve summoned, Lord Rocambole must be destroyed.”

“Hmm, well said. I suppose that might help shake him from his sleep. Are you fine with that, milord?”

His answer came in the form of the longsword the newcomer drew. Unlike D’s curved blade, this one was straight and double edged. It was also thick. More than intricate swordsmanship, this old-fashioned sword was meant for swinging and chopping and whacking.

The gigantic doppelgänger opened its mouth. No matter what kind of skill this man might possess, Grand Duke Mehmet was convinced he couldn’t be any worse than D. The way the Hunter had cut into his doppelgänger was unlike anything any foe had done before. Not only had the grand duke’s true form writhed in hellish pain, but for a few seconds, he’d actually died. It didn’t seem possible there was another person in the whole world with such freakish skill. Though he’d heard Lord Rocambole’s name and knew of his abilities, it came as little surprise he still put more trust in what he’d physically experienced.

The space eater disgorged by his copy began to devour itself ten feet from the armored figure. The hole that opened in space roared as it sucked up everything around it.

Artlessly, the lord raised his right hand. He slashed at the hole in space. This shouldn’t have had any effect at all, but the hole fell apart lengthwise. Without even glancing at the giant figure who stood there, dumbfounded, by its sudden disappearance, the lord raised his sword with his right hand and hurled it at a tree a good hundred feet away. From behind the tree came a painful death rattle, quickly replaced by silence.

While Rocambole went over to the tree with the jerky movements of a marionette, the giant behind him fell, turning into multicolored clay in a matter of seconds. But the lord never looked back at it. Grabbing the sword that had been buried to the hilt, he pulled it out again with one tug . . . and using only one hand.

Though there was the sound of something heavy falling on the opposite side, Lord Rocambole didn’t seem the least bit interested as he returned his longsword to its sheath and walked back the way he’d come.

“Now there are just two more, Lord Rocambole. We shall meet soon!” General Gaskell said, his voice giving way to laughter, and then gradually fading into the distance.

Perhaps catching the stench of blood in the dark forest where not even a beam of sunlight pierced the trees, countless insects buzzed into action, but suddenly they scattered in unison. On the grass not ten feet from the fateful tree there lay a boulder, and from behind it a figure in a blaze of vermilion had appeared.

“Well, I finally manage to get that vampire bloom out of me, only to find this odd turn of events. They said something about trading three lives; all that leaves is Gillis, Lady Ann, and me. I don’t know who’s going to be spared, but I think it would be best if I took my leave as soon as possible.”

—

III

—

The scene in the village was far worse than Juke and the others had ever imagined. For lack of a better word, it was hell. The ground, the houses, the well, the stables—everything was stained with blood. Inside and out, villagers dyed vermilion had fallen, and regardless of whether or not they still drew breath, thin geysers of blood gushed from each and every one of their pores like some sort of parlor trick.

Having no choice but to leave the dead where they lay, they went around injecting those who still lived with the medicine. Even for a village the place was still pretty big. They’d only covered a third of it by twilight, and the group had no choice but to depend on lanterns and the lights on their wagon to continue their work. Even after they’d given the people the injections, most of them were too far gone and died. On seeing the corpse of a baby that couldn’t have been more than a few months old, Gordo and Sergei sobbed out loud.

Keeping away from the group while they were absorbed by their ghastly task, Lady Ann stood outside the wagon. She heard Gordo cursing and Sergei crying inside a crude house. The cute little girl couldn’t understand what made them so sad.

Human beings grew old and died. She understood that. But what about a Noble like herself? Lady Ann had already lived nearly eight centuries looking exactly the same as she did now. And she would probably stay that way forever—so long as she didn’t take a rough wooden stake through the heart or decay in the light of the sun. Wasn’t that wonderful?

As a Noble, it was extremely difficult for Lady Ann to comprehend the grief humans felt in the face of death, and it gave her a slight feeling of superiority—or it should have. And yet, for some reason, a desolate wind blew through her heart. The way the dead girl that shared her name had looked remained now in Lady Ann’s brain. Ann would never move again—she would never come back to life. How pointless. How frail. That’s what it meant to be a human being. For those who died and those they left behind, death seemed something unspeakably cruel. Yet that girl—the other Ann—had worn a peaceful face in death.

Someone had once whispered something into Lady Ann’s ear: I envy human beings. Because they live as hard as they can, and die still wanting to live some more. Come to think of it, all the Nobility Lady Ann knew were shrouded in a kind of indolent ennui. Splendid masques and solemn plays in golden opera houses all drifted by like a lazy summer’s afternoon reeking of blood and death, but for all their laughter, the Nobility were weary. They were tired. Oh so tired. But what would come next?

From the very start, Lady Ann couldn’t be expected to understand the beauty of mortality, but what she did feel was vague anxiety and a pang of futility. Despite this, a ten-year-old human girl had died looking satisfied. Is that what it meant to live as hard as you could?

Gordo and Sergei’s words faded into the distance, and Lady Ann felt as if she’d been cut off from the world. There weren’t any stars in the sky. There wasn’t even a moon.

“Lady Ann,” someone called out to her.

She turned, but there was no one there.

“You can’t see me in the darkness. Because the night is a world made from the shadows.”

“Major General Gillis?”

“None other.”

“Where are you?” the girl inquired raptly.

“At your feet.”

Only darkness lay there. But if the major general said so, it was probably the case. She had no particular dislike for the man.

How did you get here? she was going to ask, but she stopped herself. For the man they called “the Dark One,” night and the darkness were his own personal kingdom.

“What do you want?” she inquired out of reflex. “Don’t tell me you’re out to take D’s life . . .”

“In the end, yes,” Major General Gillis replied. “But at present, there’s a more pressing matter. It concerns a woman very dear to me.”

“What might that be?”

“General Gaskell has abandoned us. In exchange for the lives of three of us, he intends to dispatch a more powerful assassin. Lord Rocambole.”

“Oh my,” Lady Ann said, and then she lost her voice. “Of all the dastardly things to do . . .”

“You must run away.”

“What?”

“I came here because of you. Your name is one of the three on his list.”

“And who are the three?”

“Baron Schuma, Grand Duke Mehmet, and yourself.”

Lady Ann raised a delicate eyebrow. “Which list are you on, Major General Gillis?”

“Fate will decide that.”

“You alone have found favor with the great General Gaskell, it would seem.”

Though young, Lady Ann had a fearsome ability to analyze and draw conclusions.

“Wait. Hear me out.”

“No.”

Saying this, the girl stuck her right hand into her golden hair, plucked out a number of strands, and jabbed them into the ground without any further discussion. The hairs became trenchant needles. Pulling out one that had sunk a good eight inches into the ground, she shouted as loud as she could, ”Come right out here, you coward!”

“Calm yourself, Lady Ann.” This time she heard him quite clearly. “I was merely concerned about your well-being—”

“You think that everyone will absolve you of your guilt, don’t you? I won’t be your tool!” Lady Ann exclaimed, driving one of her hair needles into the spot from which she thought his voice had come.

The following replies came in a sincere tone, each from a different spot.

“Stop it!”

“Listen to what I have to say.”

“I can help you.”

Though both of them lived in the world of darkness and night, the man known as the Dark One proved as elusive as the day was long.

Finally, Lady Ann shouted, “D!”

“Well, I wanted you to come along peacefully, if at all possible. I’ll have to make you listen to me the ‘shadow’ way.”

His voice faded, and a few seconds later, Lady Ann turned pitch black from the feet up, and then the lovely little Noblewoman sank right down into the ground . . . or rather, into the shadows.

Several seconds later, D rushed over to that silent region. Though he looked as hard as he could with Noble eyes that could turn darkness into midday, he could detect nothing in the gloom that spread across the ground. Moving no further, he did something strange. Drawing the longsword from his back, he thrust it into the ground in front of him. Then turning his back on the blade, he asked the darkness before him, “Can you hear me?”

After a while, a voice responded, “Yes.” It was impossible to tell whether the voice rained from the heavens or rose from the earth. “I was under the belief I’d concealed my presence, but you saw through that, did you? You truly are a man to be feared. But your ability earns you my name, at least. I am Major General Gillis. They call me ‘the Dark One.’ We’ve met once before.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“I’ve taken her. Fear not. I shall see to it that she escapes.”

“Escapes?” a hoarse voice asked.

“You see, the great General Gaskell . . .” the voice began, going on to disclose the bizarre three-for-one exchange and the names of all those involved. “Well, I have my own reasons for taking the girl. It’s my intent that the two of us flee together. Before I went, I thought I might take your life, but that won’t be so easy after all. Thanks to that sword, I can’t attack you from behind.”

At D’s feet, something suddenly rose like a fog, covering him all the way up to his head. Light flowed out—a gleam that shouldn’t have been visible in the pitch-dark night. Two streaks of light cut through the fog, and then sank into the figure in black that leapt from it just after that. The fog vanished, and the sword was in D’s hand.

Somewhere in the darkness, a voice reminiscent of a cry of pain was heard to say, “Not even my surprise attack works on you? There’s more than just this in the Dark One’s book of tricks, but I’m finished with you here and now. I’ll thank you to pray for my happiness with the little lady.”

The voice dwindled in the distance, disappearing before long.

D turned his gaze to the blade in his right hand. In an unusual turn of events, there was still blood on it. One swipe threw the gore to the ground at his feet. The instant it struck the earth, it spread and vanished in no time. Apparently, it was the shadow’s blood.

“Lord Rocambole, of all people?” groaned a voice that wasn’t D’s, from near the Hunter’s hip. “There’s a fiend to make any Noble regret being born a member of the Nobility—a born mass murderer. Rumor has it he’s the crazy bastard son of the Sacred Ancestor. And they called in someone like that?”

Catching its breath, D’s left hand continued, “Things are gonna get a whole lot more complicated. This trip has been the worst.”

—

The treatment continued until early the next afternoon, and the transporters were left with only eight villagers who looked like they would pull through.

“Given four or five days’ rest, you should make a full recovery.”

Everyone nodded at Juke’s words.

“What should we do next?” one of the older villagers asked, and utter silence descended.

The village was completely cut off. No matter how the transporters might assert that the villagers had been cured of the plague, there was no way they’d be believed. Those blockaders intended to see the entire village of Hardue eradicated.

“So if they go out looking for help, they’ll just get gunned down?” Juke mused, folding his arms. “In that case, there’s only one thing we can do. Eh, boys?”

Gordo and Sergei both nodded.

Turning to the villagers, who’d stiffened into lumps, he said, “Relax. We’ll bring you someplace safe soon enough. Are all of you ready to leave this village behind and make a new life?”

They all looked at one another. The five men and women past middle age looked anxious, but the three children had a sparkle in their eyes as one of them said, “Sure!”

Juke and D stepped outside.

“We’ve finally managed to save them,” Juke said, sounding quite emotional.

“It’s because they could see the future,” D told him.

“Ain’t that the truth. Children are the strength of tomorrow. I’m just trying to give them a hand.”

“Get them in the wagon,” D said unexpectedly. “I smell oil. Gasoline.”

“What?” Juke exclaimed. As he crinkled his brow, he turned his gaze in the same direction as D’s.

In the distance stood the palisade that surrounded the village, and from beyond it flew a rapid succession of arrows. Streaks of white trailed after them—flaming arrows. The instant they sank into the ground or roofs, flames spread for dozens of feet in all directions. Arrows rained down from all sides. No human being could possibly do all of this—they had to be using some kind of launchers. Those surrounding Hardue had decided to burn the village to the ground.

Since the transporters’ wagon was packed with cargo, the villagers had to travel in a local wagon.

“It’s no use. The first one that hits it will be the end,” Sergei moaned. The fire was building, and the air was terribly hot. “Let’s dump our cargo.”

“We’ve got a job to do. We’re transporters. Even if his own kid just died, a transporter delivers that cargo.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll go with them,” D said as he headed for his horse. “Don’t mind us. Just go—and be quick about it.”

Juke stared long and hard at the young man in black. In a voice as tight as a fist, he said, “We’re counting on you, then.”

“Count on us,” a hoarse voice said.

By the time three flaming arrows had hit the house where the townsfolk had been treated, the wagons were racing at an incredible speed toward the village’s gate. The houses and streets were already a sea of flames, and arrows continued to rain down. But not one of them reached the wagon that carried the villagers. D was covering the wagon’s back, and each time his blade painted a gleaming arc, an arrow split in two, was batted away, or fell to the ground. There truly was nothing to worry about.

“The gate’s shut!” Gordo shouted.

“Leave that to me,” Sergei said, pounding one hand against his chest while he used his other hand to raise something.

The cleaner made a faint noise, and then the gate suddenly vanished, the waiting band of men scattering as the two wagons raced off down the road.

Ah! A little light shined through. Sunlight burst through the leaden clouds to share its blessings with them.