III

Labyrinth of Lies and Truths

Chapter 8

I

On returning to Earth after slaying the grand duke, D rested his weary body in a dilapidated house near the center of the village. The effort of twice returning from space had dealt serious damage to his steely physique, and he fell into an almost deathlike sleep. Any quack who might exam him now would probably remark with admiration, “What a lovely corpse.”

That deathlike slumber had already lasted an hour—and it seemed as if it would never end. So when D did move, the world undoubtedly cried out, Can this be right?! He had a daunting gleam in his eyes. This young man would never appear groggy.

“What is it?” asked his left hand. “That was an oddly quick recovery—no, you just woke up early. I wouldn’t say you’re back to normal yet. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but show some restraint—hey, are you listening to me?!”

D had already exited the dilapidated house. The hoarse voice asked if he’d had a dream or something, but the Hunter vanished into a stand of trees.

Shaken hard by the shoulders, Ringard woke up. The first thing he felt was a pounding headache. It was your typical hangover. He let out a low groan as his body burned with anger at being dragged out of Utopia.

“You bastard . . .” His eyes shot over, catching sight of an iron mask. “Oh, it’s you, Mask? You’ve got . . . nerve. I suppose . . . you’re ready . . . for a pounding, eh?”

“You’re the one who’d better get ready.”

“Whaaat?!” Ringard said, his hitherto sluggish tongue now back to normal. “Mask, you’re pretty shaken up. That’s not like you.”

“Yeah. Well, things have taken a pretty nasty turn. You’d better hear me out, Ringard.”

And having said that, he turned his gaze to the woman who was looking at them with a frightened expression. The woman retreated to the back room. As did the bartender who was behind the counter.

“The Professor’s become one of the Nobility.”

Ringard swiftly came back to life. “I don’t know about Lascaux or Valen, but you wouldn’t lie to me. So, what happened? Wait a minute—didn’t we all get called together or something?”

“Yeah, and you’re the only one who didn’t show. That’s why you’re still alive. Everyone else got nailed—those Nobles are no joke.”

“Those guys got taken down? What, did you get ambushed or something?”

“No,” Mask replied, “it was a straight-up fight, fair and square.”

“No way. Damn.”

“I managed to make it back here, though. Let’s hurry up and blow this place.”

“I can’t do that. Our boss turned into a vampire. So, we get scared and run off—and you think I could keep doing this for a living when that gets out? You oughta know better, you lousy coward. Where are the other three?” Ringard asked.

“They said they were coming after us. They’re probably not far off by now.”

“Then that suits me just fine. Take ’em out in the counterattack, and then I’ll take over the Professor’s old gig!”

“You’ll have to let me in on that action!”

Clucking his tongue, Ringard replied, “I suppose I’ll have to, at that. But just letting you know up front, the split’s gonna be eighty/twenty.”

“You heartless bastard. Sixty/forty.”

“Seventy/thirty.”

“I can do that,” Mask said, nodding. Due to the mask covering his face, the action seemed particularly grave.

“Okay, ready to go face them?”

Getting to his feet, Ringard called out toward the back room asking how much he owed. The bartender responded. Leaving payment, including a tip, on the table, he headed outside. The iron rings around him started revolving again the second he stepped away from the table.

“We’ve got a good three hours till sunup. One way or another, this thing’s getting settled,” Mask said in a low voice.

The two men headed for the fence where their cyborg horses were tethered. Once they were on the road, Ringard halted his steed and turned his eyes to the sky.

“What is it?” asked Mask.

“Perfect timing—for them, that is.”

“Oh.”

“Run for it!”

As he said that, Ringard turned his horse east. Getting a kick to its flanks, the cyborg steed tore into the ground.

Before they’d gone five hundred yards, his horse’s gallop came to an end. Both his cyborg steed’s front legs had suddenly been severed.

As his mount went down spurting blood and oil, Ringard leapt off it in midair. He leapt—but didn’t fall.

“What the hell?!”

The cry that rang out to his right was in a low voice, but it carried a hint of surprise. For Ringard was floating in midair about fifteen feet off the ground.

Looking to either side, his eyes paused on some woods to the east of the road. Pointing, he shouted, “Perfect. In there, Mask!”

One sailing through the air, the other racing across the ground, the two of them went into the woods. Towering to the heavens, the titanic trees there were twice as big around as a man’s arms would fit, yet there was quite a bit of space between them. More than enough for a ground fight. Or an aerial battle.

There wasn’t long to wait before a car and a cyborg horse came down the road headed toward the village. On seeing Mask, who’d dismounted, the others dismounted and got out of their vehicle, respectively. In his hand the Professor had a walking stick with a golden grip while Lascaux was empty-handed, though he wore a loaded automatic short bow on his hip. The moonlight gave a stark glow to their mouths. Their fangs.

“What about Valen?” Ringard inquired from midair.

“Seems he’s kinda shy by nature. So he’ll be watching over us from a distance,” Lascaux replied.

“Well, that’s pretty creepy. Call him out here and I’ll put down the lot of you!”

“Leave Lascaux to me,” Mask called up from the ground below.

“You would take the easy one, you bastard,” Ringard replied. “Yeah, leave him to you my ass!”

“Oh, don’t be that way.”

“Professor, just what were you planning on doing next? It was the grand duke that bit you, right?” said Ringard.

“That’s right. Although I let him bite me, to be precise.”

“So you just said, ‘Help yourself to my blood’?”

“Something like that. And then I received the power of a Noble. What’s more, I obtained access to the Nobility’s technology and all its fruits.”

“Oh, I see. So now it’s just too good to bring it all back to the Capital? Don’t tell me that was your plan all along.”

“I didn’t think it would go so far as seeing me turned into a Noble, but if given the chance I was willing to take it. I believe I’ll try out the Nobility’s technology on this village first. Join us, Ringard.”

“No way in hell. For starters, I really can’t stomach any human who’d be that happy about being turned into a Noble. I’m gonna put you, fatty, and fingernails all down for the count. And I’ll do it with these here gravity-projecting rings. Watch this.”

Already revolving around him, the iron rings became a blur. They’d shifted into ultrahigh speed.

Mask gasped. All the scenery in front of him and Ringard had become distorted. And it wasn’t just a simple change of direction or a melting of matter. It was a distortion of atomic structure brought about by extreme gravity.

“They say the universe formed from super-dense gas. And that’s what I’m gonna turn you bastards into.”

“You son of a bitch,” Lascaux groaned. His words burned with fight.

His balloonlike body quickly enlarged, stretching to the bursting point. The distortion faded. The massive, ballooning form had begun crushing the colossal trees. A number of them bent over Ringard’s head, crushing down on him. However, the enormous trunks all changed direction just shy of the top of his head, falling to one side, blurring, contracting, and then they were reduced to nothing.

“Die, fatty!”

The iron rings became a blur—and as soon as Lascaux saw that happen, his massive, looming form warped as well, running like watercolors, eddying, and the instant his whole body blurred he flowed away in a rush and was gone.

“You can crush a Noble with a gravity field, but that won’t destroy him!” the Professor laughed.

“I’m well aware of that,” Ringard laughed back. “But I sent that fatty Lascaux into a black hole linked to these iron rings. Noble or not, he’ll be squished down to jelly by the extreme gravity and he’ll never get out again. Your turn next, Professor!”

Before the man had even finished saying that, the Professor was swallowed up by empty space.

“Take that!” Ringard exclaimed, landing without a sound and flexing his right arm.

“That sure was something,” Mask said, his voice having a genuine ring of admiration to it. “But don’t let your guard down. There’s still that creep Valen. It was his nails that cut your horse’s legs off.”

“That long-nailed little chimp,” Ringard spat. His iron rings had returned to their ordinary rotation. “I’ll send him to hell-in-space soon enough. It’ll be easy as pie, just one left to go, Mask.”

“Just one left, eh?” the man in the mask murmured. “No, more like two.”

“What?!”

As Ringard turned in amazement, a streak of black lightning sank into his chest. Ordinarily, the iron rings’ gravitational field could even deflect a laser beam. However, this attack had reached his chest, shattering ribs.

Reeling, Ringard had bloody foam spilling from his mouth as he stammered, “Y-you little bastard. It can’t be!”

“I got bitten, too. By the Professor.”

Mask raised his right hand and showed his inner wrist. The pair of fang marks were clearly visible through the dark of night.

“While I’m at it, I have something else to share with you. About how I got this mask. See, when I was a kid, everybody in the area knew how handsome I was, and I was beating the girls off with a stick. Man, I loved that. As a result, four or five girls in the neighborhood went and killed themselves. Just my luck, one of ’em had a father who was a hex man, and he decided to make it so a stud like me could never trick a girl ever again by giving me a face nobody’d want to see twice—the face of a demon.

“I was just about out of my mind from it when a hex woman who was sweet on me came along and cast a spell to save me. One of the advantages of being a stud. Only she told me she couldn’t fix my face. She made me this here mask instead, and fastened it on with ten screws. And this is what she told me. The spell you’re under is too powerful for me to remove it completely. This mask is tied together with ten screws, and they should protect you. Given your situation, you should consider living out the rest of your days in peace. If you ignore my advice and follow the path of danger, at some point you’ll lose all ten screws. Once you do, your face will be exposed to the light of day and death will come for you. But maybe that’d be the best thing for you, eh?

“Unfortunately, just as she’d feared, I took the warrior path, which led me here. It’s been twenty years, and only half the ten screws remain, but to be honest, I still curse this mask. Oh, in the beginning I was overjoyed. I could go out without anybody seeing how my face had changed. But day by day, it started to feel like I was locked in a dungeon. I wanna take this mask off and feel the morning sun and the moonlight and a gentle breeze on my face. I just used one of my screws on you. That leaves four. When I run out, my face will be exposed to the world. I used to want to die, but now it’s ironic I want this thing off so bad it’s killing me. Hey!”

“Done flapping your gums?” Ringard groaned.

“Wow, you must be something special to take a direct hit from one of my screws and still be around. You should thank those iron rings of yours. But now you’re finished.”

Mask looked over his shoulder. A figure was closing on him from behind. And with a sharp dagger in one hand. Drawing an iron stake from his belt, Mask hurled it at the figure’s abdomen. A foot long, it pierced the figure through the solar plexus and out the back, making him stiffen.

“What the hell is this?” Mask asked with suspicion, but a terrific impact sent him flying backward. Run through with an iron stake, the young man had still hurled his dagger. It had struck Mask in the face, and while it hadn’t pierced his covering, it had proved equally effective.

Confirming that his target had slammed back against an enormous tree some ten yards behind him, the figure went over to Ringard and threw his arm around the man’s shoulder.

“You?!” he exclaimed, shock distorting his face.

To that, a pale face awkwardly replied, “I owed you from before.”

The half-dead individual had given him his name—Habaki.

II

“But you’re—?!”

“Hurry up,” Habaki told him. “They’ll be back soon.”

Ringard fought the arm’s effort to lift him. Lascaux and the Professor had been sealed away in a black hole. A fate they would share for eternity. Ringard had every confidence in his own skill and the devices.

“Not yet. I’m not leaving till I’ve gotten rid of Valen and that bastard Mask.”

“They’re as good as Nobles now. And I don’t know about the fat one, but the Professor is definitely coming back—what the hell?!”

Ringard looked over his shoulder at the same thing Habaki had seen.

Mask had gotten back up. There was no trace of any damage from the dagger.

Ringard groaned angrily, “I’m gonna beat the life out of you, you son of a bitch!” With his words, something black sprayed out. Blood. A broken rib had punctured his lung.

Supporting the reeling warrior, the young man ran away, practically dragging the other man.

“Are—are you a Noble?” Ringard asked him.

“Nope,” Habaki replied, “but I breathed in some poison gas that turns humans into slaves for heavy labor. That’s why I’ve still got strength going for me, at least.”

“Don’t you drink blood?”

“Not a problem.”

The upper part of the young man’s face—the right half—vanished.

“Was that one of Mask’s screws?!” Ringard exclaimed. “What the hell?!”

“Not a problem, either,” Habaki said, looking at him and smiling. It was a daunting smile.

I’ll be lucky if the sight of that doesn’t kill me! Ringard thought to himself.

There was no follow-up shot by Mask. The two of them were obviously in a blind spot for him.

“Three screws left. Guess he knows how to count. I’ll get him for this someday,” Ringard coughed. Blood went flying. “So, I suppose we’re headed for the hospital, then?”

“You know where it is?” the disfigured young man asked.

“Sure do.”

“Then they know, too. I’ll take you someplace else—someplace safer.”

Once again his face, missing a quarter, made a smile, and Ringard sank into despair.

Cornet was certain something had possessed him. For the first time in a long time, his brain and body were working in perfect harmony. The Françoise he’d created had completed another task for him. Doc Chavez’s son was the village electrician. Adding to Cornet’s good fortune was the fact that the doctor’s grandson ran an ironworks. Though the community was a remnant of the feudal system, thanks to some convincing from the doctor they could go to the electrician shop or the foundry in the middle of the night, pull them out of bed to get the things they needed, and nobody would even complain. The disease scanners and automated surgery devices the young inventor had given the doctor really paid off now.

Although less than ten minutes had passed since he’d started fidgeting with the parts Françoise had procured, Cornet had pretty much completed his work. When the sensor sounded, he was just about to sit back in his chair and relax.

The screen showed Habaki and a man with iron rings circling his body as they stood impatiently in front of one of the entrances. A quarter of Habaki’s face was missing, and the man had blood streaming from his chest and mouth.

“Quite a pair of visitors,” Cornet murmured. Grabbing the comm tube, he said, “Nobility aren’t welcome here, Habaki.”

Pointing to his wound, the young man replied, “I’m not a Noble. If I was, this’d already be back to normal.”

“Correct—so, who’s that you’ve got with you?”

“One of the warriors who came from the Capital, but all the others got turned into Nobles.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “Elsa got turned, too. I took care of her.”

Cornet fell silent, then sighed. “I’m sending Françoise that way now. Come in.”

And with that, the hidden door opened.

As soon as they were in the research center, Habaki asked him to operate on Ringard.

“Not really my field of expertise.”

“But those operating machines at Doc Chavez’s—you gotta have ’em here, too. From the way he looked on the way over here, he seems hurt pretty bad, but I bet you can do something for him. Your machines should be more than able to handle it.”

Despite his disfigured friend’s assurance, Cornet didn’t seem completely on board with the idea, but he agreed to do it.

“Françoise.”

Having carried Ringard in, the female android tossed him none too gently into a bed that was fused with a machine.

“Ow! I’m hurt here, you know,” the warrior groused. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m sorry. I’m an android.”

“Oh, I see,” he replied with acceptance, blood spurting out again.

A thick cover was lowered over Ringard.

“What’s this thing?”

“Inside the cover is a surgical computer and related devices,” Cornet explained. “We can sit back and let them diagnose, prep, operate, and finish treatment.”

“What are you doing with something like that down in this hole in the ground?! But then, look at this room—hey, what the hell are you doing?!”

It was unclear whether Ringard ever got an answer to his query. They heard something else instead. The wail of a warning sensor.

“Oh, and just when we were so close,” Cornet said. Furrowing his brow, he looked at his two visitors and said, “You were followed here, Habaki.”

“I thought they might come. Anyway, do what you can for him—”

“Are you in his debt or something?”

“Yeah. He saved my life.”

“Still . . .”

“Don’t worry yourself on my account,” Ringard called over to them. “Just get this cover off of me. You two should make a run for it. I’ll hold ’em off.”

Cornet gazed at him.

“Your operation’s just about to begin,” he told the warrior. “I’ll keep the invaders at bay until it’s finished.”

“Thank you,” Habaki said, laying his left hand on the hooded man’s shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” said Ringard. “A couple of kids like you can’t handle the likes of them. Hurry up and get this damned cover off me, then make tracks!”

Ignoring his request, Cornet took a seat behind his desk. His eyes were keen as they watched the screen.

A pair of figures stood by the same entrance Habaki and Ringard had used. A man in an iron mask and another—one with unusually long fingers. Mask and Valen. The secret entrance was disguised as a tombstone in the village graveyard.

“That’s a two-inch-thick slab of steel.”

No sooner had Cornet said that than Valen raised his right hand and swung it low again. The instant his nails touched the door, a profusion of sparks shot out, picking the two figures out with a bluish light.

“It also has fifty thousand volts running through it,” Cornet said, but still he shook his head. “That won’t do anything against a Noble, though.”

Raising his claws, Valen struck with them once more.

A red lamp flashed to one side of the screen, and a warning bell sounded.

“What’s the story with those fingernails?” Cornet asked. “From the look of it, they cut better than an electron knife. It doesn’t even leave fragments behind.”

The image on the screen shifted to a view of a corridor.

“I’m just getting started. Wonder how long I can hold them,” Cornet said, and then he turned and looked at Ringard.

“He’s asleep,” Habaki said with apparent relief.

“The operation started, eh—should take approximately ten minutes.”

“That’s pretty quick, isn’t it?”

“The problem is whether my defensive systems can hold them that long or not,” said Cornet in an impassive bit of self-deprecation. Habaki seemed more rattled.

“Shutters coming down!”

A steel shutter fell right in front of Valen and Mask. Valen’s nails tore through it like it was made of paper.

“Next comes the cave-in.”

The rocks and earth that dropped on the pair’s heads would be enough to immobilize them, Noble or not. But the rubble was sent flying. Some terrible power had deflected it forward.

“One of the masked man’s screws. This guy told me about ’em,” Habaki said, pointing over at the slumbering Ringard. “Two more and he’ll be all out of ’em—and now we come to the pitfall.”

A hole instantly opened at their feet, and the pair was slammed against a stone floor fifty yards below. True to form, Cornet even had cameras inside the pit.

The pair quickly got to their feet and Valen reached out his right hand, the nails stretching up like smoke to latch onto the lip of the pit. Carrying Mask, it took him less than three seconds to get out again.

“Not bad for a couple of half-baked Nobles,” Cornet said, yet there was no fluster in his voice.

“What’s next?” asked Habaki.

“We’re finally getting to the main course. A rain of stakes.”

“Got everything but the kitchen sink down here, don’t you?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Habaki replied.

“This is the only way to destroy Nobles and their cheap imposters. All the defenses up until now were intended for humans. This is the main event.”

“How’s it work?”

“Well, just keep watching.”

A white room was depicted on the screen. It was a thirty-foot cube. When the iron door to the north side opened, in they came, first Mask, then Valen. Perhaps due to what they’d already experienced, there was confidence in their strides. Still, they looked around as they came to the dead center of the room.

“Good night,” Cornet said, flicking a lever.

From the walls, ceiling, and floor gleaming streaks of black skewered the pair. Powerless to do anything, with stakes sticking out of them in all directions, the two of them collapsed on the spot.

“You did it!” Habaki exclaimed, clapping his hands as he listened to the sound of the stakes that’d missed ricocheting off the iron floor.

On the screen, the two bodies moved no more. As no real time had passed since they’d been turned into faux Nobility, there was no disintegration.

“That’s what we needed, eh?” Cornet said, switching off the screen.

“Just a sec. Turn it back on,” Habaki told him.

Once again an image filled the screen. Pointing at one spot, Habaki tilted his head to one side. “That’s weird,” he said. “I was sure I saw black streaks across the floor—yeah, look! And his mask—it’s about to fall off.”

“So, what about it?”

“Ringard told me about it. The screws that hold his mask on—”

A split second later, the wall to their right exploded. At least, the destruction was so great that was the only conceivable explanation.

“What in the name of hell was that?” Cornet asked dumbfoundedly from beneath some rubble.

Habaki got to his feet first, then helped Cornet up, saying, “A screw from the mask. I hear they’ve got incredible power!”

“But their master’s already breathed his last—”

“Part of me thought this might be coming,” Habaki told his hooded friend. “Imitation Nobles had to have more to ’em than that. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

“Okay, we’ll move to the next hideout!”

“That’s not gonna work. I’ve got a feeling they’re sure to follow us. We’ve gotta get out of the village as fast as we can.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. And those black streaks are bothering me. They might be—”

Having got that far, Habaki went up into the air. Actually, just his head did.

“—his nails!” Cornet exclaimed, having deduced the rest in a split second.

His friend’s head had been sent flying in an instant. But what of the murder weapon? There was no one in the air, to his left or his right, in front of him or behind. And at his feet? Long streaks of black crept across the floor.

“Those nails!”

They rose to the level of Cornet’s eyes. The nails looked like five flat black fingers. And the lingering resentment of the deceased had transformed them into demons that sought only slaughter. They made a diagonal slash toward Cornet’s neck.

III

Cornet closed his eyes. He felt the wind whipped up by the nails brush against his neck. And just before it, he got the feeling he’d heard a strident sound. No matter how much time passed, his head remained just where it was. It took no small amount of courage for him to open his eyes.

The black nails had stopped at the base of his throat. Their progress and the owner’s murderous intent had been foiled by the stark blade they were locked against.

Cornet let his gaze slowly glide down the blade to the hilt, then to a black glove and powerful arm, followed by a body shrouded in black clothes, until they were finally drawn to the face that capped it all. A face of incredible beauty. Cornet sensed the power running down that black sleeve. An instant later the claws were cut like paper where they’d locked with the sword, falling to the floor.

Cornet was so disappointed by the end of that fearful assassin that a powerful languor suddenly swept over him. This on account of how his expectations of impending death had fallen away. Shaking his head to drive the listlessness off, he looked up once more at the savior who loomed before him.

“D—what brings you here?”

There was no reply. D was gazing in the direction of the collapsed wall. Cornet was convinced that to come through that opening would mean death. The only things that merited reflection in the gorgeous young man’s eyes were death and destruction—and those alone.

Something flew at him. D didn’t try to dodge it. His blade flashed out, deflecting the thing.

A hole opened in the ceiling, and stone and earth poured down through it.

“He’s finished.” That’s all that was said to close the attack. For Mask was out of screws.

D turned and looked at the source of the voice. Ringard grinned wryly at him from his place in the surgical machine.

“Heya. So, yesterday’s foe is today’s friend. Do me a favor and don’t kill me.”

The cover of the device soon opened. The patient slowly clambered off the operating table. Resting a hand on his chest, Ringard said, “I’m cured. You do good work, my young hooded friend!”

“Well, of course I do. I made that machine, you know,” Cornet replied in a somewhat absent-minded tone before once again asking D, “What brings you here?”

“A dream.”

More than the Hunter’s icy tone, it was his beauty that caused the hooded man to tremble as he asked, “Did this dream happen to concern a woman?”

“Françoise. She was working in the grand duke’s castle.”

Cornet said nothing at that.

“Seems she got turned into a dream,” the Hunter continued.

“That’s right. And it was a human servant named Vyken that did it.”

“An acquaintance of yours?” D asked.

“Yes, since I used to be up in the castle, too. They appreciated my skill at crafting devices.”

“Françoise told me. She said your real name’s Jozen.”

“Yeah, I’m her brother.”

“What are you doing here?”

The sudden change from a voice of iron to a hoarse one knocked the wind out of Cornet.

“Don’t let it shake you,” the hoarse voice continued, “Just got something wrong with my vocal cords. And with my character, come to thi—iugh!”

“My work is finished. Do as you like now.”

In a manner of speaking, the Hunter’s words were heartless. He’d fulfilled the request to slay the grand duke. What trick of the heart had inclined him to actually act on the request to save Cornet’s life he’d received in a dream?

Instead of Cornet, who stood there frozen in his tracks looking like he didn’t have a friend in the world, it was Ringard who spoke, saying, “So, you destroyed the grand duke, did you? Quite an accomplishment. But before you did, it seems he put the bite on my employer and colleagues!”

D had been about to walk out, but he stopped. He alone knew the biting hadn’t been before.

“Seems I screwed up,” he said. “Where’s the Professor?”

“The Professor’s with Lascaux—that fatty whose belly you sliced open. I locked ’em both away in a black hole. I swear, they won’t be back as long as they live. The other two—”

“I took care of them,” Cornet interjected. It sounded a little like a boast.

“How’d you take care of them?” D asked.

“Well, I pincushioned them with iron stakes. That did it for certain.”

“And yet those nails and screws still came after you,” D noted. “Even after they’d been destroyed. Is that right?”

“You underestimated him, you idiot!”

Cornet and Ringard got goosebumps. Who in the hell would dare reprimand that gorgeous youth? Take it in stride, D!

Perhaps seeing that it was safe, the hoarse voice continued diffidently, “Think about it. Your—er, I mean, the Sacred Ancestor let this guy meet him face to face, and chose him as director of the Ministry of Technology. Yeah, this really wasn’t gonna be a cut-and-dried deal. And the freaking grand duke didn’t put the regular bite on ’em. Not with the kind of power he had! It might be he fed on the Professor.” Pausing for a breath, the voice continued, “When a victim’s bitten, the perpetrator’s nature infects them. Did that make the freaking Professor more than the average Noble?”

D stared at the iron rings that encircled Ringard’s body.

“Check to make sure the Professor’s still trapped.”

“Who do you think you are, giving me orders?” Ringard replied, making no attempt to hide his animosity. Still, he touched his hand to the ring that’d begun rotating around him.

“What did I tell you? He’s still in there!” he said with a smile.

“Get him out,” D told him.

“What?!”

Not only did Ringard bug his eyes at that, but Cornet did as well.

“Wh-where should he put him?” asked the latter.

“Right here. I have to slay everyone who continues the grand duke’s line as soon as possible.”

“B-but why go to all that trouble when I’ve already got him locked away?” the warrior protested. “Have a little faith in these rings of mine, will you?”

“My work’s not finished. You’ve got to get him out.”

“What the hell?!” Ringard exclaimed, his color draining. He’d just noticed D’s frame of mind. However, the fight soon boiled up in him as well, and he countered, “Oh, this should be good—you want a piece of me?” Apparently the turning of the iron rings brought back his immense self-confidence.

“Hold it! Just hold everything!” Cornet interjected. “Let’s not have a falling-out now. Look, friend, I’m sorry, but I agree it would be best to confirm that the Professor and anyone else are finished. If you won’t do it, I’ll open the black hole.”

“What’s that?” Ringard said, tinged from head to toe by flames of enmity. Cornet’s threat had only thrown gasoline on the fire.

Just then, there was another bit of input that even D hadn’t foreseen.

“Ringard . . . Please . . . leave it . . . to D.”

The eyes of all of the focused on the east wall. There was nothing there. And no one. Except for one thing—on the floor. The severed head of Habaki. Now as white as a sheet, even its lips devoid of color, the head of the young man opened its eyes weakly and stared at the trio.

“The Professor . . . probably changed . . . into the grand duke . . . Instead of letting him . . . live forever . . . better to end him . . . quick . . . Nobles gotta be . . . turned to dust . . . Nobles . . . Finally . . . our village . . . will be . . . at peace . . . Ringard . . . you’ve gotta know that . . . right?”

Ringard didn’t know what to say.

“No need . . . to be afraid . . . at night . . . No need . . . to worry ourselves . . . about the safety of our families . . . C’mon, Ringard . . . They wanted human sacrifices . . . from our village . . . and now we won’t have to do that . . . How great is that? . . . You’ve gotta have . . . some idea.”

Suddenly losing all expression, Habaki’s head fell silent.

Going over, D checked his pupils and said, “He was already dead.”

Habaki’s head had long since breathed its last.

“What’ll it be?” the hoarse voice asked, its question directed at Ringard, of course.

The man was still glaring at D. However, he’d lost the burning enmity that’d surrounded him. Looking down, he said, “What the hell, seeing it was his dying wish and all.”

“Okay, allow me,” said Cornet.

“Like hell you will, kid. I’ll do it.” Turning to the right, Ringard made a toss of his chin to a spot a short distance away saying, “I’ll pull him out right there,” and touching the left iron ring with his right hand.

A binary state. All or nothing. Black or white. This was another of those situations. All three of them realized the other possibility. But none of them expected that outcome.

Ringard’s expression changed. Making no effort to hide what an incredible loss he was at, he said, “Lascaux’s in there all squashed up, but the damned Professor’s vanished.”

“You all underestimated him, didn’t you?” the hoarse voice laughed before there was another choked scream and it fell silent.

“I don’t care if he’s the Professor or the grand duke, as long as he walks the earth again, the deal for the Nobility’s technology is still in effect,” the hoarse voice continued.

“And that includes the human sacrifices.”

The other two stiffened at D’s words.

“No reason for you to get so serious,” the hoarse voice said in a condescending tone. The remark was directed at Ringard.

“Yeah, I suppose not. But I only hired on as one of the Professor’s bodyguards. Can’t say I had much interest in what he was doing, or that it had any bearing on me. Plus, I happen to be from a village near here. Hell, I came here a bunch of times back when I was a squirt. To be honest, the whole bit about human sacrifices didn’t sit quite right with me.”

“So, now that the tables have turned you’re gonna paint yourself as one of the good guys?” the hoarse voice teased. “In that case, you must be ready to do something to help the village out now, right? Head on up to the castle and give us a hand destroying the Professor.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do just that. No way I’m gonna let that bastard get his hands on Noble tech. No telling what he’d do with it, am I right? Hell, you guys gotta know what I’m talking about. What do you think’ll happen if a human learns how to use the Nobles’ toys?”

“They’d become ruler of the human world inside three days’ time, including the initial period of threats, I suppose.”

“And I don’t think he’ll be heading back to the Capital,” Ringard mused. “A Noble’s castle could get a message out to anywhere on Earth. So, D, what did you have planned?”

“There’s only one thing to do.” Turning to Cornet, D said, “The Professor doesn’t have any henchmen left, but the androids and mechanical people up in the castle will do his bidding. Hurry up and get out of here.”

Rubbing his hand against his pants, the young man wiped the sweat from his palms. “Okay. I’m not ready to die just yet,” he said with a nod. “I’ll take off as soon as I finish my preparations. You two go on without me. I’d like to do a little more for Habaki. Don’t worry. Françoise will help me.”

“Happy-go-lucky bastard, ain’t you?” Ringard said, shaking the young man’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m still alive on account of you, no word of a lie. You have my thanks. Now, hurry up and get outta here.”

“Will do. The exit’s that door right there.”

Walking over to it, D turned and looked back.

“Good-bye.”

Cornet raised his right hand.

Sticking his right hand into his coat, D then swung it in the young man’s direction.

When Cornet saw the item that fell at his feet, his eyes went wide. It was a dagger in a steel sheath—though being more than a foot long, it was more like a short sword.

“Do what you like with it,” said the hoarse voice. “You could get a hundred thousand dalas for it, easy. That’d cover your traveling expenses, but if you decide to use it for its intended purpose, it’s got his spirit and mine in it.”

“A million thanks, friend,” Cornet said, picking up the dagger and turning toward the door again, but by that time the other two were nowhere to be seen.