CHAPTER 2

—

I

—

Wu-Lin slowly realized what was happening to her—staying at the hotel the curio dealer had told her about had proved to be her undoing. Ordinarily, she’d have made a conscious effort to avoid such a place. But she was exhausted at the time, and also greatly relieved to have entrusted the bead to someone else. Checking into the cheapest room they had, she’d quickly taken a bath, and then stood before the mirror.

No one had ever told her she was pretty before. Personally, she thought her face and body were quite plain. She didn’t ordinarily wear makeup, either. Life on the northern coast really didn’t allow for such things. Her fingers grazed her own face. It’s so rough, she thought. The wind off the sea was cold, and it carried grains of salt that bit into her skin like tiny shards of glass. And though she might try to fend it off, the wind always kept lashing away at her with those frosty particles whenever it blew. Somewhere along the line she’d forgotten all about wiping the salt off. She opened both hands, and with the fingers of her left she brushed the palm of her right. So tough. It felt like the whole thing was made up of nothing but calluses. Even the tips of the fingers she touched to it were hardened.

At around the age of three she’d started gathering shellfish. When she’d touched the razor-like shells, a sharp pain had shot through her as her tender young flesh was split with consummate ease. When she burst into tears, her mother had taken her hands and held them in the briny sea, saying, “This is just how your sister and I always took care of it.” In no time, the mollusks gave way to fish, and shells were replaced by scales as sharp as knives. As always, the blood gushed from her, and Wu-Lin stuck her hands into the salty sea without hesitation.

Sixteen years had passed. But today was the first time Wu-Lin had ever been ashamed of her sun-baked skin and rough hands—this morning, to be more precise. In the sun-dappled woods, a young man in black had danced with a bloody breeze. So beautiful it gave her goose bumps, his staggeringly sad visage had stirred something in her chest. He’d said his name was D.

Going over to the bed, Wu-Lin pulled out the backpack she’d hidden beneath it. Opening a leather flap, she inspected her clothes. All she had was another blouse and a change of underwear. The top was clean, but it had been patched in spots. Though sturdy, its color had faded. After putting on the fresh blouse and a pair of pants, she stood before the mirror.

Why didn’t I bring a skirt? she thought. At least that would’ve hidden these fat legs of mine. The one with the white flower print would make me look a little prettier.

But whom would she want to look so nice for? A gorgeous young man who wavered on the thin line between life and death with his emotionless swordplay. D.

Wu-Lin again rubbed her cheeks. Just then, she heard a sound at the door. The instant she turned to see a human shape, something warm slammed into her solar plexus and her consciousness sank into darkness. The next thing she knew, she was somewhere else entirely. With stone walls on all sides, the room seemed to be a basement of some sort—the ceiling was lit by electric lights. Her surroundings were painfully clear, and fear gushed from every pore on her. Wu-Lin was chained hand and foot to the stone wall. All along the wall hung those who’d suffered similar fates, now skeletons clad only in rags. Even more lay on the floor below the chains.

Wu-Lin let out a scream. And another, and another. Her every struggle sent her shackles biting into her wrists and ankles, where they tore ruthlessly at her flesh. She didn’t even notice the sound of a door opening somewhere.

Before Wu-Lin knew it, there was someone standing right before her—three people, actually. The ones to either side were clearly bodyguards by the look of them, but their boss in the middle was somewhat odd. His seven-hundred-pound frame was surrounded by a steel cage. Clothed in the largest three-piece suit imaginable, he lay on his side against the floor of the cage that held him a good three feet off the ground. He was like a slug that’d sprouted arms and legs. His face looked pushed in, and his pitifully sparse hair was parted to one side. With no neck to speak of, his head seemed to be melded right into his torso. The black stub stuck between his thick lips must’ve been a cigar. His eyes were thin as a thread, and his nostrils and mouth spread wide to either side. In fact, he was so hideously misshapen, he looked like a human that’d been given a frog’s head.

It had finally dawned on Wu-Lin that the cage around him—steel rings running horizontally and vertically—was not actually intended as a prison, but rather served to support his body. Each of the rings was jointed, and they twisted subtly to prop up the listing seven-hundred-pound frame. What’s more, the part of the device that made contact with the floor seemed to be some sort of walker.

“Nice to meet you, miss,” the clothed blob of flesh said. His voice was so shrill and nauseating it made the girl want to plug her ears. “I’m Gilligan. And I happen to have the pleasure of running this town. I had you brought here because there are a few little things I’d like to ask you about.”

“Let me out of here. And get these chains off of me while you’re at it.”

“There, there. If you’ll talk to me, we can do that soon enough. I suppose you’d like to know why I’d subject a pretty young lady like yourself to this sort of treatment. Well, it’s because this way will get you to tell me the whole truth faster.”

“What do you want to know?”

“For starters, I’d like to know a little something about the bead you brought to the curio shop. Where and how did you happen to get it?”

Wu-Lin’s eyes went wide with astonishment. Speared now by a far greater sense of hopelessness about her fate, the girl slumped against her chains. “You mean to tell me the guy that runs that shop . . .”

“There, there, my child. He and I have a little arrangement. Once or twice a year some clown will bring in something quite valuable without having the slightest clue about what they have. The deal is that the shopkeeper lets me know about it, and I buy said item for a reasonable price.”

“Give it back. I want it back right now.”

“I don’t happen to have it at the moment—you see, it was stolen,” Gilligan said, raising a horrendously short and fat hand to scratch his head. The plump appendage had the form of a child’s but was three times the size of an adult’s. As he moved, the ring that supported his arm creaked. He had only to put the slightest pressure on a joint, and the rings would then move his limb in that same direction. Without that bizarre contraption, he most likely wouldn’t be able to so much as lift a finger. Moreover, it was perfectly clear that if gravity were allowed to have its way with that great mound of flesh and fat, a horrifying death would await the man as all his internal organs were crushed by his own weight.

“Who in the world took it?”

Seeing the urgency in Wu-Lin’s expression, Gilligan laughed raspily. Even his own bodyguards looked unsettled by the sound of it. “Relax. We know who the thief was and where he is, and some of my people are on their way to collect the item. They should be back presently with both it and the culprit. But while I’m waiting, I need you to tell me a few things.”

“I don’t know anything at all. I don’t know anything about the bead.”

“You expect me to believe that some clueless little girl is running around with something like that?!”

Wu-Lin gnawed her lip. Her lovely countenance was imbued with a look of firm resistance.

“The Nobility,” Gilligan said out of the blue.

Wu-Lin’s expression wavered for a moment and then quickly returned to normal. But not quickly enough.

“See, I was certain you knew something about it. Well, now, this is starting to get amusing.” Moving both hands with what seemed to be a great effort, the human slug clapped them together before his own chest. In addition to the grinding gears of the joints, a revolting sound like a shellfish being cracked open shook the air.

“There’s no point in asking me anything about it, you know. There’s nothing I can tell you.”

Watching with a sort of lust in his eyes as Wu-Lin turned her face away from him, Gilligan said, “Good enough. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m afraid you have me all wrong, Miss. I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t want to. To the contrary—it’s all the more enjoyable if you won’t tell me.”

Wu-Lin’s eyes went wide. There was a cruelty to the words of this mysterious man that shook her to the core. “What are you going to do?” she asked, the question pushed out by her fear.

“Are you in such a hurry to learn your fate?” Gilligan asked, holding the cigar out in front of himself with one hand. Clanking all the while, the legs went into action, carrying him to a spot on the floor less than three feet from Wu-Lin before they stopped. “Okay. I’ll show you then.”

Gilligan flicked the cigar with his fingers. Wu-Lin gasped, although it was almost a laugh. It wasn’t a cigar. The jet black stub twisted and unfolded, forming a longer creature that began creeping toward her feet. Like an inchworm, it folded and straightened its body, and on its head it had a pair of strangely oversized simple eyes and a thorn-like proboscis for a mouth.

“That nasty little insect is what’s known as a ‘chatterbug.’ When one bites you, you can’t help but tell the truth,” Gilligan said, licking his lips.

“No, not that!” Wu-Lin cried, writhing. Countless beads of sweat streamed down her face, neck, and back. A single droplet from her wildly shaking face fell on the insect’s head, causing the unearthly creature to rear back in surprise. But in the blink of an eye it started forward again. It reached her feet, and then it climbed up on her shoe. She tried to kick it off, but only ended up making the shackles gouge deeper into the meat of her leg.

“Stop!”

Crawling across the girl’s ankle, it brushed the cuff of her pants.

“Stop it!”

It started to climb up the outside of her clothes.

“Stop it! Just stop it!”

It reached her blouse and kept climbing. The girl’s face was reflected in the insect’s dim black eyes all the while. And its sharp proboscis chirped incessantly.

“Don’t!” Wu-Lin screamed, thrashing her head back and forth like a woman possessed.

As the creature came to her full bosom—the slightest pale swell of which was visible in the cleavage of her clean blouse—it shuddered with delight and then crept in.

—

With a rusty squeal a door opened somewhere. The strange old man in the wide-brimmed hat and tattered cloak who walked over to Wu-Lin without making a sound was none other than Professor Krolock. Gazing long and hard at the young woman with her knees on the floor and both arms dangling from the chains in some horrible parody of a cheer, the old man said, “Simply awful.” But his voice didn’t hold an ounce of emotion. “When I heard those curs boasting about how good the girl they’d caught looked, I thought it might be you and had to come see. Sure enough, I was right. Bit by a ‘chatterbug,’ were you? But I’ll be—you still draw breath! I suppose I should put you at peace.”

The old man’s right hand vanished into his cloak, and when it appeared again, it clutched a quill pen. It was an ordinary pen, but the tip was razor sharp. The quill was from a supernatural creature called a messiah bird. That fowl sang only once in a decade, and only three times total in its lifetime—and those that heard its song were guaranteed to meet with misfortune.

Perhaps the girl sensed the professor’s presence, because Wu-Lin’s limp body once again showed signs of life. Her face rose. “Help . . . me . . . ,” she said.

At the same time, what looked like a black spring came out of her cleavage and made a powerful bound for the professor’s throat. The quill pen jabbed right through it.

Skewered in midair, the bug continued to struggle for a while, but then quickly settled down. Shaking it off so that it fell at his feet, the professor wasted no time in crushing it, and then placed his left hand on Wu-Lin’s neck. Due perhaps to the insect’s poison, the girl’s face was so horribly swollen her own parents wouldn’t have recognized her immediately. Quickly donning a puzzled expression, the professor remarked, “How unusual. Such tenacity. Speak, child. I shall hang on your every word.”

“Tell my sister . . . about this . . . Get the bead back . . . for her . . .”

“Understood,” the professor said with a grave nod. Behind his paternal demeanor dwelt a fearful shadow. “I shall get it back. Count on that. It shouldn’t prove terribly difficult,” he snickered.

Wu-Lin’s expression rapidly drained away. Swollen to twice their normal size, her lips framed one final and almost inaudible remark.

Gently shutting the girl’s eyelids after her head lolled to the side, the professor intoned what sounded like a spell, and then turned his back on her. Shocked, he froze in his tracks. The old man gazed absentmindedly at the tall form that stood before him. It wasn’t the bloody blade in the figure’s right hand that kept the professor riveted, but rather his positively dazzling beauty.

“You! How long have you been there?!” the professor asked, a ring of admiration in his voice. “I can’t believe you could be there without me noticing you. Never mind the fact that there were supposed to be lookouts posted up top. And tough ones, at that—strong enough to tear apart winged dragons with their bare hands.”

The old man’s gaze went to the ceiling, then instantly dropped again to the young man’s sword.

“Oh, I see—they were no match for you after all, were they? What brings you here, then? Are you somehow connected to this girl? I’ll have you know, I was only here to see to her in her last moments. I never harmed a hair on her head!”

Not speaking a word, the shadowy figure made his way to Wu-Lin’s corpse. Stopping, he extended his left hand and pushed back the hair that’d fallen across the girl’s brow. Perhaps that was the young man’s way of honoring her.

It was D. The Hunter extended his still-closed left hand, and when he opened it before Wu-Lin’s face and the professor spied the bead resting in his palm, the old man coughed loudly. As the professor effortlessly reached for the prize, D’s five fingers closed.

“Pardon me. You may not have heard her, but the girl asked me to do something for her. She said to find the bead for her. That’s no lie.”

“Where’s the girl’s sister?” D inquired softly. Apparently he had caught a few of the girl’s final words.

Coughing, the professor replied, “As I just finished saying, I’ll gladly bring it to her.” The old man spoke with perfect composure, extending his hand as he did so.

D’s hand opened first. But there was no bead in it.

“Where have you hidden it, you scoundrel?!” the professor cried out in amazement. And then, in a strangely calm tone he added, “I see. Regardless of how you might’ve come to know about this girl, I applaud your sincerity in bringing back the bead. It would seem that the person she asked me to get it back from wasn’t you. However, the bead couldn’t possibly be of any significance to you. Why don’t you simply name your price, and I’ll purchase it. Then I can deliver it to her sister. Once there, I’ll receive my remuneration, and everything will be wrapped up tidily. What say you?”

“Where’s the girl’s sister?” D repeated.

“Why, you wretched—”

“When you checked the girl for vital signs, she was already dead. Yet she managed to convey her wishes. And you weren’t the only one to hear them.”

“Oh. In other words, you hypothesize she’d have no problem with you delivering the bead, then?”

Slowly, D turned. The air froze.

The professor tried to back away but couldn’t. It was the ghastly aura emanating from this young man alone that chilled him to the very bone.

“I . . . I don’t know. Surely you could see that,” the professor replied. He couldn’t help but answer. “The girl didn’t say at all.”

“You knew the girl,” D said, his sword rising smoothly. “This is the last time I’ll ask you this. Where was she from?”

“Do you intend to . . . cut me down?” the professor asked. His gaze seemed to be hopelessly drawn to the tip of the blade poised right between his eyes. “Would you cut me down . . . me, an innocent man?”

A drop of fresh blood rolled slowly down the old man’s forehead.

“Florence,” the professor said in a hoarse voice. Shortly after that, as he thudded to his knees on the floor, he heard the sound of a door closing up above.

The professor was not quick to rise, but rather produced a handkerchief from inside his cloak and mopped the sweat from his brow. But no matter how he wiped at it, the sweat just kept pouring from him.

“I fear I must revise my earlier statement,” the old man said, his words hugging the ground. “‘It shouldn’t prove terribly difficult . . .’ That’s a fine joke now. However, now that I’ve seen his face . . .”

The professor held a piece of rolled-up vellum. Spreading the thin animal hide on the floor with trembling hands, he knelt on the edges to hold it down while his right hand went into action. His fingers clasped the quill pen. Soon enough his right hand ceased trembling and he ran the pen over the vellum—the very pen that dripped with his own blood. While the eerie deed itself was similar to what’d he’d done to Wu-Lin on that early morn, the strokes of his pen were so much swifter now that the two cases couldn’t be compared.

Just how much time drifted by in that basement where the shadow of death hung, no one could say.

“Finished,” the professor declared. “I wouldn’t call it perfect—though it should prove moderately useful.”

Satisfaction and fatigue now sharing space on his countenance, the old man looked at the thin hide spread before him bearing D’s features etched in minute detail.

—

II

—

Exiting a basement in the shopping district, Gilligan quickly headed for home. Just as he’d expected, the girl had told him everything she knew before dying an agonizing death. Her pained, fever-induced throes had left him satisfied, and he was of a mind to head off to one of the whorehouses he operated, but there was something he had to take care of before he did so.

Entering the gorgeous estate that stood at the southern tip of town, he didn’t go to the main house, but rather to a fairly large outbuilding constructed to one side of the acre-and-a-half garden. As he did so, a number of dark, beastly forms moved toward him through the trees, but upon recognizing him as their master they soon disappeared again. Skillfully making his way across the stepping stones, he arrived at a wooden door studded with hobnails and pressed against it lightly. As it creaked open, Gilligan disappointedly clucked, “Some folks can’t do anything right.” But he seemed to reconsider that remark as he grinned broadly and headed inside.

A sweet scent tickled his nose almost instantly. The fragrance was a blend of perfume and aphrodisiacs. It was such a heavy aroma that one whiff would be enough to make any ordinary person’s head reel.

Beyond the door lay a vast hall, and in the far wall there were a number of doors. Not approaching any of them, Gilligan spoke instead from the very center of the hall. His voice, which wasn’t particularly loud or intimidating, sounded almost mechanical. Perhaps it was meant to let everyone know the information he was about to divulge was of grave import. “It’s me—Gilligan. Are you there, Egbert? Gyohki? Samon? Shin? Twin?”

After a short pause, replies came from the various doors.

“You bet.”

“Yes.”

“I’m here, all right.”

“Sure.”

“Urrrrr . . .”

The first voice was heavy, the second was a woman’s, the third had a youthful vigor to it, and the one that followed it was hoarse. However, it was by no means certain that the order in which they’d replied matched that in which they’d been called. Each voice sounded as if it came from all of the doors, while conversely each had a mysterious ring to it that made the listener wonder if they’d heard it correctly. Particularly strange was the last of the replies. It was unmistakably the snarl of a beast.

As if he hadn’t even noticed, Gilligan said, “A terrible situation has developed,” as he turned his face alone to each of the doors. “A little lady came to an antique shop that’s under my purview, and she had a certain bead doodad that she wished to have appraised. The item in question was absolutely unbelievable. Why, even the antique dealer himself didn’t know what he was really dealing with. But he’s quite a bookworm. As luck would have it, he’d looked through some incredibly old documents that helped him out. There was only a single line about it in there, and this is what it said—”

Taking a breath, Gilligan told them what it was.

No one spoke behind the closed doors, but the shock waves certainly echoed back.

“Now, this doesn’t mean anything to you,” Gilligan said, his words charged with a certain vehemence. “But it’ll prove useful to me. More than you could ever imagine.”

Somewhere, one of them laughed. Mockingly. “Sure enough. That’d suit your tastes to a tee. But do me a favor and make sure I never have to see that look on your face again. It makes my stomach turn.”

“So, what are you suggesting we do?” another voice asked. The voice was that of the woman, and was so seductive it could make people quiver.

“The little lady came by the bead in the village of Florence, and you’re going to go up there and find me a new bead because some dirty thief stole the other bead from me. At the moment, I’ve sent someone to catch him as quickly as possible. But to be perfectly frank, I have my doubts about whether they’ll get it back.”

It seemed that the human slug named Gilligan actually had an excellent grasp of the situation. For just a short time earlier, a quiet but deadly three-sided conflict had played out in the streets of the entertainment district.

“Oh,” the hoarse voice said, his interjection carrying a lengthy tail. “So, the thief is a power to be dealt with, then?”

“One of my bodyguards just happened to know him. Apparently he has some strange trick he can do. He’s pretty famous in the northwest corner of the Frontier—a man by the name of Toto.”

“I see,” the youthful voice said with admiration. “I’ve heard of him, too. He’s got a nickname, right? ‘Backwards Toto,’ if I recall. Apparently there’s never been anything he went after that he didn’t end up getting.”

“One more thing—the reason I’ve gone to all the trouble of getting famed Frontier enforcers like yourselves instead of using my own people is because the Nobility are obviously involved in this. I assume you’re all familiar with the history of Florence.”

“You mean the Florence Nobility?” the hoarse voice muttered. “Hell, that was a good thousand years ago.”

Gilligan nodded. There was the sound of meshing gears from the loop of steel that restrained his jaw. “Precisely. Life there isn’t much different now from in any other northern fishing town. But from what the girl told me, the village elders seem to be in an uproar, and there’s talk about Nobles coming out of the sea again this summer.”

“Nobles that come from the sea?” the woman said, her voice like the tinkling of a bell. “That’s patently absurd,” she laughed. “We don’t yet know the Nobility’s greatest weaknesses. However, any child could tell you water poses a serious threat to them.”

“We can’t necessarily say that applies to every last one of them, you know,” said the owner of the grave voice. “If you’ll consider the history of the area for a moment, you’ll see what I mean. There are bizarre legends connected to the place. Perhaps the tales that have been handed down during the past millennia have finally come true.”

“The little lady didn’t even know what the bead was worth. Why, she just took something lying around the house and came here to get a little money for it, never understanding what it really was. How unfortunate for her,” Gilligan chortled. “It would seem her grandfather back home might’ve known something, but apparently he never told the rest of the family about it. Perhaps the quickest way to find out where the bead came from or how to get another one would be to ask him.”

“Fine. After all, locking horns with the Nobility sounds like fun. But what kind of compensation are we talking about for the danger we’ll be facing? We’re not all into the same twisted shit you are, you know.”

To the youthful voice’s query, Gilligan calmly replied, “I’ll turn over all of my land and my entire fortune to whoever brings me back that bead. As you can see, I had the paperwork drawn up on my way back here. Whosoever brings back the bead should go see the lawyer named Fearing and he’ll do the rest for you.”

“What happens if two of us bring it back?” the feminine voice asked. Her tone was forebodingly deep.

“If there’re two of you, each gets half. Three, and you split it three ways,” Gilligan said, seeming to egg his guests on.

Not only did the zeal in the voices of the other five rise a notch in response, but they also took on a cruel and calculating ring.

“Who else knows about the bead?” a dignified voice inquired.

“Just the girl’s older sister—a woman by the name of Su-In. There were two others, but one of them got taken out while he was chasing after the thing, and the other would seem to be a guest of mine, oddly enough. Come to mention it, he should be at ‘The Ox’ now.”

“The Ox” was the name of a bar Gilligan owned.

“Will he be getting involved in this matter?”

“I can’t rightly say. I suppose that’ll be up to him. An old friend of mine introduced me to him, but he’s not exactly like normal folks. It’s Professor Krolock.”

Every sound died out.

“‘Backwards Toto’ and ‘Professor Krolock’? Man, that’s even more fun than the Nobility!” the youthful voice exclaimed in a tone laden with excitement and tension.

Several seconds passed.

“Actually, there’s someone else, too,” Gilligan said in a solemn tone as a troubled look swept over his barely human countenance.

“So there’s another person after the bead. Why not come right out and say who it is? Are you afraid you’ll scare us or something?”

“Pretty much,” Gilligan said with a nod. His whole body stiffened, and with a mechanical clanking he backed away a few steps—he’d just been subjected to emanations of powerful hatred.

When you became a person of some stature in a community, you had to play host to famous warriors, bodyguards, and Hunters and see to it they weren’t left wanting where drinking, gambling, and whoring were concerned. The skill level of the enforcers said person could gather when he found himself in a jam not only reflected on his status, but could also mean the difference between life and death. However, the more renowned his visitors were for their abilities, the more intense their dispositions tended to be. Relying on such characters was like clinging to a ticking time bomb.

The palpable sense of hatred rapidly faded. Chilling laughter then flowed from all of the doors.

“My, you certainly had us going,” the female voice tittered.

“You surely did. C’mon, Mr. Gilligan. Stop playing games and tell us who it is already.”

“Very well,” Gilligan said, his whole body seeming to quiver with joy. “The Vampire Hunter D.”

At that moment, he could sense nothing from any of the others. It was as if they’d all been struck dead.

After a brief pause, Gilligan added, “Does that sound interesting or what?” His voice trembled as he put the question to them.

“Intriguing,” said the fifth voice. But that was the door where only beastly growls had been heard earlier. Perhaps whoever was behind the door controlled demonic creatures.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” Gilligan said, his tone returning to normal. “Rest assured, he only helped out the girl. As for the bead, he doesn’t even know it exists. What’s more, he’s a heartless type who doesn’t undertake anything unless he’s been employed, and even then he only works to dispose of the Nobility. There’s not a chance in a million of him sticking his nose into this, I tell you. So relax. You’ll set out tomorrow. I’ll arrange to cover your traveling expenses tonight, too.”

“Do it now,” the youthful voice said. “You think any of us are gonna hang around until tomorrow? No one here’s thinking about anything except how to beat the rest to the punch. I’m leaving right away.”

“So am I.”

“Me, too,” said another man.

“As am I,” the female voice added.

“I’m going, too.”

Gilligan’s features twisted, and his face collapsed into a grin. If there was ever a smile the world didn’t want to see, it was his.

“You’re all I thought you’d be. Here’s your money,” Gilligan said, taking some golden cards from one of his pockets and dropping them on the floor. “In the Northern Frontier, you can use these cards at any store. Or if the conditions are less than optimal, you can turn them in for money at a bank somewhere. I’m counting on you.”

And saying that, Gilligan turned his back to them. The instant he closed the front door to the building he sensed movements behind him, but he headed toward the main house without saying a word.

The stillness of the wee hours had descended upon the lavish estate. The household staff was asleep. With a grating sound echoing behind him, Gilligan advanced to the end of the hall and climbed the staircase. His bedroom was on the second floor, thus he went up a second flight of stairs. None of his staff or his henchmen had permission to go up there. The top of the staircase was blocked by a steel door. Taking out a key, he unlocked it.

Once inside, he switched on the lights and looked around at the room that surrounded him. Somehow, it was reminiscent of a factory. There was so much engineering equipment and material like plastic and steel that there wasn’t even room to walk around. And in the center of that mess rested a black lump. As Gilligan gazed at it, his eyes seemed to fill with a deep emotion.

“Ah, at last,” the human slug said in a feverish tone. “Finally, my dreams will be realized. Then I can bid farewell to this squalid business and the lowly human company. And leave with you.”

There was a table off to one side that had a bottle of liquor and some glasses. As Gilligan poured himself one drink after another, his eyes drifted back and forth between the black object and the ceiling. The room’s ceiling was dome-shaped. A single line curved all the way across the center of it.

After completely emptying the bottle, Gilligan left his “factory.” Going down the first flight of stairs, he was about to keep walking, but instead stopped right where he was. A black shadow stood at the end of the corridor.

The thought that it might be a burglar popped into Gilligan’s head, but the heavy man quickly froze with astonishment.

The reason the intruder had looked like a shadow was because of his black raiment. And the face above that dark clothing was resplendent in its beauty.

“You . . .” he mumbled, forgetting what he wanted to ask. “You’re D, I take it?”

“And you’re the one who had the bug bite that girl Wu-Lin?” His voice, like his face, was gorgeous.

And yet Gilligan couldn’t so much as lift a finger. Out of fear. Only his tongue could move.

“How did you know . . . to look here? And right after I left the girl . . . And I had watchdogs in the garden . . .” the slug-like man babbled, blinking his eyes. He was trying to get the cold sweat out of them.

A second later, D was right in front of him. Gilligan didn’t even know when the Hunter’d had time to move. It was almost as if the stillness of night was loath to trouble the gorgeous young man about minor matters such as distance.

“Don’t tell me . . . You know, don’t you . . . about the bead?” Of course, he was basically admitting that he’d used poison to draw the information out of Wu-Lin.

A flash of silver mowed right across the fat man’s chin. Sparks shot out.

D pulled his sword away.

“Too bad,” Gilligan said, stroking the bar by the base of his neck. “This baby is made of Zeramium steel. Had it custom built way back in the Capital. Shoot, it’d take a laser an hour to cut into it a fraction of an inch.”

The wind brushed by his neck. There was a loud clang at his feet. It was the sound of the bar that’d shielded his chin falling to the floor.

Gilligan felt his hair was rising on end.

“Don’t think that it stopped me,” D said softly. “When someone gets bitten by a ‘chatterbug,’ they go through more than thirty minutes of agony before they die.”

Once again the Hunter’s sword made a horizontal slash, and Gilligan followed it intently until it returned to its sheath. His field of view then shook. Head reeling wildly and crimson splashing into his eyes, he saw the figure in the black coat leaving again.

Gilligan was rooted where he stood until the young man went down the staircase and disappeared. All the while, his head and torso were only connected by a single flap of skin—and blood was pumping from the wound like water from a fountain. Both arms clicked as they moved. Taking hold of the head as it drooped against the right side of his body, his arms lifted it clumsily. Even after the two pieces were lined up, bright blood continued to gush from the slice that remained between them.

“Damn it . . . that hurts . . . ,” the head said. But it was turned toward the back. “Damn . . . That’s not right . . . Ow . . . Shit, that hurts . . .”

His hands rotated his head a hundred and eighty degrees. This time it was a little left of being on center.

“Well . . . Good enough, I guess . . . Ow . . . But it’ll take more than this . . . to kill me.”

As he said that, his lips turned violet and his face went pale as paraffin.

Now in a state that would’ve long since killed an ordinary human, Gilligan slowly changed direction and once again began climbing the stairs. Surely it was the work of the machinery amplifying his dying strength, but the fact that he even managed to open the door and get into the room bordered on miraculous.

“Almost there . . . Just a little more . . . Shit . . . I’ll be damned if I’ll die here after coming this far . . . Damn, it hurts . . . Hurts like hell . . . I don’t ever want it to hurt like this again . . . Shit . . . D, you bastard . . . Just you wait . . .”

And then, with his head held securely the whole time, the town’s kingpin rattled mechanically toward a black object, strange cries of pain ringing from him all the way.

Several minutes later there was the unpleasant sputter of a motor, and the line across the ceiling began to grow thicker. The black line let in the pale glow of dawn, and before long the purple clouds of daybreak, and the whole heavens where they billowed lay revealed.

TO THE NORTH SEA