Volume 2 - CH 2.4

The next morning.

While Kazuya and Victorique were having breakfast of tea, bread, and cold ham in the inn’s dining room, a group of young men came down the stairs.

A man of medium build with a beard and horn-rimmed glasses was talking rapidly without pausing. He seemed to be the talkative type.

Another man of about the same height, wearing an expensive-looking tailored jacket and a shiny gold watch, was chatting along with a wonderful smile. He had a high-pitched and resonant voice.

A large man with a stoop to his back was following behind them. When he noticed Kazuya and Victorique, he turned a little red and greeted them with a muffled voice. He seemed to be a very shy young man.

They settled down on some chairs, poured milk into their tea, and dug into the chunks of bread. They had huge appetites.

The talkative man with the beard and horn-rimmed glasses introduced himself to Kazuya and Victorique. According to him, they were students at an art university in Sauville, studying painting. They enjoyed traveling, and the three of them went around the countryside together, drawing sketches.

“This guy’s family is loaded,” he said, clapping the man with the gold watch and fine jacket on the shoulder. “See that car outside? Derek’s parents got it for him.”

Derek was about the same size as the bearded man Alan, but he had a smooth, feminine face. The last one, the tallest of the three, introduced himself as Raoul in a muted voice. He was extremely shy; just saying his own name made him blush.

Alan bragged about driving to the village of the Gray Wolves in a state-of-the-art German car. He sang praises of Derek’s parents for buying it. It was apparent that they were traveling on Derek’s wallet. Alan constantly put Derek on a pedestal, but he seemed to be the leader of the group. Raoul was silent the whole time, wearing a smile. He was a quiet young man who barely had any presence.

The innkeeper brought more tea and interrupted the conversation. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you can’t get to the village of the Gray Wolves by car. The incline’s too steep.”

“Oh, come on!” Derek exclaimed.

Shocked, Alan made a big fuss about it. Raoul remained silent, looking uneasy.

“You should charter a carriage. A horse should manage.”

Derek nodded in resignation, but Alan didn’t stop grumbling. Raoul watched the bearded man awkwardly.

Mildred, the last one awake, plodded in with loud footsteps. She gave a big yawn. “Mornin’!” she greeted, then sank to a chair.

Kazuya yelped. The nun reeked of alcohol again. The three college students also noticed the smell and regarded Mildred curiously.

“These kids are going to the same place,” the innkeeper continued. “You should all go together. With five people, you’d pay less per person.”

“Make that six.” Mildred groggily raised her hand.

Everybody looked at her in surprise.

“I’m going too,” she said.

“…Why?” Kazuya asked.

She gave him a sharp glare. “Why not? I wanna go too. A carriage for six, then. Nice to meet you three.”

The three college students nodded, bewildered by Mildred’s sour breath.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

It sounded like a large knife chopping a chunk of meat on a butcher’s table, dull and muffled. After a few claps of thunder, the overcast morning sky fell silent.

Large raindrops fell on the clothes of the people standing in front of the inn.

“There’s your ride,” the innkeeper said, pointing at a carriage lumbering down the street. “The driver’s skills are top-notch.”

It was an old four-wheeled carriage pulled by two horses. The driver was an old man with a long beard that covered half his face. Although he was old, he had strong, thick arms and broad shoulders noticeable even through his cloak that looked as ancient as the carriage itself.

As the carriage neared, the driver said, “Driving a car there is unthinkable. Even a horse-drawn carriage can’t get up there unless the driver’s good.”

According to the old man, the people of the nameless village told him that if any guest wishing to get to the village after seeing their advertisement arrived, he should give them a ride. But the fare he asked for was much higher than the normal rate. When Kazuya tried to protest, Derek produced a thick wallet and immediately paid.

The driver goggled at the wallet. Regret clouded his face, as though he wished he had asked for more. Before Kazuya could say anything, Alan stopped him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “That’s nothing to Derek.”

“Can I chip in a little?”

“It’s all good. Don’t worry about it,” he said proudly, as if he had paid for it.

Kazuya’s eyes met Raoul’s. The big, quiet man shrugged in agreement with his friend.

The six of them sat facing each other, three on each side, with their luggage in their arms. The carriage began moving slowly, trundling along the cobblestones. When they reached the peaty mountain road, the carriage started rattling. They had made it to the steep incline. The carriage rocked incessantly, as if a giant had grabbed it from above and shook it wildly.

“I feel sick,” Mildred mumbled.

The three men, who had been having a nice chat, exchanged glances.

“Hungover, Sister?” Alan asked on behalf of the group.

Mildred shook her head, unwilling to even open her mouth.

Victorique reached for the window and opened it slightly. The falling rain made fine patterns outside.

Tangles of brown, thorny shrubs lined both sides of the road. The rain couldn’t so much as jiggle them. Soon a fern and moss-covered bank came into view, with a sheer cliff down below. A little mishandling of the horses would send them plummeting headlong into the abyss. In the distance, a hill loomed shadowy in the mist.

The carriage clattered across a narrow, old stone bridge. Cold, muddy river winding through the valley rushed past underneath.

The trees were taller on the other side of the river. Blackish soil lay beneath olive-colored vegetation that wobbled in the light rain. They had been climbing for a while now. The trees grew taller and the forest darker. It was daytime, yet the forest was shrouded in a jet-black darkness. It felt like they had wandered into a nightmarish realm. Oak trees, bent and twisted perhaps by the wind and rain, intertwined, forming silhouettes shaped like hunched backs.

“By the way,” Kazuya whispered to Victorique.

“What is it?”

“That nun stole the Dresden Plate at the bazaar, but she hasn’t been caught. She also said she was from Horovitz, but the innkeeper said she didn’t know her. Who on earth is she?”

“You don’t have to worry about her.”

Her words left him puzzled. She turned her face away, showing no interest in the subject. Kazuya fell silent.

The carriage went on for a while.

Suddenly, it became bright. They had made it out of the woods and onto a strange clearing.

Surrounded by mountains, it was round like a shallow-bottomed glass bowl. At the basin was a small town of stone houses enclosed by high ramparts.

No, not a town. A village.

The carriage stopped.

The two horses whickered and shook their heads. The driver tried to calm them down with his whip, but they kept on shaking their heads and stamping their hooves.

The six passengers alighted from the carriage.

Between the valley and the rugged path was a bluff that served as a massive wall, stretching all the way down. Sharp, jagged rocks glistened on the side of the sheer cliff. There was a white streak far below—a roaring muddy stream. Brown water topped with churning white foam crashed on the rocks.

Kazuya pulled his eyes away from the cliff, and looked at the gray village made of stone.

The clouds had lifted, and the morning sun shone down on the rooftops and moss-covered towers. They squinted against the brightness.

The three young men cheered with absolute glee.

“Wonderful!”

“Now this is what I call secluded! Incredible!”

The driver frowned.

Kazuya looked at Victorique. Standing beside him, she was staring at the gray stone village with a blank face.

On the other side of the cliff was a stone gatepost and a huge iron gate. They were massive, meant to keep outsiders away. High walls surrounding the village prevented intrusion from anywhere. It looked like a walled city from the middle ages.

The old wooden drawbridge had been raised. Made of flimsy wooden planks, it was turning white from much use. It was just wide enough for a carriage to pass through with a little extra room to spare. Several thick strings stretched across the bridge on both sides in place of railings.

On the iron gate was a crest of the ominous Gray Wolf.

“I’ll be taking my leave.” The driver turned his carriage around. “According to the villagers, the Midsummer Festival will begin tomorrow morning and end at nightfall. I will pick you up tomorrow evening at this spot.”

The horses whinnied, stamping at the ground.

As Kazuya looked back at the carriage, he heard a loud rattling behind him. He turned his gaze to the direction of the sound.

The drawbridge was lowering.

And the massive iron gate slowly opened.