Volume 4 - CH 3.1

African Song

Africans say,

March, march I say!

Till the hens sing!

Till the stars fall from the torn roof!

Du da du da doo…

Even in dreams

March, march I say!

Du da du da doo…

From afar, the Africans came.

They walked, and walked, all the way.

Walk, walk I say!

Du da du da doo…

Africans came from across the sea.

They rowed their boats, rowed their boats, all the way.

Row, row I say!

Pretty sisters, mother, and father!

Flesh and blood is cheap, bread is expensive, but keep on rowing!

Du da du da doo…

Gold and black skin

Row, row I say!

Du da du da doo…

The Africans leapt over the scorching land,

screamed, and disappeared.

Chapter 3: Monstre Charmant

The village streets were bustling with people. A woman was carrying a shopping basket with a long loaf of bread sticking out of it, and a young man was pulling a cart loaded with vegetables. A wagon pulled by a long-haired horse lumbered along the street, loaded with straw that smelled of the distinctive sweet and sour fragrance of summer.

Tangled vines and red geraniums hanging from wooden-framed houses glistened in the summer sun.

Kazuya and Avril were walking at a brisk pace along the busy street.

“You’re unbelievable,” Avril mumbled.

Kazuya lifted his head. “Did you say something?”

“No… Actually, I did. I said you’re unbelievable. And I was going to say you can be childish too.”

“Me? Childish?” Kazuya stopped in his tracks.

Avril’s lively and pretty face looked a bit downcast.

“Where’d this come from?” Kazuya asked, a little uneasy, “I am not childish. I may be a little stubborn, but that’s it. I care about what’s right, and—”

“She looked like she was about to cry.”

“What I’m saying is—Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Her face was all red, and her lips were quivering.”

“I-I see…”

Kazuya swallowed the words he was about to say and wore a thoughtful look. “Do you think I went too far?” he asked as they resumed walking. “Maybe I hurt her feelings by calling her a bully.”

“Don’t ask me.” Avril turned away. “You never get mad at me like that even when I annoy you. You just shrink back and act nice. But with Victorique, you don’t hold back. You must be very close.”

Kazuya, pondering about Victorique, gave Avril a hesitant look. “That’s because you’re honest and open. You’re not mean to me.”

Avril was still not convinced.

Soon they arrived at a cemetery on the outskirts of the village, situated in low ground, where entangled branches of dead trees occasionally shook in the damp wind. It was a little cooler here, the air humid, and the area shadowy and chilly.

White crosses were sticking out at an angle from the soft black earth. Kazuya and Avril held hands and slowly stepped through the fence.

“Wh-Which one is it?” Avril asked.

“Just check the epitaphs.”

“R-Right.”

Kazuya and Avril were looking for the graves of outsiders in the village cemetery. Graves of non-villagers who died in the last twenty years. Kazuya thought that if there were any, they had to belong to the ones who died in the clock tower, and might be able to provide clues to the current case.

Kazuya did not really care about the competition, but when he arrived at the village, his earnest nature made him offer this logical suggestion. Avril gladly agreed with him.

They wandered the cemetery, searching for the graves of the clock tower victims. The damp, black dirt stained the tips of their shoes. Avril stopped in front of an old, large grave and began reading the epitaph.

“Let’s see… It’s so old I can’t read it,” she said. “There are a lot of names on it. About twenty of them. Does that mean they were buried together?”

“Five hundred years ago,” said a voice that did not belong to Kazuya.

Avril jumped with a yelp. She turned around and saw a man in his sixties with graying hair. He had a stooped back and dark skin like tanned leather. He was leaning against a large broom stuck in the ground, staring at them.

“Wh-Who are you?”

“That right there is a Protestant grave,” the old man said. “They died together in this village five hundred years ago. We buried them ourselves. So what are you two doing here?”

Kazuya and Avril looked at each other. When they told him that they were looking for the graves of those who died in the clock tower, the gravekeeper laughed.

“You won’t find them here. Sure, there were several deaths in the clock tower, but they were all outsiders. They must have been buried in their respective hometowns. As far as I know, only villagers are buried here.”

Kazuya and Avril exchanged disappointed glances.

The gravekeeper laughed even harder. “You’re students of that school by the mountains, right? Every summer, you kids wander around in the cemetery with your tests of courage and what not. Now, did you come here to listen to some ghost stories?”

“Not really,” Kazuya said. “Let’s go, Avril. Might be better to check out other places.” He thanked the gravedigger and started walking.

When he made it to the fence, he noticed that Avril was not following him. He turned around, a knot in his gut, and sure enough, Avril was sitting right in front of the Protestants’ grave, listening closely to the gravekeeper’s story.

The wind carried the old man’s voice toward Kazuya.

“It happened about fifty years ago. I was only a child then. My father was a gravekeeper. One night, while I was helping him with his work, staying up late at night in this cemetery, I…”

“You what?” Avril leaned forward.

Kazuya sighed and went back into the cemetery.

“Stay calm now,” the gravekeeper said. “I saw an invisible ghost!”

“Kyaaa! Wait, what do you mean you saw something invisible?”

“Take a look at the soil around here. It’s soft and damp.”

The gravedigger pointed at his feet. Avril gulped as she studied the ground. Before Kazuya could say anything, he noticed Avril’s serious expression and closed his mouth. Heaving a sigh, he sat down next to her.

“I was only a child, but I know what I saw. I will never forget it. An invisible ghost ran through this empty cemetery at night. It was a child. A child about my age.”

“How do you know?”

“By the size of their feet. Footsteps came from over there.” The gravedigger pointed deeper into the cemetery, where thick, dark trees swayed in the breeze. “Then passed by me in an instant. I smelled dirt. There was no one there, but I knew it was an invisible child that had run past me. They left behind their footsteps… Boo!”

Avril let out a shriek and clung to Kazuya.

“Please don’t shout,” Kazuya said. “Your screams are much scarier than the actual stories.”

Kazuya jumped off the Protestant grave.

“I still have another story,” the gravekeeper said.

Avril began stomping her feet, eager to hear about it.

“It’s almost noon,” Kazuya admonished. “Did you already forget why we came here? You’re the one who proposed the competition. Just putting it out there, Victorique is incredibly smart. You won’t win if you take it easy.”

Avril reluctantly jumped off the grave. Kazuya hurried away, while she walked slowly. The soft and damp soil had stained the tips of her shoes an ominous black.

A raven streaked across the sky. It swooped down from over their heads, perched on a white cross, and let out a mournful cry. The cross rocked softly with the raven’s movement.

Clouds drifted in, blotting out the sun and blanketing the cemetery in shadows.

Meanwhile, the Princess left behind in St. Marguerite Academy…

Stretching across the campus was a French-style garden, the area close to the school building and dormitories laid out with grass, pebbled pathways, iron benches, and flowerbeds filled with colorful flowers. As one moved further away, the design changed to resemble natural mountains and fields.

There was a small stream, a corner with a handful of trees where the air was damp, and a pleasant gazebo situated atop a sunny incline.

A couple of squirrels were scuttling up and down Victorique de Blois’ knees as she was sitting down by the stream. The little critters had mistaken Victorique, deep in thought and completely still, for some doll or statue. Two squirrels stood on her lap and started playing with each other.

Still, Victorique didn’t move. Her dress was spread wide around her like a frilly umbrella.

She let out a groan. The squirrels looked at her momentarily, then returned to messing with each other as if nothing happened.

Victorique continued staying still.

After some time, Ms. Cecile came strolling along the pathway, climbing up a small hill and down again, listening to the murmur of the stream, until she came to where the little Victorique was sitting.

“Victorique…?” she called.

Victorique groaned.

“Hmm?”

Ms. Cecile peeked in from behind.

A golden book lay open on Victorique’s lap, from where a tiny man in a mask and robe was staring at her. Victorique, head tilted, was glaring at the masked man, grumbling.

A number of squirrels were frolicking on Victorique’s head, shoulders, back, and small feet, scuttling around then suddenly stopping. Victorique may or may not have noticed them. She was focused solely on the memoir before her.

“What an odd man,” she mumbled.

“Who?” Ms. Cecile asked.

Victorique turned around grumpily. Startled by Ms. Cecile, the squirrels jumped, climbed down Victorique and scurried back into the woods.

“Oh, dear. The squirrels don’t like me,” the teacher said.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

Ms. Cecile handed Victorique something she was holding. A frilly parasol. Victorique just snorted without taking it, so Ms. Cecile opened it and held it over Victorique’s head.

Ms. Cecile looked at Victorique from above, at the golden book on her lap. “What a weird book!” she exclaimed. “What is it?”

“The alchemist’s memoir.”

“Oh, my.”

Victorique scoffed in response.

Ever since Ms. Cecile accepted the task of looking after this Gray Wolf Victorique, she had managed to survive spending time with her without incident, simply because she never expressed any interest in unusual happenings, or even when Victorique was behaving extremely suspiciously or too smart.

And today as well, Ms. Cecile appeared unconcerned about Victorique’s grumpy behavior.

“Quite the mysterious man, huh?” she said. “I used to hear a lot of stories about Leviathan when I was a student here. A weird mask and a robe… What was he hiding under the mask? An eternal mystery now that he’s gone.”

“That one’s easy, Cecile,” Victorique said in a voice that seemed to belong to the elderly.

Ms. Cecile stared at her devilish grin for a while, then chuckled and pinched Victorique’s small, shapely nose.

“Hngh? What are you doing?!”

“Oh, you cheeky, bossy little girl,” Ms. Cecile said in a singsong tone.

“Stop singing!” Victorique snapped. “And get your hands off me. Why is everyone touching me today?!” She stood up and walked away.

“Who touched her?” Ms. Cecile wondered. “Ah, don’t step on the violets!”

Victorique jumped. “Kujou poked my cheek this morning. Then that farting newt pulled my hair in the classroom. And now you pinched my nose!”

“Oh.”

“All you ever do is say ‘Oh, my’ or ‘Hmm’. You don’t actually pay attention to what I say, do you?”

Ms. Cecile trotted up to Victorique, tilting her head, wondering how the girl found out.

When she saw that Victorique was heading somewhere, she called, “Victorique. Where do we start looking?”

“…Look for what?” Victorique asked curiously.

“It’s a competition, right?”

“Are you talking about the farting newt’s suggestion? Was she actually serious?”

“Of course. And I’m serious about it too.”

Victorique gave a tired moan, but Ms. Cecile paid her no mind and pointed to the clock tower in the distance enthusiastically.

“I was thinking, since we’re in the academy…”

“And I can’t go out.”

“Y-Yeah… So why don’t we do a thorough search inside the clock tower? Let’s go.”

“The clock tower?”

Victorique sniffed audibly as she made it off the lawn and onto the pathway. Flowers were blooming radiantly on either side, swaying rhythmically in the dry summer breeze.

Victorique continued walking, her dress bouncing with each step.

“I am indeed trying to solve the mystery of the Leviathan, and my Wellspring of Wisdom tells me that I can do so without ever leaving this academy. Therefore, I have no objection to investigating the clock tower. However…”

“What is it?”

“I can’t examine the clock tower with a scaredy-cat like you around.”

“What?! I-I’m not a scaredy-cat!” Ms. Cecile stammered. “I swear. I’m just easily frightened.”

“That’s exactly the definition of a scaredy-cat, Cecile. You just admitted it yourself.”

Victorique took a ceramic pipe from the pocket of her dress and put it in her cherry lips, but before she could light it, Ms. Cecile snatched it away.

“What are you doing?!” Victorique yelped.

“Smoking is prohibited inside the academy. I’m confiscating this.”

“Give it back, or I’m going to suffer from withdrawal!”

“No, you won’t. I know you’re just pretending to be a grownup, smoking this thing. Watch me put it in my mouth, light it up, and—” She coughed.

“Give it back.”

Victorique took the pipe back from Ms. Cecile, who was having a coughing fit, tears in her eyes. She smoked a few puffs as she neared the clock tower.

Ms. Cecile followed close behind, still coughing and wiping away tears.