“I told you to set out at once, at once! Why didn’t you listen? Look at you now—toyed with by a few brats, letting that devil slip away—just wait till I report to Lord Norlon and see how you explain yourself!”
On the sandy ground by Lotte Village’s gate, the horse troop had formed up. The two attendants who had failed their watch were lashed until skin split and flesh gaped, then dumped half-dead onto a flat cart. The Baron’s envoy gripped a longsword and raged at the empty prison wagon, while beside him the captain of the horse troop, helmet tucked under one arm, wore a look of open contempt.
“Heh. Your men drank on duty and botched it, and you dare wave the Baron at me? That devil—I didn’t see so much as a feather before your men let it run. When we face the Baron, you think you’ll bite me instead? Looks to me you’re the one who should worry.”
“You—you, you—” The envoy fell back two steps, his face blanching. He knew the captain was right: if it reached the Baron, the captain might earn a slap on the wrist, but he himself would pay dearly.
The captain rubbed the stubble on his chin. Looking at the envoy, who seemed in mourning, he clicked his tongue with a thin smile.
“Fine then. For old time’s sake, I can give you a way out.”
“A way… out?” The envoy lifted his head. The captain said:
“Strictly speaking it’s not my place—your mess, your fault. But showing up empty-handed after a failure won’t do me any favors either. So look here—don’t we still have a dead monster’s corpse?”
“A monster’s corpse? You mean—?”
“I read your report. This thing isn’t in it. We lock our stories: the devil turned into a monster and ran rampant; we had no choice but to strike it down; we bring the corpse back as proof. Not only no punishment—credit, even.”
“So… you understand what to say, don’t you?”
The envoy stared at the restless glint in the captain’s eyes, and a chill rose in him.
“Don’t tell me… you planned to claim this merit from the start?”
“I asked the villagers. Not one saw how the monster died. If so, why waste a perfectly good carcass?”
“I… I understand.” The envoy hesitated, then set his face. He cleared his throat and began:
“Ahem—Captain John of the horse troop fought bravely in defense of the realm. Perceiving the fiend’s frenzy, he acted without delay, led his riders to slay it, and presents the corpse to Lord Norlon.”
“Exactly.” Captain John nodded, satisfied.
The troopers brought up horses and hauled over the deformed jackal-were’s body. At John’s orders they took up tools and hacked at it in a messy show, then heaved the mangled remains onto a wagon.
“Remember, boys—everyone gets a share.” Captain John went down the line with reminders.
“And if Lord Norlon sends men to question here? If they ask the villagers…” The envoy stroked his sword hilt, an ugly gleam in his eye, as he watched the troop ready to depart. John only laughed:
“Ah—my lord, what are you thinking? This isn’t some war-torn waste. Where something happens and people die—one or two, fine—but if it’s a real case, who could hide it?”
“But… what if someone informs on us…”
“No matter. These mud-stompers are a dull lot. They don’t even know who killed the monster—what can they inform? The local headman, though, has sense. He doesn’t want feathers flying, so we help him quiet it down—mutual benefit. When there’s benefit, why not do it?”
“You… make sense.”
The troop set off, the wagon dragging the jackal-were’s corpse out of the village toward Baron Norlon’s manor to the west. Captain John and the envoy rode flanking the cart. With a load aboard, they could not gallop as they had coming.
“How much longer?” The envoy glanced at the sky.
“Won’t make it today. We camp.” John eyed the westering sun and swung down.
By now the envoy obeyed him in all things, not daring to object. Soon the riders had kindled a bonfire roadside, chatting as they chewed dry rations.
Night thickened. The envoy and Captain John sat by the fire, rehearsing and polishing the speech for the Baron tomorrow—which parts to detail, which to blur—settling each line.
“Whew—settled, then.” The envoy yawned and lurched to his feet. It was deep night; the riders had pitched little tents and turned in. Snores rose, unseemly and steady.
“Well then, Master John, I’ll…”
The words died. He froze, staring straight into the dark fields ahead.
“What is it?” John, yawning, followed his gaze—and saw a slim, shadowy figure bloom in the dark.
A ghost? A lady wraith? A spirit? He swallowed, snatched up shield and spear, and names from old bedtime tales flashed through his mind—night lures that snatch away the living.
“Miss Aelia—why are you here!”
The envoy’s shout snapped John back. Looking hard, he saw no demon shadow at all—only a black-haired girl in a soft hat with feather trim and a fine lace pinafore.
“Am I so tired I’m seeing things?”
John had seen the girl at the lord’s banquet—the runaway daughter of Baron Norlon. By rights, a lone traveler should be worn and dusted; yet by the fire’s light she seemed neatly dressed, spotless, as if she had just come from a banquet.
Unease rose in John. He knew he ought to step up and salute, yet his hands only clenched the spear-haft tighter.
“Miss, the master has searched everywhere these days—are you hurt, are you chilled? By his order I’ve been seeking your whereabouts—” The envoy stepped forward, fawning.
“Ah… and you are?” The black-haired Miss Aelia spoke in a sweet voice.
“So loyal, are you?”
“A trifling devotion… you flatter me.” He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed.
“But just now, I clearly heard you two plotting how to fool my father.”
“Y-you heard!” The envoy panicked. “N-no—no! Not me! He made me!” He jabbed a finger at John behind him.
“Yet I distinctly heard you devising it.” Miss Aelia smiled a perfect lady’s smile and walked forward. “Think—if Father learns of this, how will he deal with you?”
“No—please, I was misled—I lost my head for a moment…”
The envoy’s legs wobbled. John, watching his disgrace, almost felt pity and meant to turn away—when the envoy suddenly screamed:
“Die!”
He ripped the fine steel longsword—Baron Norlon’s gift—from his belt and drove the point into Miss Aelia’s chest.
“Idiot!” John jolted. Their deceit wasn’t yet done; if they brought the young lady back, all could still be salvaged. Murdering her was the worst choice—and if you must, not with a shout.
“Th-this… you brought this on yourself, Miss…” The envoy yanked the blade free, panting at the girl fallen on the ground, his mind reeling—so much so that he did not notice the “corpse” hadn’t shed a drop of blood.
In his daze, a stabbing pain lanced his chest. He looked down: a crimson bud pushed through his white shirt. The body on the ground dissolved to viscous black vapor.
The envoy fell, eyes unclosing in death. In the dark, Miss Aelia’s shape surfaced again and drifted toward her next target.
John tried to shout; his throat made no sound. The girl’s figure warped in his sight, and he remembered the servants’ gossip before they set out—that Miss Aelia had touched an illegal demonic rite.
They say the devils were driven from the world by the god and dwell beyond, in a nine-layered Inferno. When mortal lusts choke the earth, black miasma veils the god’s eye; the gates of the nine-layered Inferno open anew, and the lords of devils will lead their fallen to pour out and turn the world into a tenth Inferno.
Thus the devils enter by rites, take on flesh among humans, and excel at luring out the darkness in the heart—making the wicked into demons and the good fall toward Hell.
“Yes—devils.” John thought. The Baron’s envoy—fool he was, all bluster and no nerve—had dared to kill Miss Aelia. If a devil had ensnared him, all made sense.
The devil in the girl’s shape came to a halt before John, casting up a gaze out of the Inferno.
“What? Do you want to try, too?”
She spoke in Miss Aelia’s pure, sweet voice.
A tremor ran through John. He meant to level spear and shield, but his limbs shook too hard. Had the devil magnified his fear?
“Lord of Light, grant me the courage to drive back evil—” He did not know if a last-minute prayer would work. The devil seemed to read his thought and said:
“I’m not using power on you. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Ah—so it’s that I’m a coward to begin with, John thought. His spear and shield clattered to the ground.
“You look clever, unlike that fool.”
“I… may not be clever, but he was certainly a fool.” The devil’s voice slid into his ears, and John scarcely knew how he could be making such a feeble joke now.
“Hehe… I lack a servant. A man like you is just right.”
“N-no.” John shook his head stiffly. Yet the devil did not anger, only asked:
“Why?”
“Because… I—I am a retainer of House Norlon. While one of Norlon’s blood yet lives, I cannot serve another.” He babbled for time, cooling his head a little. Per the Church, refusing a devil may mean death for a moment; agreeing means torment forever in the Inferno. He’d always scoffed at such talk—who knew a devil from tales would stand before him now?
A real devil—from the Inferno—not the kind you could call names and hang for parlor tricks as “devilry.”
“But… I am Aelia of House Norlon. See? He just called me Miss Aelia. By that, you owe me your service.” John raised his head. The devil, hands clasped behind her back, smiled.
“You… are not Miss Aelia. Miss Aelia would not speak like this.”
“No—I am Aelia. I’ve only changed from before, to make my wish come true.” The devil smiled an angel’s smile. “Forget it—let’s use the direct way and make you my servant.”
John blanked. The devil lifted both hands and cupped his cheeks.
Soft lips pressed to his. Before he felt the softness, her teeth slid into his mouth, caught his tongue—
—and bit down, hard.
“Mm—urgh!”
Agony flared in John’s skull. He crumpled, clutching his mouth, and saw the devil chewing his tongue like a snack. When he blinked back to himself, the wound was whole; his tongue was back in his mouth—as if it were a dream.
No—not a dream. He looked down at blood on his collar and the bodies beside him. He raised his eyes. The devil wearing Aelia’s face wandered by the wagon, palm stroking the dead jackal-were, as if examining something.
“You should go take care of the corpse.”
A sigil somewhere on John’s tongue began to warm. He knew there was no path back. He smoothed a hand over his breast and bowed his head.
“At your service, Miss Aelia.”