[788] Dead Calm (1)
When they arrived at Aganos's airfield, the Kaidra handlers already had Ratusa waiting.
Iruki, who had come to see Shirone off, handed Shirone's bag to him and asked, "How long do you think it'll take?"
"That depends on how cooperative the Arakne government is. Still, it shouldn't take long."
If it were the Ivory Tower they'd be forced to cooperate, which was why Woorin had singled out Shirone.
"The problem is Betafish—real name Amery Jestin. Maybe… she doesn't hate Habitz."
Iruki shared the concern.
"She's the only survivor while her whole bloodline was slaughtered. Fear could outweigh hatred."
The fact that she'd even abandoned her name and gone into hiding abroad only strengthened that suspicion.
"I'll try to persuade her as much as I can, but if she refuses there's nothing we can do. Like Abella, the 'Lawslay' isn't a weapon you can force someone to use."
"Right. We'll work on contingency plans too."
If Shirone's sincerity didn't get through, no one could possibly bring her back.
"It's not a dangerous mission, so take a breath before you go. Arakne's a world-class resort—you've had it rough lately."
Shirone's face had noticeably thinned of late.
'Combat aside…'
Clashing with demons who loathed Yahweh would take a huge mental toll.
"I'll be back."
Shirone didn't feel this trip was a vacation, but he didn't show it and climbed onto the Kaidra.
"Long time no see, Ratusa."
As a comrade who'd crossed Noscarta with him, Ratusa rubbed her beak against Shirone affectionately.
"Let the Kaidra rest if it's tired. Don't feel pressured because of us."
Shirone tugged the reins. "It's fine. If it gets tired, I'll carry it and fly."
Ratusa rose, casting a huge shadow; Iruki's gaze shot up to four meters.
"Let's go!"
The Kaidra launched itself off the airfield and dropped in a vertical plunge.
Kyaaahhh!
A piercing cry split the air, then Ratusa burst back into view and streaked up into the clouds.
"…She said she'd carry it herself?"
Iruki shook his head, picturing Shirone perched on the monster-bird's back.
* * *
Arakne Kingdom.
Five-star Rubistro Hotel.
"Maya, are preparations on track? Have you seen the sheet music for this number? Isn't it amazing?"
Maya had arrived in Arakne three days earlier.
"Yes. It's really great—lively, upbeat."
Elbor, the Tormia-based production agency, had taken special care with the debut of this major new talent named Maya.
They'd secured the opening slot for Arakne's biggest festival: the World Beauty Pageant.
"Well, well. It's the result of the best composer working with the best lyricist."
Every year the pageant drew over twenty thousand tourists from around the world.
Palmerus, Elbor's handsome, long-time bachelor director in his mid-thirties, clenched his fists with excitement.
"The timing's perfect. Damn those demons—we had to scale down a bit this year, but press from every country will cover it. Don't worry, just sing well."
"Sir."
Maya made a face. "I know you're being so kind to me. I really appreciate it."
"Haha, what did I do? I just spotted Maya's natural talent before anyone else…."
"It's all really good—song, everything—but the lyrics make me sick."
She appreciated Palmerus's goodwill, but she simply lacked confidence.
"The lyrics are wrong. I don't think I can sing them."
"Huh? The lyrics?"
Maya spread her arms. "They're too lewd!"
"Hmm."
Palmerus blinked, tried to recall the lines, and then nodded reluctantly. "They're a bit provocative. But that's the point. If it's not explicit, a little risqué always goes over well."
"But the meaning is just too heavy. I'm sorry to complain as a rookie, but this is…."
Palmerus licked his lips. 'This is the problem.'
She had flawless looks, an extraordinary voice, could dance, had a mage's certification, and had sense.
'So why is she so timid?'
"Maya, can't you just close your eyes and sing it? I know your personality. That's why I cut the undress sequence."
The "undress" only showed shoulder lines and a hint of cleavage, but Maya recoiled.
"I—actually, I'd rather undress. It's my issue, but I really don't have the confidence to sing those words."
Faced with Maya's determination to reveal skin rather than sing decadent lines, Palmerus gave up the argument.
'Is that so hard?'
It was a quick way to ruin a career to let personal feelings get involved, but he honestly didn't want to see Maya strip either.
"All right. Here's what we'll do. Time's short, so I'll bring the lyricist here now and we'll work on revisions together."
"I'm sorry, sir."
Palmerus forced a wry smile. "It's my job. If anything else bothers you, tell me. You have to be comfortable for the best result."
Twenty minutes later Palmerus returned with a gruff-looking man in square glasses.
"It's not that I dislike it; it just doesn't fit the tone I'm after."
Unlike at the audition, the lyricist Moster accepted her stance and sat at the table without complaint.
"All right, which parts don't you like?"
Maya dove in. "First, the word choice. 'I'll lick you.' The slurping sound. Why keep saying 'lick'? And the double entendres—'a man like a rigid stick,' 'come into my open heart'…."
Moster waved his hand frantically. "Ah, not that last one."
Maya pressed her lips together. "…Anyway, that's what I mean."
With Palmerus watching from the wall, Moster sighed. "Writers—those who make stories out of words—most of them are a little mad."
Maya blinked at the unexpected start.
"In fact, there are only two kinds of writers: ordinary people pretending to be writers, and lunatics pretending to be ordinary."
Moster tapped his temples with his index and middle fingers. "A writer's head holds two thoughts at once: very logical, horribly boring thoughts, and the thrilling, terrible thoughts that shatter that logic."
He snapped his fingers like scissors. "When those two interact like electricity, you get storytelling that's both logical and exciting. Split personality—that's how you go mad."
"And?"
"And while you think the most beautiful things, there's also the urge to trample them cruelly. The key is balance. Lean too far one way and it all falls apart."
"…So?"
Moster pushed his chair back, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head to Maya. "I lost to that desire!"
"What are you doing?"
Maya helped him up in surprise, but he held his low stance and wouldn't straighten.
"I felt a thrill at the audition. Incredible material! What would that heavenly voice do with this? My destructive impulse was so strong I had to use it!"
"You're a pervert. Why think like that…!"
"Trust me! It'll work! Please—sing my lyrics with your beautiful voice!"
By the time Maya looked up, Palmerus had already opened the door and called security. "Take him out."
Even while being dragged away, Moster kept shouting. "Please, Maya! I dream about you singing those lines!"
The door closed.
"Hah."
Maya slumped into a chair exhausted as Palmerus smacked his lips and came over. "Sorry. It's entirely our fault. I'll find a new lyricist somehow."
He should have seen how fired up the man was. 'If even a veteran like Moster chose desire over money, then the material must really be that provocative.'
If her shyness could be used as a weapon, it might be worth leaning into Maya's natural purity.
"All right, let's go for pure."
Maya asked anxiously, "There are only three days left. Can I finish the lyrics in time?"
"We'll mobilize everyone in the company. Few can match Moster's sensibility, but—"
No regrets there.
"Then… may I try writing them myself?"
"Huh? Maya, you?"
"Yes. I don't exactly know what Moster meant by those two thoughts, but I want to try."
"Hmm. That's not a bad idea."
With the lyricist out, trusting Maya's true self could be a strategy.
"All right, start working on it. I'll put it up for final review. But you must practice steadily."
Maya smiled with relief.
'Shirone.'
There was a lyric she absolutely wanted to write.
* * *
Kreeeek!
The Kaidra's screech woke Shirone from his morning sleep.
"Huaaahhh!"
The air that had been cold when he slept had become warm and equatorial.
"Wow!"
The sun seemed to fracture, scattering tens of thousands of lights over the windless sea.
Islands of forest and sheer cliffs flung riotously colored birds into the sky like fireworks.
"What a place."
Shirone shook his head. "But the mission comes first."
Having worked his way through the ten island kingdoms from the east, Shirone parted with Ratusa above Arakne and began his descent.
"Thanks. I'll buy you something tasty when I reach Kashan."
Kaaaii.
Shirone stroked the Kaidra's head, then leaped toward the ground before he could be delayed.
Aiming for Arakne's capital, Bengol, he descended to a city filled with crowds and music.
"It's a festival."
Unlike with Minerva, barging through a castle wall wasn't his style, so Shirone landed on a building.
Everyone's attention was on the festival, so no one noticed a stranger falling from the sky.
"This is the Arakne Kingdom."
It was the third of the ten island kingdoms stretching east from the southern continent's coast.
'The original Arakne settlers came by ship from the south long ago.'
Perhaps for that reason, although their development had been influenced by the continent's advanced civilization, southern customs remained.
"Shall I go down?"
Shirone jumped toward an alley and emerged onto a main road where open carriages paraded.
Arakne dancers in bikinis swayed their hips as the MC announced, "Everyone! Miss Yakma!"
When the Yakma Republic's representative in the World Beauty Pageant passed by, all eyes turned.
"Miss Yakma! Show us your face!"
The contestant was hidden by a curtain, and a silhouette waved when someone called.
"She waved at me! I love you! I don't even know who you are but I love you!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Miss Tormia!"
Shirone's gaze turned on its own.
'That's our kingdom!'
Only a silhouette was visible, but the profile—one hand on her knee—was of a composed, graceful woman.
'Who could she be? I'm really curious.'
The curiosity everyone felt would be answered on the day of the World Beauty Pageant.
"Miss Nam Eymond!" the MC's voice embroidered the southern sky.