The Tiger in Winter

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  The unicorn backed up and turned sharply, then ran off into the forest.

  “He’s gone,” the duke said, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was a human affectation. Nobles didn’t sweat.

  Sheathing his blade, D asked, “Why did you stop me?”

  “A whim.”

  “I’d have cut him down. You got in my way.”

  “I could’ve killed him, too. It was the unicorn that got in the way.”

  “I thought as much,” said D.

  “About what?”

  “Go back to the castle,” D said, and he started walking away, but after a while he looked back.

  The Tiger King who’d reduced a boulder to dust with a single shot was silently headed off in pursuit of the fleeing unicorn. Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the Nobleman from head to toe. As he went, his was the loneliest-looking back D had ever seen.

  III

  Work began right on time. The crane hoisted up chunks of rock, and a spiderlike robot used extendable arms to pick through the rubble. In about two hours, a number of small doors had been found beneath a mountain of earth. The electronic cutter’s laser sent blinding sparks flying as it opened a bore hole in the wall by one of the doors, and as a result of the images sent to a handheld viewer by the threadlike fiber optic camera pushed through, the party had discovered a room filled with countless artifacts.

  The door had a firm lock on it, which took more than an hour to burn through even with the laser cutter. Dressed in biohazard suits, the survey party members entered the room, where the gleam from golden plates and statues made it impossible to hide their avaricious expressions. Capturing the entire room on film, they numbered each item, then photographed them again individually. But as they did their work as archeologists, they spoke to each other with their eyes.

  These plates will fetch a hundred thousand dalas each, easily!

  Every last thing’s made of gold. Looks like it. The ancient Nobility really did know how to transmute elements, eh?

  An item apiece sound good to you?

  Yeah, but freaking Valerie will never go for it.

  They looked over their shoulders at the female archeologist they knew had to be watching them.

  A day earlier, she’d stepped outside with five of their colleagues and hadn’t come back until that very morning. Their colleagues had all been found dead, but the others in the tents had cleaned up the scene and kept quiet about it. Because it had been clear at a glance what had happened. The only problem was that the wrong people had wound up dead.

  Having returned early that morning, Valerie didn’t say anything about the incident either, and they didn’t ask, so both sides had dived headlong into a cloud of suspicion. Only one thing was clear to them. She’s been possessed.

  There was something different about the air she had and the look in her eye—actually, anyone who got near her felt her giving off a vibration that threatened to make them pass out, so no one had been able to get any information out of her. Valerie didn’t say a word about the events of the night before and had gone right to work as if nothing had ever happened. But something really was different. Just being beside her, or even the thought of being around her, made them feel like the blood was draining from them, their nerves were misfiring, and their organs were failing. Sooner or later, we’re gonna end up dead—that was the feeling that’d intensified.

  The mood in camp changed when a survey member checking the three-dimensional radar in the tent shouted, “Hey, we’ve got something here! There’s something way underground. A spot twelve miles down. Can’t get a good image on it, which is no great surprise, but it’s there sure enough.”

  “What’s there?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s something really enormous. Just from the parts it’s bouncing off, it’s a hundred fifty feet long, a hundred fifty wide—and I don’t know how tall. Figuring in for the parts that are fuzzy, and this is something serious here!”

  “A new set of ruins?”

  A buzz went through the group.

  “I don’t know. What should we do?”

  “Let’s get the camera in closer. Get it strapped onto ‘the mole,’” said a cheery voice. It was brimming with strength from his high hopes for this new discovery.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Valerie said, cutting them off right there.

  “What are you talking about?!”

  Everyone—even those who were in other tents and couldn’t see her—glared at the woman. This was a major discovery, something in a whole different dimension from some plates and idols. They’d probably go down in history. So what did she think she was doing?!

  The eyes the men trained on Valerie were already bloodshot. She met them with a look that was cold—actually, it was an utter void.

  “You’re not to touch what’s down there,” she informed them in a tone as flat as a machine’s.

  “Have you lost your mind? This is the find of the century!”

  “We’ll all be heroes of the academic world. So will you.”

  “You’re not gonna get your way on this, Valerie!”

  Her colleagues weren’t on her side any more.

  “You know, Pike and Jimemem got the same sort of thinking into their heads,” she said.

  Her colleagues’ expressions changed.

  “So, you were the one who killed them after all?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make you pay for that crime!”

  Apparently “greed,” the thickest component in human blood, allowed the others to forget their fear of Valerie.

  They all pressed forward a step, but then, down at their feet, a white-hot beam of light arced around, and the men had to back away from the blaze on the stone floor. Before they could look up for the source of that beam, a supple shape landed on the stone floor, taking the form of a girl in an azure dress.

  “Thank you, Shayna.”

  “It’s Shyna.” Aiming her index finger at the men, the android girl asked, “What shall I do?”

  “Huh?” said Valerie.

  “Shall I get rid of them right here and now?”

  “No, don’t do that. They’re my colleagues—after a fashion.”

  “Very well,” Shyna replied, lowering her finger.

  The men were so relieved, they started feeling lightheaded.

  Time flowed along peacefully for a while.

  “Say, Valerie,” one of the men began in the sort of voice a dying man used to address his physician. “Why are you against excavating that thing? It’s down a good sixty thousand feet. Digging it up sure won’t be easy. We’d need to get heavier equipment from the Capital out here.”

  “In that case, better to just let it lie there, then. It’s—”

  “It’s what?”

  Glared at by reproachful eyes, Valerie found herself perplexed. Still, she seemed to be searching for an answer. Her expression swiftly faded, and her eyes became a sandy void.

  Shyna slowly raised her index finger. And pointed it at Valerie.

  “It’s something bad.”

  “What do you mean?” another man said, baring his teeth. “You supposed to know what it is or something?”

  “It’s—the ultimate weapon.”

  “The what?!”

  Everyone bugged their eyes.

  “It’s something Duke Van Doren used long, long ago to slay enemy Nobility. No one’s supposed to touch it.”

  “Is this a joke? If it’s as dangerous as all that, why bury it in the ground instead of destroying it? That had to have been a hell of a lot more trouble than smashing it to bits.”

  “Forget it,” Valerie said, her voice suddenly thin. “Forget all about it, and never speak of it again. Or else—”

  “Or else what?”

  The men were practically snarling at her. Murderous intent swirled at the bottom of that hole like the dust of antiquity. The sun was high.

  It was almost noon when D and the duke returned to the ca
stle. That was due to the duke’s making the rounds to encourage the villagers who’d survived the attacks.

  “Thank you,” a certain boy said, taking the duke’s hand.

  “Are you not afraid of me?” the Nobleman asked.

  “No, not a bit. I see nothing to be scared of. Nothing unjust, nothing ugly, nothing detestable.”

  The boy was blind.

  “Come with me to my castle. I shall give you the use of your eyes before the day is out.”

  “No, I’m fine the way they are now. I may not have my sight, but everyone’s kind to me.”

  “Very well, but if you should ever change your mind—I’ll be waiting!”

  “Thank you for the offer,” the boy said, bowing his head, and a moment later he exploded. It was a heroic sort of suicide bombing made possible by the power of spontaneous human combustion.

  Inside the aircraft, the hoarse voice ridiculed the duke, saying, “They don’t love you, do they?”

  The duke didn’t reply, but on returning to the castle, he invited D to his chambers.

  “Join me in a drink,” he said, taking a bottle of elaborately cut crystal from a cabinet of pure gold, then filling a pair of glasses to the rim with deep red liquid. “It’s an exceptional wine I inherited from my grandfather two millennia ago. Grandfather said he saved it for me instead of drinking it himself.”

  “What about your father?” D inquired. That was a miracle.

  “Grandfather intended to leave his title and position as administrator, this castle and these lands, and all his rights and privileges to me. Father was furious, of course, and he plotted with my elder brother to assassinate Grandfather.”

  Nothing from the Hunter.

  “Somehow I learned of their plot and destroyed them both. Even now I can feel most distinctly what it was like driving the stakes through their hearts, and lopping their heads off.”

  “And what became of your grandfather? That was Duke Jackinesin Van Doren, if I’m not mistaken.”

  The duke downed his drink. In one go he drained the contents of a rather large glass—nearly a half quart of liquor.

  “I wish I could say that even now in the northern Frontier sectors his name retains the same eternal fame as Lord Greylancer’s, but it’s not nearly in the same league. At any rate, while he may not have been the very greatest of Noblemen, Grand Duke Jackinesin was beyond a doubt a Greater Noble. I destroyed him, too.”

  D’s left hand murmured, “Oh, my.”

  “The reason for it I don’t recall very well. It may have involved a certain human songstress, or was it trouble over an attack satellite parked in orbit over the castle?”

  “You had a younger brother as well, didn’t you?”

  “He was in league with Grandfather, so they were destroyed together.”

  “By your hand?”

  “That’s correct. I drove my staff through my younger brother’s chest with this very hand. My cute little brother, who’d caught sprites with me in the forest so often in our youth.”

  Holding his hands out, the duke spread his fingers.

  “Why can’t I shake the way it felt? When I lopped off Father’s head, I felt the blade sink into his flesh. When I cut through my elder brother’s spine, so hard it felt. When I drove the stake through Grandfather’s heart, the blood he spat up on my hand was warm. The tip of the stake I drove into my little brother’s chest was stopped by one of his ribs. That feeling, as I smashed through it to pierce his heart—why will it not fade?”

  The duke turned his palms toward D.

  “See? Just as I said, their blood is on my hands.”

  D’s eyes couldn’t detect a single stain on his palms.

  “It was the height of winter when I killed Father and my elder brother. There was a raging snowstorm outside my windows. When the deed was done and Grandfather and I embraced, my hands were horribly frozen. It was as if they’d been thrust in the snow since the day I was born.”

  The duke walked over to the cabinet. Taking out a fresh bottle, he set it down on the small table.

  “It was summer when I destroyed Grandfather and my little brother. A terribly hot night, as I recall. And yet, when I lopped off their heads and pierced their hearts, my hands were frozen to the bone. Ever since, I’ve been ice to my very marrow.”

  “Ever in winter?” said D.

  “A Tiger in winter,” the hoarse voice added, the remark slipping out. “All alone—a true orphan king.”

  The cork was pulled from the new bottle. A heavy aroma filled the chamber.

  “I’m not feeling well today,” said the duke. “If you would be so kind as to leave me. Best that you see to what you need to do, D.”

  The young man in black left.

  With one gulp the duke drained the fragrant liquid he’d poured into the glass. There was more than his mouth could hold, the remainder running out and staining him from neck to chest. Viscous. And red. It was human blood.

  “Leavis, Kazel, Sebastian,” the duke said, gazing at three unnatural spaces on the wall. Each would’ve perfectly accommodated a small portrait. “Leavis—I dispatched you myself. Why did I choose to support mere humans instead of siding with you?” he said. “Kazel—the great one took you away. Why didn’t I stop him? When you refused, why did I cut off your arms and legs and deliver you to the great one? Sebastian—you left after blaming me for letting Kazel go so shamelessly. I cut off your legs. And you dragged yourself out. Even now, the streaks of blood remain in these corridors. Should I have taken your arms off as well?”

  The duke let out a deep breath. A pair of fangs protruded from a maw dyed crimson.

  “And you, D—why do you resemble my sons so?!” the duke howled.

  The sun was still high, and there was no one there to hear the voice of the Tiger King in winter.

  Taking his left hand away from the door, D slowly started to walk down the corridor. For that day, he had three new incidents waiting for him.

  Fangs of the Tiger King

  Chapter 8

  I

  It was just before the sun was at its highest that the rebel army attacked the Pitch Black Gang in the northern forest region where they’d assembled. Even to Vulcan, who was busy tending to the wound he’d received from one of his own arrows, this came as the proverbial bolt out of the blue.

  While other bandit groups preyed on isolated humans beyond the Nobility’s protection or bands of nomads, the Pitch Black Gang terrorized Nobles’ domains to their hearts’ content and fled with impunity entirely thanks to one of their leader’s superhuman powers—a precognitive ability. But this time, their enemy seemed protected by a force that kept Vulcan’s power from working. Perhaps it was that same force that allowed the rebels to neutralize the gang’s defensive shields and kill their hand-picked lookouts, striking the battle-hardened villains before anyone could notice and raise the alarm. In less than five minutes’ time, eighty percent of the Pitch Black Gang had been stabbed, shot, burned, or vaporized.

  When Vulcan came out of the tent where he made his preparations, the enemy vanguard had closed to within fifty yards of him. He was already astride his unicorn. And every attack by the rebel army bounced off him, while his attacks proved effective. He had a weapon the Pitch Black Gang took great pride in—a rotary cannon. Fed by a belt from the hundred-thousand-round magazine that rested on the ground, the motor gun sprayed lead at a rate of six thousand rounds a minute, ripping horses and riders to shreds.

  When a ring of over a hundred shredded men had taken shape, a man on a white horse came through the bluish smoke and halted right in front of the gun’s muzzles. “I’m Gilshark. I lead the rebel army,” he said by way of introduction.

  Vulcan also introduced himself, and he added, “I’m surprised you made it this far.”

  “All thanks to a certain Noble,” Gilshark replied.

  “You’re human?”

  The bandit leader easily had seven thousand rounds left. What’s more, his beloved steed was a uni
corn, which rendered its rider indestructible.

  Taking no particular care, Vulcan pulled the trigger. A fusillade of twenty-millimeter slugs should’ve reduced Gilshark’s upper body to bloody pulp, his flesh blasted into a fine mist. But no bullets flew from the weapon. The blisteringly hot motor merely spun its six barrels at incredible speed.

  “Useless piece of shit!” Vulcan bellowed, raising the weapon with his right hand alone and swinging it down at Gilshark. The ammo belt trailed after it like a serpent’s tail.

  “Easy there,” Gilshark said, bending backward as he caught the mass of steel, then swinging the muzzles around toward Vulcan and pulling the trigger.

  This wasn’t a gun; it was a cannon. A direct hit from its twenty-millimeter slugs would blow apart a human torso. The stand of trees behind Vulcan was mowed down, and rocks were pulverized. The soil was blown so far back there, the scars would remain in the ground for a lifetime.

  “You’re protected? Well, at least I got it to fire,” the rebel army leader said, discarding the weapon after discharging only a thousand rounds.

  “Where’d you get that power?” asked Vulcan.

  “In the deep, dark bowels of the earth.”

  “You went down there?” the bandit leader said with a thin smile. “Then let me test something. I wanna see what his power’s like.”

  Suddenly, Vulcan drove his boots against the unicorn’s flanks.

  Kicking off the ground, the unicorn bent in its legs, turning itself into a bullet. Pierced cleanly through the heart and out the back, Gilshark was easily taken out of the saddle. The unicorn tossed him high into the air. The rebel leader’s body went as high as the top of the towering tree beside him, where it snagged on a branch and didn’t come down.

  “Finished already? You weren’t as tough as you claimed. Is the supposed ultimate weapon the duke used equally disappointing?” Vulcan mused, spitting the words bitterly before pulling back on the reins.

  The ground before him collapsed impressively. It wasn’t merely a matter of the material giving way. The ground at the surface had ceased to exist.