"Ghost, Sleep On My Chest!" V3 - Prologue
At the table that sat at the back of a deserted tavern, like any other...
"Part 1 of the data on the man named Orphen."
Looking at the thin file with the aforementioned information, spelled out in a delicate handwriting, the woman chuckled — a dangerous smile that twisted her fair lips. From the front, she didn't look that old. She must've reached her twenties and counted a few birthdays since then. Her face was thin like a cheap whore's, and her eyes shined sharply like the edge of a knife. Her glossy black hair reached down to her waist, which seemed to blend in with her skin-tight black leather bodysuit.
She was a beautiful woman, but not the type of woman that'd be out of place in a 'homey' setting. She popped open the cover of the file with her long fingernails, resting her elbow on her crossed knees and glanced through it. She was flirtatious, but her gaze had a distinctly unapproachable gleam. When she opened her mouth, a husky voice leaked from the back of her throat.
"... So? What do you want me to do with this guy, Mr. Ostwald?"
The man named Ostwald — a gray-haired, thin, vulturous gentleman in his forties — seemed more than a little perturbed to hear his name called. He trembled, his body wrapped in a well-fitted white suit, glanced at the bouncer standing next to him, who looked like a large tree, then smiled a somewhat belated, but relaxed smile.
"How did you find out my name?"
The woman sniffed with a brisk gesture.
"If you like, I can tell you the layout of your entire mansion, when you go to the bathroom alone, and how your bodyguards tend to forget to take turns on the watch during games of poker. You can get all this information just by tossing a few coppers at guys sitting around in alleys."
"I see. You've got a lot of nerve to call a bluff like that."
Ostwald chuckled and wagged his delicate finger.
The woman continued, unconcerned.
"So, why did you call me?"
"If I had to call a woman like you all the way from the other side of the continent to ask you for one favor, what do you think that favor would be? You know, don't you, Hirietta?"
The woman — Hirietta, as she was called — put the tip of the finger that'd been playing with the file to her lips and smiled in amusement. Her answer was simple.
"I see."
She whispered, opening the first page of the file to read it aloud.
"Black-magic sorcerer, Orphen. No family name. Estimated to be around 20 years old. Unmarried. All relatives, including his two parents, seem to be gone... He's not registered in any city. Some say that he's from the Tower of Fang, but the Damsel's Orisons denies it, and in fact, Orphen's name doesn't seem to exist in the list of people from the Tower. He's unemployed. However..."
She read up until that point, then glanced at him and changed her tone of voice — as if teasing him.
"He's an illegal financier."
"He's a mole. He's doing business in my territory as he pleases, and I won't allow it."
Ostwald murmured as he brushed the hem of his white suit.
Hirietta grinned back at him.
"So he's just an eyesore flying around your room like an annoying insect — If you don't smash him, it's not like he's going to do you any real harm."
"I guess so, however, there is such thing as appearances. When you don't smash a cricket, it'll attract other crickets."
"How big of a bug are you, then?"
"Why you—"
It wasn't Ostwald who leaned forward with a groan, but the bouncer who was standing beside him. Ostwald himself quickly raised his hand, and the bodyguard stopped on the spot, frozen.
"Knock it off. As easy as it'd be to tear her to pieces right here and now, if you did, then we'd have to go find another assassin to kill the bug... One that could rival the "Fool's Dog", Hirietta. A comparably... cheap, assassin. So that'd be a hassle."
He glanced gracefully from the bouncer to the assassin sitting in front of him.
"Well... That's what I'm here to talk about, Miss Hirietta. Let's get past the small talk. My subordinate here is desperate to please me, and he's a hot-headed man to begin with. Who knows when he might ignore my reprimands and lunge for you."
"I'd rather punch that fat bastard until his nose stops bleeding than to get in a brawl with a black-magic sorcerer that may or may not be from the Tower of Fang."
Ostwald also grinned as he looked back at her expression, a fierce smile that seemed to challenge him.
"But you're going to take the job anyway, aren't you? From what I've heard, the "Fool's Dog" has never refused a request..."
"Of course."
Answered Hirietta, the Fool's Dog.
Ostwald smiled in satisfaction at that reply, and with a jerk he threw his weight onto the back of the crude chair — and, ignoring the creaking, an exaggerated grief of the chair on the floor, he continued.
"But let me tell you, he's a tough one — I've sent some of my minions to warn him off before, but they all come crawling back half dead."
"Well, no matter how many thugs you send, it won't matter against a sorcerer."
Glancing at Ostwald's side, Hirietta threw her gaze toward the bouncer that stood stationary like a bronze statue. His anger rose, but because of Ostwald's earlier command, this time, he didn't seem to flinch.
"What... That's so boring."
Hirietta sighed with sincere disappointment. Then she pushed her chair aside and stood up.
"What's the reward?"
She might've asked about the amount, but Ostwald answered while deliberately pretending to misunderstand.
"I'll pay you as soon as the job is done."
How much? — She didn't ask.
It was just as he thought — Hirietta, the Fool's Dog, didn't take on assassinations for money.
But for what, then, Ostwald didn't know, nor did he want to.
Table of Contents
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Fool's Gathering Fool's Trap Fool's Rumor Fool's Confession Fool's Showdown Fools Never Stop |