Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter3 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

“You wouldn’t know where that kid’s gone to, would you?”

Gilliam, the one being addressed, already had a face that was flushed bright red. He had been in an excellent mood up until right that moment, but when he glanced at the person who had called out to him, for some reason, his expression turned awkward for a second.

“Oh, Shique. How about a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

They were on the first floor of an inn on Eimen’s central avenue. Gilliam was surrounded by Zerdians. At their entreaty, he had been passionately describing the fight that had taken place there, in Eimen. After all, he was a member of Orba’s unit, the one which had killed Garda. As soon as they saw him, there were any number of Zerdians who invited him for drinks. While being praised to the skies as a hero, with drink after drink being pressed onto him, Gilliam proudly told feats of courage that were no more than half-exaggerated.

Shique whispered stealthily into Gilliam’s ear.

“Don’t go on too much of a spree. Not all Zerdians have started liking Mephians. One bad move and you might find yourself stabbed in the back in a fit of jealousy.”

“I know. Which is actually exactly why I ''should'' go on a spree. Being sullen just earns you dislike.”

“I see. There’s that way of looking at it too,” Shique looked around at the Zerdians whose faces were every bit as ruddy as Gilliam’s. “More importantly, do you know where that kid is? I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Who knows? Maybe he got invited by some big shots? He’s the one who killed Garda, after all. He’s bound to be in much bigger demand than we are.”

Gilliam was unusually glib. The nape of his neck was covered in innumerable beads of sweat.

“Right.” With that, Shique was about to leave the inn. When suddenly – 

“Ah, eh? Sir Shique from Orba’s unit…”

“Sir Shique, where are you going?”

The good-looking user of twin blades was popular among Zerdian women. This was a region which by nature had no love for effeminate young men but, once he became known as a hero, that particularity served instead to highlight his exoticism, and those who were easily influenced by fads apparently saw him as something fresh and new.

Normally, Shique would have driven them away for being annoying, but, as he himself had just said, there was the issue of national feeling. Showering them all with his very best smile, he left hurriedly.
With the crisis averted for now, Gilliam wiped the beer froth from his moustache. He turned to Talcott, a mercenary from the same unit who was sitting beside him.

“Well, better watch out, Talcott. If he finds out what we did to the boy, he might just be the one to stab us in a frenzy.”
 


After Eimen had fallen to Garda, the men had been conscripted as soldiers and most of the women and children had been imprisoned as hostages. When Garda was killed, the royal family, which had been taken to Zer Illias, returned, but the granaries were empty and the economy was at a standstill. Since even the half-grown crops had been harvested from the farms, the prospects for reconstruction were not particularly good.

Yet a great many soldiers were currently gathered there. Although the allied western forces, which had defeated Garda, had sent half of their troops home; the remaining half was still stationed in Eimen. Kings and lords from every country also remained, negotiating day after day about what to do from thereon.

On the orders of these statesmen, provisions and alcohol were being sent to Eimen from all over. Funds had also been collected in each country so that they could resume trade with the north as soon as Garda was defeated. So far, about half of the profits of all that had found their way to Eimen.

Where people gather, merchants follow. Barriers and check-points currently had no meaning in the west, nor were tolls being imposed to cross national borders. And with what little funds and goods they had on hand, the local people too were indomitably re-opening for business.

It hadn’t even been a week since Garda was killed, and the west was enjoying an unusually peaceful period, in which no blood wafted on the sand-laden wind. Amidst that –

“I’m going back. You lot do whatever you want.”

“Nah-ah, we’re not letting you do that tonight, Captain.”

This was the previous evening. Gilliam and Talcott, who had been drinking heavily that day too, were on either side of a third man, trapping him between them. Wearing a mask and slenderly-built for a warrior, that man was attracting the gazes of the passers-by. None of them needed to be told that this was ‘Ax’s swordsman’, the one who had killed Garda – Orba.

The three of them were standing in front of the impressive gates to a building. It had once been a merchant’s mansion, but since it became vacant after its owner was killed by Garda, Zerdian pimps had pooled their resources to buy it, and it was now a house in which prostitutes received guests.

Gripping Orba’s arm, Talcott launched proudly into a lecture.

“In Tauran, prostitutes who also work as dancers are known as dancing girls. Their status is way above that of normal whores, you know? They’ve had the foundations of etiquette and the performing arts hammered into them. They’re proud and haughty, and they don’t particularly try to flatter guests. The opposite, in fact: they’ll drive out any guest they don’t like. Some of them have been bought out of service by royalty, and there are even cases of them becoming queens. For Zerdian ‘connoisseurs’, you become a man by having a good time with dancing girls.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So, Captain, you’re going to be having a good time too,” Gilliam brought his ruddy face nearer to Orba’s, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Don’t worry, everything’s been taken care of beforehand. If Orba himself visits the joint, its status will really go up, so we’ve been told that going there will be practically for free.”

“Why would I?”

Orba struggled to break free from their grip. His feet were almost treading the air. When he commanded his military unit, he was – partly thanks to the mask – enveloped in an aura that made it hard to tell what his age was. Right then, however, he seemed entirely like a sixteen, seventeen-year-old boy. Among the people who were peering attentively at him, wondering if this was the famous Orba, there were quite a few who gave up and left, deciding that “he’s just a show-off impostor who’s wearing the same mask.”

Gilliam smirked.

“You’re not ''not'' interested in women, right?”

“Why would I feel like doing anything with a woman I’m meeting for the first time?”

“That’s seriously strange,” Talcott stared narrowly at Orba. “It’s ''because'' it’s the first time meeting them, and you’re paying them, that there won’t be any future complications. Living for love is fine: polishing your skill with women during your spare time is what makes you a real man-about-town.” 

“Let go.”

“Now, now…  look here, Captain. This is both for your sake and for ours as former inhabitants of a foreign country.”

“What?”

While Orba looked about ready to bite at any moment, Gillian embarked on an explanation.

“A masked hero might sound mysterious in a legend, but when it comes to reality, it’s just fishy.”  

“…”

“And on top of that, even though everyone’s praising you to the sky and back, you’re the kind of straight-laced guy who sits there looking gloomy, doesn’t go drinking with anyone, and doesn’t go and have fun with women; so there’s going to be plenty of jealous guys out there who are going to start being suspicious of you, wondering if there isn’t something up with you. ‘Really, that guy managed to do what we couldn’t... so yeah, sure, he’s incredible, but that’s why he’s looking down on us Zerdians and we really hate it’, is what they’ll be thinking.”

“Dancing girls come in five different ranks,” Talcott chimed in as Orba started to stop resisting. “Among those, choose one who’s from the middle rank, and who Zerdians would rate last for looks, to play around with. ‘Whaat? Mephian tastes sure are weird, huh?’ is what you want to get them to think. And just from that, they’ll start feeling much closer to you.”

“If you don’t like it, make yourself look more cheerful. Drink plenty. Try to show yourself being scolded by Ax for going on a spree. Me, I figure that’d be way more difficult for you.”

Orba did not protest and stopped struggling and kicking. Seizing their chance, Gilliam and Talcott, looking like they were half pushing him, entered the establishment. No sooner had they taken a single step indoors that they heard the reedy sound of a flute.

''We did it'' – the two of them exchanged winks behind Orba’s back.

From the start, they had an agreement with the owner that if they managed to bring Orba, they could get in for free; so that previous long-winded reason was something that had been added afterwards.
“Shall we take him by force?” Gilliam had suggested, but Talcott had shaken his head.

“That capt’n of ours, he looks like he’s a real hard nut to crack, but actually, it seems to me that he’s as simple as can be. You leave it to me. This is what I’m best at.”

Talcott was the one who had come up with the argument to persuade Orba, but since it would have been lacking in credibility coming from him, he left the actual coaxing to Gilliam. For that sort of thing, he knew himself well. After all, according to him, “a man of shallow relationships never finds love”, and there was a part of him that believed that women partners were special.

Stepping further in, they found several dancing girls whose naked bodies were covered in only the thinnest of clothing. In the dim light, several brown-skinned shapes drifted, dancing sometimes fiercely, sometimes gently to the sound of pipes. There was something uncanny about it, creating the illusion that one had strayed into another world.

The guests who were watching them seemed to be choosing their partners as they drank. However, as Gilliam had said, there were several ranks of dancing girls, and those in the higher ranks could decline invitations. That was especially true if it was a first-time customer. If a guest wanted a dancing girl to remember his face, he needed to pay frequent visits; and to attract her attention, he needed to prepare a wealth of gifts and topics of conversations.

Pledging an oath to a high-ranked dancing girl was a mark of status among Zerdian men, so they were not looking only for a single night’s pleasure and the competition could be fierce.

Orba, as had been suggested, headed for the area with the mid-rank dancing girls – known as the ‘flower rank’. Inside the room, the smell of cosmetics and perfume was almost offensively strong.

The Orba had come, and for a moment, the women almost stopped moving. Feelings of indefinable nervousness and elation ran through them. Although the well-trained women immediately resumed airily dancing in a circle, they did not forget to keep their gazes glued to that mask.

Orba sat on the floor along with the other men. While pretending to drink, he visually compared the women to each other. Gilliam had said to choose a woman that Zerdians would not consider good-looking, but – ''Damn it, I really don’t get Zerdian tastes''. The dancing girls characteristically wore gaudy makeup, so he couldn’t help but think that they all looked the same.

The music that was playing sounded like a soft breeze.

The women formed a circle and, as though gazing longingly at an invisible moon, they all simultaneously stroked the empty air with their smooth arms. Just when each one of their fingers was about to brush the floor, the music abruptly changed and grew ferocious. All of a sudden, the women were clasping short swords in both hands. This time, it was a battle dance. Their long, supple legs nimbly changed position and intersected with those of the dancing girls on either side of them. The short swords clashed in mid-air, their thighs brushed against one another, then they swapped places two-by-two and challenged the next girl.

The dancing itself was well-worth seeing, but – ''This is stupid'' – Orba irritably shifted the position of his legs time and time again.

What Gilliam and Talcott had said was true… It was because he thought so that Orba had entered the establishment. Even though ingratiating himself with people was not his strong point, given that his position was now one that attracted attention, he was perfectly well aware that it meant he might also attract lethal animosity.

When he had been acting as Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil, he had been able to pull that kind of thing off reasonably well. He had been quite proud of perhaps having a talent for acting, but still, Orba had originally been no more than a sword slave. The role of “prince” was so disconnected from his reality that, conversely, it was for that very reason that he was able to treat it as performing a part in a play and pull it off.

In that respect, the role of “hero” was pretty tough. Besides the fact that the expectations of all those eyes fixed on him felt different, this time, he was not acting the part of someone with a different name and personality. On top of that, there was the issue between Zerdians and Mephians. Orba predicted that if he took the wrong attitude, then far from being a hero, he would become a target of hatred.
Which was the only reason why he had, for the time being, gone along with Gilliam and Talcott’s forceful invitation.

''Fine. Screw this. I’ll think of a different way'' – he decided, and started to stand up.

It was at that moment that one of the dancers fell against him. She had tripped.

The tip of her short sword plunged towards Orba’s mask. The surroundings broke out into unconscious screams but Orba, swiftly raising his hands, caught the woman’s wrist in one of them, and easily propped her by the waist with the other.

Looking at her from close up, she was a girl whose eyes were large – or rather, slightly too large. While he was staring straight at the girl whose large eyes were blinking, a middle-aged woman who seemed to be the leader of the dancing girls came rushing and apologised to him. After which, she looked towards the dancing girl with an expression like that of an ogre.

“Yāni! When am I going to actually be able to rely you?

“I-I’m sorry, Elder Sister. I got distracted.”

“You got distracted? A dancing girl in the middle of a dance? Well that’s a great excuse, isn’t it?”

The woman wasn’t making excuses in any real meaning of the sense. Orba had seen the whole thing from start to finish and, actually, the girl called Yāni was not at fault. It was the dancer behind her who had been paying too much attention to him and who had had collided with her. That dancer seemed to be younger, looking like she was still in her late teens. Her face was pale under her makeup, probably because she was afraid that the brunt of the anger would be turned against her.

Orbas’ chest squeezed tight.

In the distant future, Yāni’s fellow dancers would all agree that “Yāni did really well.”


 
“Honoured Guest, you’re pretty strange.”

In the room they had taken on the second floor, Orba and Yāni were drinking, sitting face-to-face. The sweat that clung to their skin was what remained of their shared warmth.

“That right?”

“Why did you choose me? There are plenty of girls who are more beautiful and better dancers than me.”

“Heh.”

Valued and unexpected guest though he was, Yāni was starting to find him a little hard-going. Sipping his drink like he was licking it, he did not join in on any of the topics of conversation that she brought up and he tended to keep his eyes lowered.

What dancing girls hated most were men who openly turned cold after having finished making love. If his partner had not been Yāni, some pretty awful rumours might have started circulating about Orba. She was twenty-five, however, and had experience. And because of that, as she spotted that the nape of his neck was red, she realised that – ''He’s embarrassed''.
He probably didn’t have much experience in playing around.

''He’s like Dad''.

She could hardly remember ever seeing her stalwart and taciturn father laughing cheerfully. Although that didn’t mean that he had always been in a bad mood. When Yāni’s sister, who was five years older than her, had gotten married, her father had acted very unusually: drinking wine, singing in public, laughing, and then crying in secret.

Six years ago, when a skirmish had broken out with a neighbouring city-state, her father had been drafted as a soldier, and had never returned. Yāni had applied to become a dancing girl the following year.
To fill the silence that had sprung up between her and Orba, Yāni started singing. Afterwards, she performed on a fife. For a while, a lithe and emotion-filled melody sounded. It was the flute that Orba showed the greatest interest in.

“Can all dancing girls play the flute?”

“All Zerdian women are good at it. It’s one of the must-have accomplishments. Although, they are not usually as good at it as I am.”

“Oh.”

The fifes of western Tauran were one of the more popular items of trade with the north. Since it looked like Orba was interested in it, after playing a few more tunes, she said –

“If you want, I could have one made for you. There are craftsmen who specialise in making flutes for us dancing girls.”

“Then, could you have one, no, two made?”

Yāni smiled and looked into Orba’s eyes behind the mask.

“That might cause unnecessary trouble. If they’re souvenirs from Tauran for women, I think it would be best to give something different to both of them.”

When she said that, Orba blushed again.



And that was the reason why Orba went there the second day. In order to give specifications on the design of the flute, he asked Talcott, who was good at drawing, to sketch it. Orba had been prepared for over-the-top teasing, but Talcott had a certain stoicism when it came to his own areas of expertise. A few hours after he had received the request, he had already completed several designs.

“Is there anything that you want included?” Talcott had asked, looking a little anxious, and Orba had found that side to him somewhat surprising.

Having chosen two of the designs, Orba had brought them to Yāni, intending to excuse himself afterwards, but, in the end, he had slept with her for a second day.

He had almost begun to forget the warmth of physical contact.

Orba had changed from when he had lived only for revenge. Now that the fight against Garda was over, his time was unexpectedly hard to fill. Yet it was not out of listlessness. It was just that Orba, who had had his eyes firmly fixed on the next step, then on the step after that of the staircase he was climbing, was taking a few moments to look at something other than where to place his feet before taking that next stair.

For a short while, he was embraced by a woman’s skin. He was, after all, a teenage boy.

When, five days later, he went to visit for the third time, rumours were going around.

“It looks like the hero fancies Yāni.”

“He’s a little weird, I mean, he could have had a better woman.”

While he did feel embarrassed, this ''had'' after all been one of his aims. ''Say whatever you want'' – he thought, blushing to the tip of his ears at the various rumours, as he entered the building to receive the flutes from Yāni.

The night had grown late.

“When I took your hand…”

“Yes?” Yāni turned around while she was tying up her hair. Her naked shoulder was smooth and round.

“When I came here... the first time I took your hand, it was because the smell of perfume wasn’t so strong.”

Yāni was a perceptive woman. She realised that, several days after she had asked it, Orba was answering her question of “why did you chose me?”

She laughed, her eyes creased half-closed.