indignant, going off in pursuit of the director. Now that D had taken the job, she’d been told that her services were no longer needed. By this point, she was undoubtedly embroiled in relentless, passionate negotiations in some room in the town hall.
“A snow-covered mountain? That’s the worst environment for you! And up against Duke Gilzen, of all people. Let’s pass on this one.”
His left hand had practically been foaming at the mouth ever since he’d stepped into the room, but D replied, “I can’t do that.” His tone was tranquil as always, yet carried a strength. It could probably be called determination. “This job is in my blood. I can’t run or hide from it.”
“The one who put it there took it upon himself to do so. You don’t have to take responsibility for this.”
“If I don’t, who will?”
The left hand fell silent.
“The offer came just as I was about to head into the northern Frontier. They wanted someone to rescue the crew and cargo of an aircraft that’d crashed in the snowy mountains. If there were no survivors, they asked that I bring back the cargo alone. True, dhampirs are impervious to the cold. But even given that, it wasn’t the sort of job I should take.”
“You mean to say the devil made you do it?”
“The cargo was Gilzen’s coffin—it’s safe to say his will might’ve put us in motion.”
“You seem pretty calm about that. And there’s nothing you hate more than being made to act on someone else’s wishes.”
“If Gilzen rises again, what will become of the world?”
D opened his left hand. Ripples spread across the surface of his palm, and a human face appeared. Covered with wrinkles that could be those of the very young or the very old, nevertheless it had eyes swimming with vitality as it gave him a wry grin. “Ruin,” it said.
“ He knew that full well. Both at the time, and in the future. And that’s why he entrusted me with this.”
“ A ‘murder outside time’? Sounds like the name of a cheesy movie.”
Just as the left hand was grimacing, there was a knock at the door.
“That female Hunter back so soon?”
Turning toward the door, D asked, “Who is it?” Though his voice was low, the person outside could hear it clearly.
“Crey’s the name. I’m a traveling man. I’m here with a request for you.”
“It’s open.”
Just as D responded, a lanky fellow slipped in like a breeze. Though his traveler’s coat and thermal trousers were threadbare in spots, his face was intrepid. It would be safe to say his expression was that of a daring man. The faint scar on his left cheek only served to heighten the intensity of the eyes that reflected D.
“You’d be Mr. D, I take it? I’m Crey—”
“Crey Jansen—a.k.a. Crey of the Deadman’s Blade.”
For a second, the intrepid expression turned to one of shock that peered at the source of that hoarse voice.
II
“To be honest, this is kind of a surprise,” the man who’d introduced himself as Crey said frankly. “I’d heard that anyone who got as far as D’s room either walked off disappointed without even reaching for the doorknob, or else got carried out—as a stiff.”
“That’s because those clowns didn’t even knock. They just barged in with a sword or a pistol or whatever in one hand,” said the hoarse voice.
“Then you mean to tell me my good manners saved my life?” Crey donned an intimidating smile.
D finally spoke. “Say your piece.”
Crey stared at D, stunned once more. Blinking his eyes stupidly, he eventually came to grips with matters and composed himself, saying, “I’ve heard all sorts of rumors about you, but I didn’t know you did ventriloquism.”
“Well then, it seems like a certain outlaws’ grapevine isn’t all it’s cracked up to—ouuuf!”
Giving a light shake of the fist he’d just closed, D gestured to a chair. He didn’t say to have a seat, nor did Crey move.
Moistening his lips with his tongue, he finally got down to
“A snow-covered mountain? That’s the worst environment for you! And up against Duke Gilzen, of all people. Let’s pass on this one.”
His left hand had practically been foaming at the mouth ever since he’d stepped into the room, but D replied, “I can’t do that.” His tone was tranquil as always, yet carried a strength. It could probably be called determination. “This job is in my blood. I can’t run or hide from it.”
“The one who put it there took it upon himself to do so. You don’t have to take responsibility for this.”
“If I don’t, who will?”
The left hand fell silent.
“The offer came just as I was about to head into the northern Frontier. They wanted someone to rescue the crew and cargo of an aircraft that’d crashed in the snowy mountains. If there were no survivors, they asked that I bring back the cargo alone. True, dhampirs are impervious to the cold. But even given that, it wasn’t the sort of job I should take.”
“You mean to say the devil made you do it?”
“The cargo was Gilzen’s coffin—it’s safe to say his will might’ve put us in motion.”
“You seem pretty calm about that. And there’s nothing you hate more than being made to act on someone else’s wishes.”
“If Gilzen rises again, what will become of the world?”
D opened his left hand. Ripples spread across the surface of his palm, and a human face appeared. Covered with wrinkles that could be those of the very young or the very old, nevertheless it had eyes swimming with vitality as it gave him a wry grin. “Ruin,” it said.
“ He knew that full well. Both at the time, and in the future. And that’s why he entrusted me with this.”
“ A ‘murder outside time’? Sounds like the name of a cheesy movie.”
Just as the left hand was grimacing, there was a knock at the door.
“That female Hunter back so soon?”
Turning toward the door, D asked, “Who is it?” Though his voice was low, the person outside could hear it clearly.
“Crey’s the name. I’m a traveling man. I’m here with a request for you.”
“It’s open.”
Just as D responded, a lanky fellow slipped in like a breeze. Though his traveler’s coat and thermal trousers were threadbare in spots, his face was intrepid. It would be safe to say his expression was that of a daring man. The faint scar on his left cheek only served to heighten the intensity of the eyes that reflected D.
“You’d be Mr. D, I take it? I’m Crey—”
“Crey Jansen—a.k.a. Crey of the Deadman’s Blade.”
For a second, the intrepid expression turned to one of shock that peered at the source of that hoarse voice.
II
“To be honest, this is kind of a surprise,” the man who’d introduced himself as Crey said frankly. “I’d heard that anyone who got as far as D’s room either walked off disappointed without even reaching for the doorknob, or else got carried out—as a stiff.”
“That’s because those clowns didn’t even knock. They just barged in with a sword or a pistol or whatever in one hand,” said the hoarse voice.
“Then you mean to tell me my good manners saved my life?” Crey donned an intimidating smile.
D finally spoke. “Say your piece.”
Crey stared at D, stunned once more. Blinking his eyes stupidly, he eventually came to grips with matters and composed himself, saying, “I’ve heard all sorts of rumors about you, but I didn’t know you did ventriloquism.”
“Well then, it seems like a certain outlaws’ grapevine isn’t all it’s cracked up to—ouuuf!”
Giving a light shake of the fist he’d just closed, D gestured to a chair. He didn’t say to have a seat, nor did Crey move.
Moistening his lips with his tongue, he finally got down to
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