Sir Norman Gilbit, Prince of Gilbit, the autonomous region of Carolia, feudal territory of Small Simaron, appeared on the scene with a middle age butler in tow. And just as promised, his whole head was hidden under a mask. The mask was not made of iron but rather some soft material tied on with leather bands in the back. It looked more like he’d been mummified.
"Pleased to meet you, sir."
I stood up to shake his hand. His thin, cold fingertips were so soft it ruled out a life containing any sort of physical labor. Because of his weird outer appearance, I felt like I was standing before an opponent in the ring. And a square table might be nothing unusual, but why did we have to sit right on the corners? And which was the red corner and which was the blue corner?
The butler took up a position behind his prince.
"You have surely already heard about the matter of the mask. My lord has spent his entire life since childhood in this guise. And if that weren't bad enough, ever since an unlucky accident three years ago, he hasn't been able to speak with a normal voice. For this reason, please forgive that my humble self will take the liberty to converse with you in this fashion."
"Oh, what a coincidence!"
Nonplussed, I turned to Murata.
"Actually, our Captain Crusoe here also injured his throat and eyes in a bathroom accident! Yes, it's true! Even cleaning the bathroom is dead dangerous these days. One should pay more attention to the warning label, ‘Danger: do not mix!’"
What kind of nonsense was this all of a sudden?!
"At your age, already a captain!" marveled the butler.
"Indeed! He belongs to the super-elite, the best of his class. But in spite of his youth, his hair is in really bad shape. It only seems like he's overflowing with testosterone! So please excuse him if he doesn't take off his hat and his sunglasses."
Aha! Now I understood. He had solved one of our problems. Since I couldn't show my black hair and eyes, I shouldn't take off my cap and glasses. There was still another problem though: in order not to anger these people, I was going to have to come up with an awfully good excuse for why I'd pretended to be a descendant of the Wincotts. Or maybe we should play that game through to the end and let ourselves get accustomed to this treatment?
Namely: we’d been waited on by extremely charming young maids up to the point when the master of the house had taken the stage. They served us tea and cakes and gave us damp towels while wearing their short, cute dresses. Unfortunately Norman Gilbit's appearance had put an end to these pleasant diversions.
We'd been told that a meal would be served soon. According to my loyal travel companion, the Digital/Analog G-Shock, it was already 9 o'clock. The fact that there was still going to be a meal served at this hour indicated that Norman was the type of guy who would see a night baseball game all the way through to the end. At least on that point, we seemed to be on the same wavelength.
Appetizers and aperitifs were carried in. As was to be expected, the liquid poured into our high-stemmed glasses was alcoholic. Thin slices of a star-shaped object were laid upon beautiful plates with gold designs.
Was it star fruit? Murata poked at his with his fork and murmured in shock.
"That's starfish!"
"What a delicacy," I whined.
After the exchange of pleasantries on the other side of the table had finished, the butler began to speak. He introduced himself as Baker. He looked like a bearded seal.
"Please forgive my indiscreet question, venerable Captain Crusoe, but what exactly is the relationship you have with the Wincott family?"
"The blessed late mother of our Captain here had Wincott blood in her veins."
I jabbed Murata in the side with my elbow. "My mother is not dead!" I protested quietly.
Robinson did not let himself be put off course by my objections and simply chatted on: "She died just before the Captain was born. He actually grew up in a foreign land, so he never met her personally. But one day he met someone who'd known his mother. And this man said that this object belonged to Shib-- to our Captain Crusoe."
Oh my god, had he gone totally nuts?! Died before I was born? How exactly was that supposed to have happened?! The bearded seal acted as if he hadn't even heard that slip of the tongue. But out loud he repeated the words that his master whispered to him.
"This woman of Wincott blood... what was her name?"
"Julia."
"Uaaaargh?!"
Under the table, I received a kick in the shin. I quickly clapped my hands over my mouth. That's right, according to the script, my voice box was broken.
"Ah, our good Captain. Even just hearing the name of his beloved mama causes his heart to break, and he makes strange noises."
The bearded seal indicated his acceptance of this with a nod of his head. I got the feeling there was a sympathetic expression in his eyes.
"But how do things stand with you? Can you fill us in on your relationship to the Wincott family?"
The prince's team held a long whispered conversation. Then the butler began to speak.
"I'm not sure if it would be the wish of the dead for me to tell you this, but very well... the ancestors of your esteemed late mother were the original ruling lineage of this region."
Excuse me?! I must have heard wrong. Lady Susanna Julia had been a demon, a member of the ten great noble houses of the Demon Empire. The Wincotts were an especially historic and distinguished demon lineage!
“Now yes, it's true these events took place thousands of years ago. The Carolia of today had a different name then. At that time, the Wincotts ruled over the entire region and the people here. They fought against the old Creator Gods who wanted to devour our world. The Wincotts belonged to the wonderful folk who protected us from that fate. But then -- no one knows exactly why -- they became tyrants and suddenly swung the scepter of insanity over their subjects.”
Creator Gods -- I'd heard that term before.
The bearded seal turned to his master Norman Gilbit and asked with a questioning look whether he should continue the story. The silver mask gave a small nod.
"The people rose up against their unjust tyrants. They longed for a new age and a fair ruler. The result of the battle was the establishment of the state of Carolia. As you surely already know, the Wincotts traveled the world after that, searching for a new home. In the end, they settled far away in the outermost west, and became demons."
What?! Then demons weren't actually just born as demons? Man can become demon, just by traveling around the world a bit?
"Due to this history, Carolia and the Wincotts are deeply tied to each other. The people of Carolia don't carry any grudges against the Wincotts today: the past is the past. After the unimaginably long time that has passed since then, we've buried all our antagonistic feelings."
"Do you really think anyone is going to believe that idiotic fairy tale?!" bellowed a voice that made me cringe for a moment. My goodness, what had gotten hold of Murata?!
But it wasn’t Murata: new characters had appeared on the scene.
All faces spun towards the door in a flash. A troop of seven stood there; five were soldiers of the estate. They were escorting two men. The soldiers had their arms wrapped around the arms and hips of the two men.
I snapped my face away from the door with lightning speed and refocused on Norman Gilbit. Not that his looks were so attractive to me -- I just didn't want to have my face turned towards the new arrivals.
"The people revolted because the Wincotts had become tyrants?! Nonsense! As soon as they weren't needed any more, they were immediately disposed of. Even after they had protected the world from catastrophe. They were used shamelessly. When peace settled in, so did fear of our demonic powers. In the minds of humans, nothing changes. Everything different than they are should be eliminated. No matter how dirty the means are. Reconciliation? Don't make me laugh."
"Please forgive us, Sir Norman! We tried to stop them, but..."
It was an impressive sight, watching the soldiers dangle off the two men. The physical strength of these two men was phenomenal. They appeared to have simply dragged the soldiers along with them. As soon as my glance had fallen on one of the two, my traumas were activated: blond, blue eyes, attractive, wide torso, powerful hands, muscle-packed shoulders. Eagle nose, split chin, Denver Bronco. Traitor, arch-fiend, anti-demon. Weller, von Wincott, von Grantz.
Dalberto!
Well, naturally he wasn't called Dalberto, but I simply had no desire to remember his name!
In an effort to banish him from my consciousness, I tried to concentrate on the other guy. His haircut was pretty original. It was cut short on the sides and the rest was long, tied into a pony tail on the top of his head. His dark brown facial hair was trimmed very precisely, so that the remaining stubs formed an artistic design on his high cheeks and his chin. There was a long stripe of a beard connecting his two sideburns. That type of thin beard was beginning to gain popularity with foreign baseball players and wrestlers.
The most dangerous weapon this man possessed appeared to be his knife-sharp intelligence. An imperturbability that bordered on apathy streamed from his narrow eyes. His emotions could not be read.
"Sir Maxine! At this late hour! What can I do for you?"
"Don't go to any trouble."
As the butler started to rise from his chair, Maxine indicated that he should remain seated with a hand gesture. Then Maxine stepped towards Norman Gilbit. He was standing right next to me. The Gilbit-team looked tense. I felt an icy breath come from Maxine. I had an urgent desire to hold fast to Murata's shirttails.
"So, Sir Norman Gilbit," said Maxine in a dry and dour voice. His method of speaking was intentionally restrained and slow -- as if he wanted to intimidate his opponent with it. "Worrisome stories are coming to light in Small Simaron."
"Sir Maxine, my master is dining with guests right now."
"I have not asked for the butler's opinion." Maxine pulled off a quick hand movement, and a glass broke on the floor. That was my aperitif.
"You must forgive me," he said to me. "When I get excited, I react quickly and somewhat impulsively."
Impulsively? Don't make me laugh! That had been his precisely calculated intention. I was so dumbfounded I didn't say anything.
"We are here so that Sir Norman Gilbit can personally take a position regarding these rumors. Though we naturally hope that our worries prove unfounded, given these circumstances we must ask you to come to the motherland and explain yourself. Sir Gilbit, is it a fact that you have espoused ideas that run counter to Simaron's plans? Have you formed ranks to circumvent the war with the demons? Does that equate to truth?"
Prince Gilbit whispered something to Baker. His chair creaked as he rose.
"Never have we even considered such a thing!"
"It is difficult to discern truth from lies when one cannot look a man in the face," said Maxine contemptuously.
Norman's shoulders flinched.
"You've lost your voice; that is well known to me. You have my deepest sympathies for your childhood illness. But in this room there are no ladies present who might faint at the sight of your pock-marked face or abscesses. Therefore please take off that silver mask so we can carry on a conversation man to man."
"Sir Maxine, you can't ask my master to do that!"
The butler was distraught, Gilbit was very tense. Somehow I had to find a way to break this oppressive atmosphere.
There was only one problem: if Adalbert von Grantz, the muscleman who rooted around in my brain that one time, caught wind of me, he'd finish me off in the blink of an eye. He hated the demon people and had already made one attempt on the freshly-crowned king's life.
"Or is there perhaps another reason why you don't dare remove that mask?"
A hasty glance showed me that Maxine didn't exhibit the slightest sign of agitation. His hand lay calmly to my right on the table top. His brown eyes were completely devoid of emotion. This man was dangerous.
"So, Sir Norman, why don't you let this cat out of the bag -- or perhaps I should say, out of the mask?"
I wasn't sure if Murata would understand what I meant, but I reached for his hand, to give him a sign that way. He snatched his hand away. My god, don't act like such a girl right now!
I couldn't allow Gilbit to be humiliated like this. When his thin, cold fingers touched the leather bands of his mask, I knew it was time for me to step in.
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