Vampire Hunter D: Dark Nocturne (4 page)

“Make one move and he'll chomp down on you, D. And I'll snap the necks of these two to boot.”

His arms pulled in tighter, and within them, the faces of Ry and Amne contorted without so much as a cry.

“You see, you can't go head-to-head with a Vampire Hunter of your notoriety without getting some leverage. So go ahead and answer Price's question, D.” The man in the uniform—Bijima—bared his yellowed teeth. “It's only fair to warn you that this beastie was a watchdog left behind by the southern Nobility. The alloy armor covering its body could stand up to a direct hit from a small nuclear device. And look what else it can do.”

Molten swirls of color shot by D on either side. The dog had spat them up. Flames that could melt iron hit the floor sixty feet away, spreading in a carpet of spiteful hues.

“Can you cut your way through fire, D? Now, if you value your life and those of your two friends, you'd better come clean with us.”

“Now there are two,” D said as flames flickered across his face, “who need to answer.”

Bijima's complexion grew even paler than Price's. He realized that he and Price were the two to whom the Hunter referred.

“Kill him!” he shouted, but perhaps that was too rash for a man who thought he held the trump card.

At the same time the beast's trio of heads lunged forward, they also spat flames that the Vampire Hunter dashed straight into.

“What the hell?!” Bijima exclaimed, forgetting all about breaking the necks of his two prisoners. Every gout of flame directed at D had been split down the middle, allowing him to pass. The instant the villain realized the ungodly skill behind the blade he faced, he put all his crushing strength into his arms. But his captives didn't move. Looking down in disbelief, he found sticks of unfinished wood running through both his elbows.

“Waaaagh!” he bellowed, his wail as regrettable as it was disgraceful. But naturally his cry did nothing to stay D's naked steel.

With a resounding crunch the beast's three heads were severed, but D then halted right in front of the body as it spouted fountains of black blood. Even the decapitated torso seemed to lose itself in the sound of the song.

The faces of all present—including D himself—turned in a heartbeat toward a little door to the rear of the hall. Seeing Price spring into action, Ry started to run as well. Bijima had already released his prisoners and leapt out into the courtyard.

One of D's hands stopped Ry. Taking a quick glance in the direction where Bijima had made his escape, the Hunter then dashed for the door a second later. He was only a few paces from it when it slammed shut. There was the sound of a lock being thrown.

Without stopping, D hit the door shoulder-first. Though it creaked, it didn't open—in this mansion of the Nobility, the doors were made with Nobles in mind. Finally, on the third try, the lock gave way. Beyond it lay a corridor.

About fifteen feet from them, Price was frozen in his tracks. He was facing D. And he seemed exhausted.

“Did you hear it?”

“I heard it,” D replied.

“It was a beautiful tune. Aside from the voice, that is.”

The singer definitely had been a young man.

“Do you think it was a Noble? No, it couldn't possibly be. No Noble could ever have a voice like that. Who was it, then?”

As Price continued to talk, D checked all around them for any sign of another presence, but he soon turned his back to the warrior. Ry and Amne were standing in the doorway.

“Is he gone?”

The Hunter nodded faintly in reply to Ry's query.

“Everyone who sings that song goes. Even my father's gone.”

“Let's leave,” said D.

Price watched in silence as the three figures vanished into the hall. Ever so sadly he watched, as if he were the last living creature on earth.

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III

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After parting company with Amne, who seemed to want to ask him something but was strangely unable to do so, Ry holed up in his hotel room. That singing voice still rang in his head. Was that voice the same one that his father and Price had heard? No, he thought it couldn't be. But he didn't know why. He'd asked D about it, but hadn't gotten any answer.

Having fretted until sundown, Ry finally went to the room beside his to see D. Upon returning to the village, the Hunter had also checked into the hotel.

Never even bothering to take off his coat, the figure in black was seated in a chair by the window. The village was growing a deepening blue. A strange sense of reality askew enveloped the boy, for he'd just wondered if perhaps it hadn't been this Hunter that'd sung the song. He of all people could make sprites and moonlight captives of a single-minded sentiment merely by singing the poignant nocturne to himself.

“What is it?” asked D.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to talk to you a little.”

“Then take a seat.” D then asked, “Why have you come here?”

To be honest, Ry was elated that the Hunter was interested in him. Once he'd finished telling D the story about his father, he said, “I wondered what it'd be like to meet the person that sang that song. If at all possible, I'd like to hear it right from their lips. That's all I want. Once that's done, I'll go home.”

He continued, “But I wonder what kind of Noble it was. The thought of one of them luring people there with just a song . . . And the people who'd been bitten didn't attack their own families, but merely wandered the night singing the song. You ever hear of a Noble like that before?”

“No,” D replied as he continued to look out the window. Out in a world shuttered by darkness, lamps had begun to shine here and there. “There are various kinds of Nobles. Perhaps there are Nobles who aren't Nobility at all.”

“You can't be serious.”

At that moment, a knock sounded.

Ry stood at the ready—he thought it might be the same trio that was after him. But he was incorrect. The caller was a servant from the mayor's home. He explained that his employer had learned that the famed Vampire Hunter “D” had called on the village and was most eager to discuss some work with him. He also said his employer wanted the Hunter to come right away. D agreed. The servant added that the other young man was also to accompany them, and that they needed to discuss the matter of the nocturne. Although Ry got no answer when he asked how the mayor knew about him, he decided to comply.

As they headed east toward the estate, Ry rode in the coach that'd been sent for them while D took his newly purchased cyborg horse.

In an opulent living room befitting the head of a wealthy village, the mayor waited with three men: Price, Bijima with his pair of bandaged elbows, and Kurt with an arm missing. Though Ry was tense, D went impassively to the seat that had been indicated. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windows.

“Welcome, Vampire Hunter ‘D.' I am Mayor Cobier,” the silver-haired woman said, showing them a forceful smile. “And these three, as you can see, are in my employ. For, you see, a certain objectionable rumor has been brought to my attention.”

“And that is?” D asked, ignoring the trio that stood behind Mayor Cobier as if they didn't even exist.

“That the Nobles have returned once more.”

“Did you say ‘once more'?”

“Yes. They came back on one other occasion, nearly twenty years ago. At that point using ear plugs and keeping our doors locked had become the norm, so there were no victims. I hope this time we can say the same. I should like to have you join forces with these three and destroy the Nobility.”

Stealing a glance at the horrified trio, Ry averted his gaze after catching a look of egregious resentment from Kurt.

“Needless to say, I'll pay you whatever compensation you desire, and you shall be in charge of the group.”

Now Ry was staring at the trio again in amazement. Bijima and Kurt looked dejected, and Price's exquisite countenance was etched with an ironic smile, but none of the three said a single word. They must've been promised a considerable sum to agree to such conditions. However, there was no chance of the Hunter ever accepting the offer.

“Very well,” said D. “But you're to leave the entire matter to me. You cannot countermand me.”

“Understood,” the mayor replied. Clearly this woman was quite competent at running this village, and with good reason.

“So, what would you have the three of us do, boss?” Price asked, his words mixed with a bitter grin.

Walking over to the window, D pushed aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, in the direction of the mansion.

“Next, we'll be heading up to the mansion. Bijima, you take the boy back to the hotel.”

“Pardon my saying so, but I went over every inch of that place,” said Price. “I didn't find anyone.”

“Apparently they can't be seen,” D said without ever taking his eyes off the window. Perhaps sensing something, he pulled the curtain back as Price was about to walk over.

It was the mayor that gasped.

What Ry felt was terror and a strange sense of relief. It seemed that his long journey hadn't been a waste.

The lights of various villages were scattered in the distance—in one spot on the towering mountain whose outline only added to the darkness, a little light winked on, glowing to announce to all the world the return of the fiends.

After Price and Kurt left with D, Ry stayed on at the mayor's house. He'd been told it would be safer than the hotel, and that the mayor didn't feel right about him riding back after dark. Bijima told him he should do it, too, before he made himself scarce.

“I heard about you from those three men. They say you were traveling all alone. What a brave young man you must be.”

“I guess.”

“Why have you come to our village? Are you drawn by the song, just like Price?”

“That's right.” And then, in response to her questions, Ry told her all about his father and the song.

Staring coldly at the curtains her servants had drawn, the mayor said, “That song is the devil's work!”

It almost sounded as if she were talking to herself.

“The Nobility made the song to lure the villagers. Those they called never came home again. It's a cursed melody that should never pass anyone's lips. And that's why it's so beautiful.”

“But I heard everybody that was called came back.”

The mayor cackled—Ry was actually a little surprised that this woman could laugh.

“The girl at the hotel fed you that malarkey, did she? You see, all the victims of the Nobility become their servants. Do you know of any exceptions?”

“No.”

“They all went off. Even my own child.”

Lightning knifed through Ry's spine. If this woman who seemed to be around sixty had lost a child, then the Nobility's return twenty years earlier was more than just a legend.

“I was so busy with my housework that I completely ignored my child. I paid no attention to the angry threats about going off to the Nobles' mansion. And ever since, I've lived alone.”

Somewhere, a clock chimed.

Patting her silvery mane, the mayor got to her feet.

“Join me for supper,” she said. “And once that's finished, it'll be time for you to go to bed.”

 

 

Even after they dismounted at the gates, the light didn't go out. It burned at the far end of the mansion's right wing—in a lone room.

“There's no way they wouldn't have noticed us. And whoever it is, they must underestimate us,” Price said sarcastically.

Although travelers might visit a Noble manor, no one would ever stay in one overnight. In any case, the occupant showed considerable courage.

“Circle around to the garden. I'll go in through the door.”

“Check.”

Taking the silent and sullen Kurt with him, Price dashed off.

Once he saw the two men disappear, D stepped into the mansion. Casually making his way through the hall, he headed toward the corridor at the back. Turning at the end of it, he moved into the right wing. His gait was steady as always, and both his arms hung by his sides. Presently he came to a halt. Before him loomed an elaborately carved door. When his black glove pushed against it, it opened without the slightest resistance.

D silently stood in the flickering light. The canopied bed, the writing desk set by the bay window, the chic ebony cabinet, and the white lace curtains swaying by the windows were covered with a white dust. They were clearly the trappings of a woman's room. D walked over to the little table with the silver candelabra resting on it—the source of the light. Someone must've made use of the things that'd been left here. The blue candles had burned down halfway in their holders.

A trace of the room's occupant lingered in the air. An almost imperceptible chill—probably from the breath of a Noble.

D approached the bed. Taking two steps, his body suddenly became a blur.

Sinking into the ceiling with a mellifluous sound was a steel arrow.

With a single bound, D was back at the doorway. There was no one out in the corridor. The wall directly opposite the door now had three needles of unfinished wood sticking from it. All of them had been hurled by D just as his longsword swiped out to deflect the deadly missile. And none of them were missing. His opponent was worthy of kudos.

“Not too shabby,” said a hoarse voice. It came from D's left hand, which had taken hold of a needle. After pulling all three out of the wall, D turned around. Perhaps the singer had been waiting for the night.

How many people knew what the word “nocturne” meant? It was a song that loved the night. A song for those awaiting a lover in the darkness.

The hem of the Hunter's coat flashed out. A wind had blown from the corridor and into the room. D advanced without a word.

Light filled the space. Ignoring the very laws of physics, moonlight shone in through windows on three walls to focus on a single spot. And there was the singer.