PandoraHearts ~Caucus Race~, Vol. 2 (18 page)

Gilbert wondered if Echo had been in the room the whole time, behind the sofa. If she had been, had she overheard his exchange with his brother? However, he couldn’t read any emotion from Echo. She simply stood there.

Silently, Echo watched Gilbert with steady eyes. He didn’t know what he should say to her.

“Gil…”

Vincent spoke sleepily from the sofa beyond Echo.

“Would you make Echo smile for me…?”

Gilbert blinked. He mulled Vincent’s words over in his mind, then repeated them.

“—Make her laugh?”

“That’s right. The child hasn’t smiled in ages, you see… I was just thinking I’d like to see it…”

“She hasn’t smiled—”

“No tickling allowed… I doubt it would work anyway.”

Even as Echo listened to them talking about her right over her head, she only watched Gilbert, silently. Her face held no emotion whatsoever.

“Rrgh,” Gilbert groaned. He thought. It was easy to say “Make her smile,” but his master and Break were always telling him he didn’t have the knack for comedy. He’d always thought he didn’t need a knack like that. He’d never imagined it would prove necessary at a time like this.

Still, he had to do it. It was partially due to his feeling of responsibility over breaking the vase, but even more than that:

That’s right… I…

When he’d left Pandora Headquarters, he’d told Oz he’d be right back.

He couldn’t break that promise, a promise made to his master, so easily. He had to do what he was here to do quickly and return.

Tightening his lower abdomen, Gilbert looked at Echo, his eyes filling with resolve and determination.

“
”

Echo looked as though she was completely disinterested in everything on the planet. Her blank face might have been carved from ice.

Gilbert came very near to losing heart on the spot.

Ghk… But I won’t lose! Wait for me, Oz!

Firing himself up, he ransacked his memories for something that might make her laugh.

Then Gilbert, serious to a fault, thought that, when trying to make someone laugh, it was important to know their preferences. He asked Echo, “When was the last time you laughed?” Of course, if she answered, he planned to ask what had been going on at the time, and what she’d laughed at.

Echo’s answer was terse.

“Never.”

Her voice was perfectly detached, like a doll’s. As Gilbert sat speechless, she continued:

“Echo hasn’t laughed once since she was born. She doesn’t even know what it means to laugh.”

“Oh, that’s right, isn’t it, Echo…”

Vincent spoke as if it had slipped his mind.

“Correct. It isn’t necessary for Echo.”

I can’t
!!!!

Gilbert screamed, internally.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

He remembers.

The shunning, disgusted, curious stares people directed at them. The feel of all the rocks that were thrown at them.

“Child of ill omen.”

The sin he was made to carry, just because he was born with a red eye. Branded as something abominable. Abandoned by their parents, hounded by everyone, they lived stealthily in ruins where they wouldn’t be seen. Just him and his older brother. They weren’t even ten years old.

He remembers the rotten stench, like a garbage heap, and the chill of icy stone floors.

Being found by someone meant the beginning of torture.

Every time they were found, they were screamed at, struck with sticks, rocks were hurled, and they ran and ran. He didn’t know how many towns they’d wandered through.

“It was said red eyes heralded disaster.”

That legend gave full-grown adults permission to whip young children and throw rocks at them. The world held only enemies. His only ally was his brother. His brother was just a year older than he, still young, and he’d protected his little brother desperately with his skinny, underfed body.

He remembers.

The warmth of his brother’s body as he tried to protect him, shield him from a world full of hostility and malice.

The red of the blood that ran from the wounds he got in protecting him.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Vince?”

He’d been frail, so he’d always lain on pieces of hemp cloth spread out in the ruins, watching his big brother weakly.

“I’ll go find us something to eat. Wait there.”

When night fell, his brother would say those words, stand up, and go into town. They’d never had a satisfying meal. They didn’t have money to buy the raw ingredients, and when his brother said he was going to go find food, it meant he’d either beg somebody for it or steal it.

If his big brother went into town and didn’t come back, he’d be free. All he had to do to find release was abandon his little brother. If he’d done it, not a soul would have blamed him for it. After all, the little brother was a child of ill omen. There really shouldn’t have been any reason for him not to do it.

But, whenever he left him, his brother always said:

“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.”

He’d hold his little brother’s hand, and sometimes he’d hug him, tightly, tightly, as if to reassure him.

Those words were a knife.

“I-in a certain village, there lived a farmer.”

Even as he was tormented by a sense of despair, Gilbert began to speak. He was telling a funny little story he’d heard from somebody, a long time ago.

I’m pretty sure Oz roared with laughter when we heard this one…

Echo simply stood there. From her cold face, it was impossible to tell whether she was listening or not. Behind her, lying on the sofa, as he watched Gilbert talk with sweat breaking out on his forehead, Vincent was giggling.

Gilbert spoke with everything he had, reeling in the thread of his memories.

“That farmer had a friend. The friend had just been wed, and he and his wife lived happily in a cottage on the edge of the village. One day, as the farmer left to till the fields, he saw his friend and his friend’s wife walking toward him. The farmer was surprised. After all, the couple had vegetables in their mouths, and they were walking on their hands. So the farmer asked them, ‘Why are you two walking on your hands with vegetables in your mouths?’ At that, the two smiled and answered: ‘Obviously—’”

At that point, Gilbert’s story trailed off. All that was left was the couple’s answer, the punch line of the joke.

Echo was watching Gilbert, steadily. Vincent gave a small yawn.

The room was filled with a suffocating silence.

“A-at that, the two smiled and answered: ‘Obviously—’…”

He didn’t go beyond that point. Sweat rolled off Gilbert’s brow.

Indifferently, Echo opened her mouth:

“What is the punch line?”

“…………………………………………”

Gilbert’s lips worked several times, attempting to finish the story, but in the end, the words wouldn’t come.

His shoulders sagged.

“…I forget.”

“
Snrk!
” Vincent burst out laughing.

Echo’s face held neither disgust nor irritation, and she didn’t even change her position. She only said, “I see. That’s unfortunate.” And then:

“It isn’t funny at all.”

She hit Gilbert with a dispassionate final blow.

The room was filled with a bleak, chilly atmosphere.
Echo stood like a doll, and Gilbert had been plunged into depression. Only Vincent snickered cheerfully to himself. When he asked, “Do you surrender, Gil…?” Gilbert nodded weakly.

He felt as if all the broken dolls scattered around the room were sneering at him.

“A-ask for…something else,” Gilbert managed, with difficulty. “Please.”

Vincent answered, “Sure,” quite easily.

“It looks as if that was…a bit too hard for you, Gil. All right…Echo.”

“Yes, Vincent-sama.”

Echo spun, turning her back to Gilbert, and answered Vincent.

“Would you get it ready for me? The chessboard…”

At Vincent’s order, Echo nodded and began busily moving about the room.

A small table was promptly set up right in front of Gilbert, between the two facing sofas where he and Vincent sat. A chessboard was placed on top of it, and the pieces lined up on the board.

Chess—?

Gilbert just watched the pieces being lined up on the chessboard, separated into ranks of black and white.

In front of him, on his side, were the black pieces, and beyond them, on Vincent’s side, were the white pieces.

When the preparations were complete, Echo went to stand behind the sofa where Vincent lay. Vincent sat up, reseating himself on the sofa, and picked up one of the pieces. As he toyed with the piece in his hand, he turned to Gilbert with a teasing smile.

“All right, this one really is a simple request… Be my chess partner…”

Gilbert did know the rules of chess.

When he’d lived at the Nightray manor, he’d played Vincent several times. They’d learned the rules at the same time, but possibly Vincent had had a talent for it; he’d improved rapidly, and Gilbert had never beaten him.

However, if all he had to do was be his chess partner… If it didn’t matter whether he won or lost…

“All I have to do is play chess with you?”

“Of course… I won’t say I won’t let it count as payment for the vase if you don’t win. Oh, but…”

“B-but?”

As his brother prepared to add a condition, Gilbert felt something ominous. What was he about to be told? He was sure it wouldn’t be anything good. For example, “But you have to make your moves while standing on your head.” Something like that would be physically impossible.

Instead of finishing his sentence immediately, Vincent got up from the sofa. Skirting the table that held the chessboard, he approached Gilbert.

Gently, he looked down at Gilbert where he sat.

“Vince…?”

When Gilbert spoke to him, questioningly, Vincent put a hand into his breast pocket.

Then—

“Wear
these
when you play…”

Clink.

Quickly, he fastened the shiny, black iron manacles he’d pulled out of his breast pocket around Gilbert’s wrists. “Wha—?!” Gilbert gave a shrill, nervous cry and looked down at his manacled hands. The chain that ran between the two cuffs clinked.

Gilbert looked up at Vincent with eyes that held a mixture of shock and bewilderment.

“Vince! What
is
this?!”

“What are they…? Manacles… Can’t you tell by looking…?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Gilbert had absolutely no idea what point there was in making him play chess while manacled.

However, looking satisfied, Vincent returned to the sofa where he’d been reclining.

As he sat back down on the sofa, he spoke, sounding entertained:

“They suit you very well, Gil… You, who’s trapped by the chain of ‘loyalty to your master’…”

“
!”

His little brother had intentionally phrased that to rub him the wrong way, and for a moment, Gilbert came very near to losing control.

…But he held on. If he took his brother’s teasing at face value, he’d never last.

Gilbert drew a long breath, then let it out, calming himself down. Then he turned a look that was nearly a glare on Vincent. “And anyway…” he managed. He sounded disgusted.