The Sorcerer Laughs in the Mirror v1c9

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Truthfully, when I thought about it, there was something strange about the way I was coming across.

I groaned as I walked down the hall.

Although on the outside I was a boy, my gestures and speech were still effeminate.

No matter how you looked at it, I seemed like some sort of transvest.i.te.1

Yeah, it was odd. An ordinary dangerous character.

“Maybe it’s my refined speech…”2

As I whispered to myself, Claire sent me a questioning glance. “If I keep acting like this, people are going to treat me weirdly. Do you think I should become Rachel’s apprentice and have her teach me how to act a male role?”

“Surely that would be good.”

Claire nodded.

Alright, I’ll start with speech.

“Um, can I ask something about Gray?”

I asked Edgar from behind. “I understand that he’s a murderer, but how exactly…?”

I consciously made my tone flatter. More masculine, less exaggerated.

“Ah,”

Edgar spun his head around and looked straight at me. “His methods are simple. He straps the victim onto a table, then drains their blood and kills them. At the same time he inserts a preservative into their blood vessels. After that, he makes minimal incisions and removes the organs, which rot easily.”

“Edgar, is that really necessary?”

Matilda’s harsh voice sprang up behind me. “You know we’re about to eat, so why?”

“Oh, sorry.”

Drains their blood… preservatives… this boy does that sort of thing?

I bit down on my tongue as I thought about Edgar’s words.

If I hadn’t been injured, around that time I would’ve been…

“My bad.”

Edgar lowered his voice. He seemed apologetic as he continued, speaking frankly.

“Honestly, when I look at your face, I remember the details of cases I’ve worked on, and it unnerves me. When I tell you to stay away from me, your manner of speech isn’t the main reason. Well, I mean, it does bother me when I see that iron-faced brat talking like a girl.”

“Iron-faced brat…?”

Claire and I were both puzzled.

These police officers, they had witnessed the crimes of Gray Starling up until now; the murders of those girls, and the desecration of their corpses.

It was a feeling I couldn’t possibly understand.

Edgar’s att.i.tude towards me was awful, but I guess it was only natural.

…although I couldn’t forget his shoe pressing down on my back.

It also must have been the same reason the Chief acted the way he did.

I let this slip out loud, causing Matilda’s spiritless voice to sound from behind.

“He just hates people in general. Don’t worry; he treats everyone like that.”

Oh, I see. I guess I understand.

“I know this is beside the point, but do a lot of these kinds of horrible criminals exist?”

I continued. “You said that because the central department has their hands full, they can’t deal with local cases, but are there a lot of these sorts of cases?”

Edgar scratched his head.

“I wouldn’t say there are few. However, there aren’t a lot of criminals who go as far as Gray has at such a young age…. He was raised in a bad environment.”

“Environment…”

“You come from a good background. I don’t think you would understand.”

Edgar let out a bitter laugh. With that, he closed his mouth.

We were led to the mess hall and sat down at a table.

The hall was wide. Plain tables and chairs were lined up orderly, and a counter that looked into the kitchen was set up in the middle.

The officers each had their own meals, chatting with each other. They returned their silverware to the counter when they were done, leaving the hall.

It was the first time I had eaten in a place like that.

The inside of my room was my life. Although my hobby may have been sneaking out and discovering the outside world, I was always brought back to my room, living most of my days in nonchalance.

I was spoiled.

Probably, there was no doubt about that.

Both my mother and father were kind to me. They gave me whatever my heart desired. That was only natural.

How was Gray Starling raised?

What environment breeds a murderer?

Of course, I wasn’t able to understand what someone like Gray thought about. I didn’t want to know.

But probably, because I was going to be involved with him from that point on, I had to at least try to understand a little bit.

Because he had to be caught, no matter what.

After our meal ended, it was torture time.

Edgar showed me to the bath.

Yes, it’s private!

However, I couldn’t help thinking this whenever I went to the toilet or bath:

Fxxking. Gray.3

The next morning, as if I were in a bad dream, I felt awful despite having gotten a good night’s sleep. Even though I felt dizzy, I was fine until I got off the bed. Claire worriedly put her hand on my shoulder, so I forced a smile.

“Can you eat?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“That’s no problem, but… you have counseling today, so they’re calling you mid-morning. I’ll tell them if you’re not feeling well, however.”

“I’m alright.”

I corrected my statement. “I’m really alright. It’s just a bit of nausea. Sorry, for making you worry so much.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Claire looked at me with concern. She seemed to be upset that I wasn’t my usual, cheerful self.

  What should I do if I worried her?

I slapped both my cheeks, hoping to give myself some motivation.

The counseling took place on the second floor of the Administration of Justice Department.

Matilda brought me to the room, leaving me there alone.

It seemed to be some sort of reception room.

There was a st.u.r.dy table with a simple design, sofas. Somewhat large windows covered with curtains.

Sitting on one of the sofas was a middle-aged man. He stood up and bowed his head lightly as I hastily greeted him back.

“I’m Ariel Augustine. Pleased to meet you.”

“Howard Coulter. Please, have a seat.”

He smiled gracefully, urging me to sit down with refined movements.

He seemed to be older than my father. His gray-streaked hair was combed down, and he had the air of a gentleman.

“Are you nervous? Your complexion seems a bit pale.”

He gazed at me with worry, walking over to a side table against the wall. Then, he took the pitcher on the table and poured water into a gla.s.s, placing it on the table next to me.

“Th-thank you.”

I held the gla.s.s in my hands, but fiddled with it, unable to relax. While sitting on the sofa, he spoke.

“Without rus.h.i.+ng, let’s start with some light conversation.”

 Would that really be fine?

 Would that be a step towards finding Gray?

Isn’t there a lot he wants to ask?

Howard laughed gently, seeing these questions reflected in my expression.

“I am not a police officer. My job is to listen to what you have to say.”

“What I have to say?”

“Yes.”

Looking at his calm features, I started to relax.

At once, I let out a sigh. As I did so, I realized how much tension and nervousness I was holding inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you mind if I feel your forehead?”

Howard tilted his head slightly, apologetic. I laughed a bit and nodded.

His palm was warm. The heat gradually spread, and he let go of his hand.

“I see… I understand. Thank you very much!”

He said this, looking at me with pitiful eyes.

“Uh, did something…?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Howard was silent for a while; then, he opened his mouth as he searched for words.

“It seems that you are repressing a memory.”

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1 The word originally used here was オカマ (okama) which refers to an effeminately gay man/cross dresser.

2 Although Ariel is somewhat bold, she still speaks with 敬語(keigo) or polite speech, which is more gender neutral (though she also uses feminine expressions throughout her speech).  It’s a bit hard to translate the gender nuance.

3 She literally says this in English.