CHAPTER 2

When Lord von Voltaire opened the door, bright violet smoke streamed out towards him.

Anissina was busy with several vessels on her work table, her attention concentrated on an unnaturally dense froth. She spared not a single glance towards her childhood playmate.

The only one to lift her head in reaction to Gwendal's presence was the girl taking refuge at the window, leaning against the panes with her arms wrapped around her knees.

"Has Yuri been found?" she asked.

"No."

"Oh..."

She buried her face between her knees again. Even the pigtails bound on either side of her head drooped forlornly. Did she really intend to spend yet another evening in this room?

Lady Anissina von Kavernikov, one of the three great female demons of the Empire, widely known as "The Red Devil," finally noticed Gwendal. She set aside a flask that was threatening to explode.

"How are you progressing?" Gwendal asked.

"That was going to be my question," Anissina replied. "But no, don't say anything, I already know. The wrinkles between your eyebrows reveal everything. We still don't know where His Majesty is, and the reports from the search troops are unsatisfying as well."

"And on top of it all, as if I didn't already have enough trouble, that spoiled princeling... oh, forget it. Have you gotten any further with Lord von Kleist?"

"Well, you can see for yourself how things are with him."

Snow Gunter still lay in his bed of powdery snow and ice. He, along with the snow rabbit between his legs, had grown even paler than before. His color was like that of a corpse.

Meanwhile, the much more compact Madam Butterfly Gunter still had her delicate almond-shaped eyes drawn in narrow slits. Her beautiful black hair gave her a stately look. The doll was enthroned on a stool with a cigarette dangling between her lips. Her eyes stared blankly into the distance.

"He's completely let himself go to pot," Gwendal grumbled.

"You said it, my dear."

"And Greta looks ready to drop."

"Oh... yes," Anissina confirmed casually.

Anything not directly related to her experiments only interested Anissina casually.

Gwendal wished that his youngest brother were there with him. It had already been seven days since Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld had set off of his own volition.

"The girl is probably not getting any sleep because her father is missing," Gwendal observed.

"I have just the thing for such cases right here!"

Anissina spun around; her flaming red hair cut through the air and caught Gwendal by the chin as if she had intentionally aimed for him.

"Hey, watch it!"

"You must take a look at my newest masterpiece. I call it,Sleep Little Child Sleep."

Anissina reached for the bookcase and pulled out a relatively thin volume. On the creepy-looking red and purple cover, the fear-inducing title was written:The Devil-woman Anissina and her Secret Research Laboratory.

"D... devil-woman..." Gwendal stuttered.

Then he took in the woman with long red hair who was strangling several men to death on the book's jacket.

The author held her devilry under Gwendal's nose and passionately began her explanation. "The children of today simply don't want to go to sleep. Their mothers have to fight with them nearly every night. I find this situation very regrettable. To help them, I developed my invention,Sleep Little Child Sleep!"

"It looks like a regular picture book to me."

"Picture book? I beg of you! How laughable! This book conceals a pure and perfect magical force. And its usage is child's play. Every child who is read aloud to from this book at bedtime will inevitably surrender to sleep within a few pages. I'd stick my hand in fire on that. The child will roll back and forth a bit in torment, lash out at the bed itself, and very quickly admit defeat! And if, against all expectations, it doesn't work, the item can be returned within a period of ten days."

Gwendal threw a quick glance at the back of the book. The number that was required for published products was missing.

"Oh, yes, the number is missing. Naturally I have been in conversation with the Demonic Central Institute for Literature, but they honestly wanted to publish this wonderful masterwork of children's literature in the horror section. What an absurd thought! I declined on grounds that this book exists for a benevolent purpose and was never intended to earn money. It's really a puzzle to me. What part of it is supposed to be horror?"

"No idea, I haven't read it..." Gwendal grumbled, his tone growing more and more melancholy as the conversation progressed.

"Then now's the time, my dear. You can read it to Greta and you'll see, she'll be asleep before you know it. Your deep bass is ideal for terrorizing small children."

Lord Gwendal von Voltaire flipped to the first sentence of the book:Someone had vandalized the grave.Well, that was a good beginning.

--

At 82 years old, Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld stood in the full bloom of his youth. Full of pride, he looked back at the great accomplishments he'd made in the last year. He'd gotten engaged and he'd even adopted a daughter. But there was still one thing that did him in.

"Ugh! Urrrrrrrrgh... bu... buaarrggh!"

He still got slightly seasick.

Gisela, a first-class healer, rubbed his back. "Your Excellency has really made great progress over the years. Even the way you vomit nowadays would make any man proud."

Comforting words were not exactly her strong suit, but the movements of her hands were full of compassion.

"Nowadays? Urgh... I could always... urgh... vomit like a respectable man."

Two of Gisela's four companions had already disappeared into their cabins. Only the bald, middle aged soldier and his colleague with the aloof face and cold eyes observed the scene from a safe distance.

"Your Excellencyyyyy!" called the one with the bald head. "Dinner's about to be served!"

"Please don't talk about food -- urgghh!"

Their hasty departure hadn't left Wolfram the opportunity to be choosy about the method of transportation -- after all, the king's life was at stake. The floating death trap they'd boarded was a glorified freight ship and couldn't have been further from a luxury liner for pleasure travel. Despite that, the passengers jammed into the tight quarters without complaint.

Twice a day meals were served, for which one had to remain standing, armed with a soup spoon. There was cause to rejoice when dried meat was served -- usually the passengers had to make do with dry bread.

Up to this point, Wolfram had led a protected and spoiled life, in which he'd only laid worth on outer appearances. For him a boat trip meant a vibrant dinner party. By day, one spent ones time hunting giant fish with harpoons or docked at a harbor city for a delightful day trip. That exhausted the list of things Wolfram associated with sea travel.

"Would you like to lie down and rest in the cabin for a while?" Gisela asked.

"Not really... I don't think I'd feel any better if I were squeezed into one of those bunk beds. How do you stand those damn cabins? Any jail cell would be more comfortable..."

"Please hold on just a little longer, Your Excellency. You are simply not used to it; for us, it's the standard way to travel." Gisela clapped Wolfram on the back as if she were rebuking a younger brother.

Although her voice didn't sound accusative, Wolfram felt ashamed of his words. "Sorry," he murmured and looked out across the sea.

"Oh, don't be. Of course you are disturbed, Your Excellency. You've never had anything to do with the simple folk before."

"Just the opposite of him."

"You mean His Majesty?"

Gisela's skin, pale as was typical of the healer race, gained a little color. Her calm, dark green eyes, full of prudence, crinkled with her smile. "He's something special, isn't he?" she said.

"So you see it that way, too?"

"Yes. And it's not just me, everyone thinks so. Nobody can hold a candle to His Majesty. He's different, yet at the same time he's just like all of us. He stands with us at the same level. Although we soldiers and the commoners are his subjects, he treats us as if we were equals. He never points out his high birth or his rank, but he also doesn't let anyone intimidate him. His Majesty is a real puzzle."

"A puzzle! You said it! And an odd duck on top of it."

"Your Excellency, please."

Wolfram felt a breeze at his side. When he turned to Gisela, she had stretched her right hand out towards the sinking evening sun. From her fingertips to her elbows to her cheeks, she was doused in scarlet red light.

"He reminds me of the late Lady von Wincott..."

"Susanna Julia?"

"Yes. Lady Susanna Julia also treated me like an old friend from the very beginning. She took hold of my bloody, dirty hands, and said that they would feel good... don't you also think the two are similar?"

Wolfram was completely unprepared for that question. For a moment he even forgot his nausea. "She and Yuri? No idea. I never had much contact with the Wincotts. You'd have to ask Conrad."

"That's true... I'm probably imagining things. After all, His Majesty is not blind and is healthy as can be. Maybe he only reminds me of her because the demon stone looks so good on him."

"On this topic, there's something I've always wanted to ask you..."

Lord von Bielefeld hesitated. Should he really ask this question? But in the end, his curiosity triumphed.

"How exactly did Susanna Julia die? Of course, I heard there was something going on with Conrad, and that she threw herself into the battle, even though she was only a member of the reserves. I also know where she fell and how many cities were saved because of her... but what exactly was the cause of death? People say there was an accident during the return home. There was an explosion and she accidentally got caught in it. But nobody saw her body. Do you know what really happened? I mean, is she really dead?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?"

"I have a funny feeling... maybe the woman's voice Yuri hears in his head belongs to Julia? If Julia the White is still alive and is helping that wimp with his magic... I'm afraid that one day, she'll take Yuri away to wherever she is now..."

The soldier with the cold look walked slowly to the interior of the ship. He didn't let his unusually long and thick quiver out of his sight for a single moment, even though the arrows themselves were in his bunk. He was an odd old codger. As Wolfram waited for Gisela's answer, he had to laugh quietly to himself at the unusual habits of that man.

"Lady Susanna Julia von Wincott is dead, without doubt," Gisela said.

As Wolfram processed that answer, his tension was suddenly gone as if it had blown away. Now he regretted his absurd question. Should he apologize to Gisela?

But the young woman continued, and her face showed no sign of pain or sadness.

"There was no accident. The exact circumstances were never made publicly known. Precisely speaking, it can't be called a death on the battlefield. She wasnt injured by sword or arrow. In fact, her body showed no outer sign of fatal injury at all."

"But then why wasn't her body interred? You can't mean to tell me that soldiers of the Demon Empire would leave the body of their fallen comrade behind?"

"No. I burned Julia's corpse myself."

Horrified, Wolframs fingers clawed at the railing. For a moment he didn't trust his ears.

"I was her assistant. The burning was an order -- cremation was unavoidable. Surely you are aware that the bodies of the Wincotts cannot be allowed to remain behind. A rare poison can be made from their blood."

"And that's why Julia's body was burned?"

"It was her wish." Gisela closed her eyes briefly and her head sank. Then she raised it slowly and continued, "Only a few people know about this, but surely you have the right to the knowledge. She went to her death of her own free will... please excuse my clumsy phrasing... how should I express it? She knew exactly what fate awaited her. She knew what would happen to her if she applied powerful magic on human territory. Her body and soul were abused and exhausted. The magic she used surpassed her powers. She knew that, yet she did what she had to do. She had to stop the enemy army in order to save numerous towns and villages. Without hesitation, she gave her life for that. And before she died, I made her a promise."

The setting sun was mirrored in Gisela's tranquil green eyes.

"I promised her to never allow someone else to experience the same fate."

All at once, Gisela turned to face Wolfram again. She allowed herself no time to wallow in her memories, and showed her kind smile -- the one she used to convey comfort to the sick and wounded.

"Lord von Bielefeld! Together we'll find His Majesty and bring him back!"

The ship began to rock heavily and the waves beat fiercely at the side of the ship. To the south, far in the distance, land was in sight. Once before, Wolfram had traveled to shore in a lifeboat from this distance. Yuri had taught him a chant of encouragement from the other world. He found himself remembering the rhythm and sound of the chant.

"Do you know the rower's chant, Gisela?" he asked his travel companion. "Listen, it goes like this:ha ha puuh, ha ha puuh..."

Gisela looked at him skeptically. "But Your Excellency... that is the breathing technique of a mother giving birth."

"What?!"