The statement was followed by a portentous silence of the kind that usually spells imminent doom for the main character in thriller movies. The miasma of confusion that had pervaded the room made it impossible for anyone to think logically. Coach Taoka was staring at the Gardener, and the Gardener was staring back at Coach Taoka. Kogure was staring at Hanagata with a grin on his face, and Hanagata was staring back at Kogure. Sakuragi and Miyagi moved closer to the objects of their affection in a valiant display of the depth of their feelings for said objects of affection, which went entirely unnoticed by the objects of affection concerned.
“Excuse me,” said Coach Taoka. It transpired that not much time had passed since the Gardener had declared that he was the owner of the palace – it was all in the mind. “But I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say that you owned this place?”
“Why, yes I did,” said the Gardener.
“Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
“Why, of course not.”
“Not even if he tried,” whispered Koshino to Sendoh, who sniggered.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Coach Taoka.
“Why, nothing,” said Sendoh.
Coach Toaka gritted his teeth.
“That’s it!” he shouted. “From now on nobody uses the word ‘why’. Is that understood? Anyway, where were we?” He turned to the Gardener. “Why are you dressed up as a gardener if you’re supposed to be the owner of this place?”
“Um, Coach,” said Sendoh. “You used the W-word.”
“Shut up, Sendoh,” snapped Coach Taoka.
“I’m not dressed up as a gardener,” said the Gardener, sounding affronted.
“Of course not!” said Kogure sympathetically. “You just happened to die in those clothes, and are stuck with them now in the afterlife. I’ve read about that phenomenon. It has a name, which I unfortunately can’t remember at the moment. So since you had been a Gardener back when you were alive, I think it’s safe to assume that you used to be in charge of these gardens as well as the ones back at the hotel. That would explain how your ghost keeps popping up out of nowhere.”
Ken gave a small cough.
“I think you’re mistaken,” he said with no little discomfiture. “This man isn’t a gardener – even though it’s true that he likes gardening. What he meant when he said he owned this palace is that he’s the head of our tourism company – and yes, he owns the palace now – and also the chief historian in our team, Dr. Wanatabe.”
For the first time, the Gardener appeared less like a gardener and more like a world-famous historian who was also a professor at Japan’s top university.
“Dr. Wanatabe?” Kogure spluttered. “But… but that’s impossible!”
Dr. Wanatabe smiled.
“And why is that?”
“I’ve read all of your books!”
“I’m flattered to hear that.”
“You’re a writer.”
“I know.”
“And a historian.”
“A pretty decent one, don’t you think?”
“Then how come you’re dressed up like that?”
“Like this?” said Dr. Wanatabe, gesturing at his clothes. “I wear these when I do fieldwork. They’re pretty handy when you’re in a place like this. Where twigs, and rocks, and gravel would have otherwise damaged normal clothes, these clothes don’t yield to the depredations of nature. And I don’t have go out and buy myself a new suit every time I do fieldwork. It saves me a lot of money.”
“So why were you at the Mayfair hotel?”
“I was doing fieldwork.”
“Pshaw,” said Hanagata. “Fieldwork? At a hotel? Do I look like some kind of ET?”
“What you probably don’t know is that the hotel is built over catacombs. One of its entrances was at the place where some of you kids first saw me – at the not-so-steep drop. Apart from serving as a very convenient place to look for historical evidence on genocide, you will find that the tunnels also give you a quick and easy way to travel around the vast hotel grounds.”
“So that’s why it looked like you were all over the place,” said Ayako musingly.
“That’s right,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “The tunnels save you approximately three of every five steps you would take above ground. There are no winding paths down there – just straight ones that crisscross around the place.”
“What was it that you said about genocide?” asked Kogure.
“Oh,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “At some point in history, the entire population of all these hills mysteriously vanished. Historians attribute this to epidemic most of the time, but I’m more inclined to believe that it was a deliberate attempt to efface these people. It still isn’t clear who perpetrated this.”
“How are you so sure?” asked Fujima. “It’s just as likely that they died of disease. Or maybe they just moved. Wait, why do I care?”
“I wouldn’t be able to answer the last question,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “But then again everyone inevitably comes to appreciate history at some point in their life. You ask why I’m so sure that it’s genocide? Because there is a vague mention of it in the only historical account we have of this place. It was written in the early nineteenth century, and this is what it says: ‘Shadowed Men alighted, armed with the wrath of the demons, and burning with the vengeance of a beast at hunt, and as inexorably as a river of fire did they explode upon all that is good in this world, and leave behind a conflagration that promised to undo creation, and evict from the living everything in the form of man, woman, child, and beast, to leave behind the ashes on which none can live, and from which nothing can grow.’”
“What does it mean?” asked Haruko, who wasn’t very familiar with the richer forms of imagery.
“Some people appeared on these hills one day and set fire to everything, and killed everyone,” said Fukuda, who was.
“What if it’s a metaphor for disease?” asked Akagi.
“I don’t think so,” said Coach Anzai. “If that passage was written in the early nineteenth century, then it cannot be metaphorical.”
“Exactly,” said Dr. Wanatable, pleased by Anzai’s erudite observation.
“Why not?” asked Jin.
“Because it was against the law for people who lived in hills to speak or write in riddles.”
“You’re kidding!” said Maki.
“I’m not. It’s one of the darker secrets of our history. Well, then. Any other questions?”
“Yeah,” said Ayako. “I understand how you managed to move around the hotel ground. But why did you do it?”
“Good question,” said. Dr. Wanatabe. “You see, while I was in the catacombs, I saw a girl.”
“A girl?” asked Mitsui, his interest piqued.
Hasegawa nudged him with his elbow teasingly.
“Yes, a girl,” said Dr. Wanatabe.
“Who was she?”
“That’s what I wanted to find out. But she was constantly running away from me. She seemed to know the catacombs a lot better than I did. My guess is that she had nowhere to stay and made the tunnels her home.”
“Then why did you tell us you were the gardener?” asked Kogure.
“I didn’t want to reveal anything about the catacombs.”
“Fair enough. So now that you have revealed everything about the catacombs, could you take us there?” asked Kogure hopefully.
“But don’t you want to see this magnificent palace first?”
“No.”
“Even if I told you that the Princess’s bedroom on the third floor is haunted?”
“Did I say ‘No’? I meant ‘Let’s go!’”
“Splendid,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “Ken, you may return to the ticket counter. I will be the guide for today.”
“Sure thing,” said Ken. He wasn’t all too keen on sticking around anyway. He had an innate fear of the palace.
“What about my money?” said Coach Taoka with a frown.
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t have to pay me anything. Normally I ask for more money for being guide than Ken’s permitted to do,” said Dr. Wanatabe.
“Ha!” said Coach Takato. “In your face, Taoka!”
“Shut up, Takato.”
“Good,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “Let’s go.”
“I just have one question,” said Mitsui. “Ken told us that no one is allowed into that room over there because it’s haunted. Then how come you were in there?”
Dr. Wanatabe smiled.
“For precisely the same reason.”
Kogure had found his idol at last.
“Now we shall proceed down the corridor and see the dining hall. I am to understand that traditionally one of the royal servants was beheaded before the emperor before every meal.”
“How gruesome,” said Ayako.
Kogure was a step ahead of the rest.
“Come on, guys,” he said. “You don’t want to miss this.”
“Au contraire, I do,” said Fujima. “It’s bad enough that the dining hall at the hotel used to be an execution chamber, but this is plain outrageous.”
“Come on, Kenji, be a sport,” said Hanagata.
“There are some things, Toru, that I prefer not to do, this being one of them. You know how much I hate violence and blood, don’t you? This is type of thing is what makes me feel queasy,” said Fujima at length, recalling childhood memories of how he used to wretch unfailingly whenever he got even the tiniest cut on his person. “I really don’t understand why you’re so attracted to the idea of pointless butchery.”
Hanagata gasped.
Kogure shook his head reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, Hanagata,” said Kogure. “A layperson wouldn’t be able to see beyond the blood and the mangled corpses. He wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of death and life after death.”
“Of course,” said Hanagata. “Just remember, Kenji, I am not a murderer, and I don’t advocate killing.”
“Who would have guessed?” said Fujima darkly.
“Stop being gay,” said Mitsui.
“Who’re you calling gay, you fag,” said Hasegawa, bristling. “Quit talking to Fujima like that, you loser.”
“Loser?” said Mitsui with a laugh. “Me? You’re one to talk, after the humiliation you suffered at our hands in the Elimination Games.”
Hasegawa colored.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said. “You’re as arrogant as you used to be in Junior High.”
“There’s a fine line between arrogance and a natural feeling of pride at your skills. The difference is that arrogant people don’t have the necessary talent to back their words up. You see? I’m perfectly justified in being proud of my skills, because I actually have skills, while you’re just talk. So who’s the arrogant one now?” said Mitsui smugly.
“Wow, Mitsui,” said Ayako, plainly impressed. “That was really deep.”
“Thanks,” said Mitsui.
Hasegawa clenched his fists. He was all the more frustrated because he knew, deep down, that what Mitsui was saying was true – at least partly.
“But I’m better than you,” said Jin, being, for the first time since he asked the class bully to give him back his candy bar in second grade, self-assertive.
Kiyota laughed in approval.
“Tell him, Jin!” he said.
Jin, encouraged by Kiyota’s support, went on.
“I score every one of the shots I take. I don’t collapse during games. I got the award for the Best Shooting Guard in Kanagawa at the end of the Elimination Games. And finally I go to Kainan.”
Coach Takato was touched by this stunning display of loyalty.
“Oh Jin,” he said, placing a hand on Jin’s shoulder in a fatherly way, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so proud to have you on our team.”
Jin was applauded by the Kainan team and by the Shoyo team for glorifying their school’s noble name and for putting Mitsui in his place, respectively.
Mitsui clenched his teeth, and was about to hurl an obscene invective at Jin, when the unlikeliest person in the world hurled one at him.
It was Miyagi. He was extremely cross with Mitsui for flirting, not once, but twice, with Ayako.
“At least Jin doesn’t wear dentures,” he said. Everyone gasped at this bit of information. (“Mitsui wears dentures?” “I didn’t know Mitsui wore dentures!” “How… ewww!”) “And I bet Jin didn’t get beat up by his teammates like you did when you tried to get the basketball team disqualified.”
“That was under trying circumstances,” said Mitsui reticently, and with a self-conscious cough. “And I would appreciate it if we could all just put the past behind us and pretend as if none of it had ever happened.”
Dr. Wanatabe, who had been standing in the sidelines and watching the drama unfold patiently, thought the others might have forgotten they were on a paid tour, and decided to remind them.
“Is this really important? Because we’re kind of wasting time.”
“Not at all,” said Coach Takato reluctantly. “Let’s go boys. And girls,” he added when Ayako gave him one of those weird looks that girls usually give older men when they want to appeal to their paternal side.
“Wonderful,” said Dr. Wanatabe, assuming an air of erudition as he pointed around the passageway through which they were passing after exiting what was probably the predecessor of the modern conference room. “As you can probably see, the walls around you strongly reflect Chinese culture, this being a subject of taboo, for obvious reasons. The Emperor obviously gave more importance to foreign relations than his neighbors across the sea did. And now, as we exit this passage, we come across the classic example of the British Grand Staircase.”
“Wait a minute,” said Maki skeptically. “How did that get here?”
The staircase was grand, and made of marble, and therefore it should have been far too heavy to have lasted so many years inside a building that was made of wood, and sandpaper, and whatever other embellishments the idiosyncratic architects of the past may have employed to lend the building the false appearance of a mosaic of different kinds of architecture. Unless, of course, the marble staircase was made of wood, too, unscrupulously veneered with a fake marble texture so as to hide its true ugly colors.
“What do you mean?” asked Dr. Wanatabe.
“Is that really marble, or is it just my imagination?” asked Maki. “That thing shouldn’t be standing.”
“Maybe it’s a ghostly aura that protects it,” said Kogure as if he were imparting esoteric scientific knowledge. He turned to Dr. Wanatabe. “Did anyone ever die on this staircase? That would explain it.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “But I can assure you the staircase is standing because it was built on a base of solid rock, as is the rest of this building. It doesn’t fall prey to the vicissitudes of mountain weather or the ravages of time – at least for the present.”
“Still, it doesn’t look very safe,” said Coach Takato.
“Nonsense,” said Dr. Wanatabe with a laugh. “I’ll prove it to you.”
He began climbing up the staircase. An odd creaking sound coincided with his stepping on the fifteenth step. Simultaneously the sixteen, seventeenth, and eighteenth crumbled to dust, the result being that all forty or so steps followed suit, and the staircase, which must have been grand at some point in the past, was not even a staircase anymore.
“You were saying?” said Coach Takato sarcastically, tapping his foot, as Dr. Wanatabe emerged from the rubble.
“Let’s take the other staircase,” said Dr. Wanatabe brightly.
When they reached the location of the other staircase it transpired that where there should have been a staircase there were only a couple of steps, dangling off the edge of a rotten plank that was hanging precariously off the second floor landing.
“What happened here?” asked Muto of Kainan.
“Nyahahahahahahaha,” said Sakuragi. “There is no ‘other staircase’!”
“That’s strange,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “It was here the last time I was here.”
“Which was when?” asked Coach Taoka.
“Barely a few hours ago.”
“I sense paranormal activity!” said Kogure excitedly. “So who is it – the ghost of the Emperor or the ghost of the Emperor’s daughter?”
Just then there a sound of movement proceeded from the second floor landing, and before anyone could react, the plank of wood came crashing down.
“What the heck?” said Mitsui, whom the falling plank barely missed. He was so startled that he reflexively hugged the object nearest him, which just so happened to be Ayako.
Miyagi’s howl of rage and Ayako’s cry of indignation were both cut short when there proceeded the sound of giggling from the second floor landing.
When they looked up…
“It’s that girl!” said Dr. Wanatabe incredulously.
A young girl dressed in a royal-looking kimono was peering down at the group from the second floor, the bright, florid design of her robes contrasting severely with the ruins around her. She covered her mouth with her sleeve as she giggled away in abandon – her voice sounded distant, as if it were trying to escape the tortuous prison of immeasurable time; her eyes carried, not actual mirth, but only the reflection of laughter long dead. Then, just as soon as she had appeared, she was gone.
“It’s that girl!” repeated Dr. Wanatabe. “The same girl I was chasing at the catacombs.”
“But then…” said Coach Taoka dumbly.
“If she’s here…” said Uozumi.
“Then she’s…” said Akagi.
“The ghost of the princess!” cried Kogure in sheer exultance. He couldn’t remember when he had been more elated.
“Excuse me,” said Coach Taoka. It transpired that not much time had passed since the Gardener had declared that he was the owner of the palace – it was all in the mind. “But I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say that you owned this place?”
“Why, yes I did,” said the Gardener.
“Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
“Why, of course not.”
“Not even if he tried,” whispered Koshino to Sendoh, who sniggered.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Coach Taoka.
“Why, nothing,” said Sendoh.
Coach Toaka gritted his teeth.
“That’s it!” he shouted. “From now on nobody uses the word ‘why’. Is that understood? Anyway, where were we?” He turned to the Gardener. “Why are you dressed up as a gardener if you’re supposed to be the owner of this place?”
“Um, Coach,” said Sendoh. “You used the W-word.”
“Shut up, Sendoh,” snapped Coach Taoka.
“I’m not dressed up as a gardener,” said the Gardener, sounding affronted.
“Of course not!” said Kogure sympathetically. “You just happened to die in those clothes, and are stuck with them now in the afterlife. I’ve read about that phenomenon. It has a name, which I unfortunately can’t remember at the moment. So since you had been a Gardener back when you were alive, I think it’s safe to assume that you used to be in charge of these gardens as well as the ones back at the hotel. That would explain how your ghost keeps popping up out of nowhere.”
Ken gave a small cough.
“I think you’re mistaken,” he said with no little discomfiture. “This man isn’t a gardener – even though it’s true that he likes gardening. What he meant when he said he owned this palace is that he’s the head of our tourism company – and yes, he owns the palace now – and also the chief historian in our team, Dr. Wanatabe.”
For the first time, the Gardener appeared less like a gardener and more like a world-famous historian who was also a professor at Japan’s top university.
“Dr. Wanatabe?” Kogure spluttered. “But… but that’s impossible!”
Dr. Wanatabe smiled.
“And why is that?”
“I’ve read all of your books!”
“I’m flattered to hear that.”
“You’re a writer.”
“I know.”
“And a historian.”
“A pretty decent one, don’t you think?”
“Then how come you’re dressed up like that?”
“Like this?” said Dr. Wanatabe, gesturing at his clothes. “I wear these when I do fieldwork. They’re pretty handy when you’re in a place like this. Where twigs, and rocks, and gravel would have otherwise damaged normal clothes, these clothes don’t yield to the depredations of nature. And I don’t have go out and buy myself a new suit every time I do fieldwork. It saves me a lot of money.”
“So why were you at the Mayfair hotel?”
“I was doing fieldwork.”
“Pshaw,” said Hanagata. “Fieldwork? At a hotel? Do I look like some kind of ET?”
“What you probably don’t know is that the hotel is built over catacombs. One of its entrances was at the place where some of you kids first saw me – at the not-so-steep drop. Apart from serving as a very convenient place to look for historical evidence on genocide, you will find that the tunnels also give you a quick and easy way to travel around the vast hotel grounds.”
“So that’s why it looked like you were all over the place,” said Ayako musingly.
“That’s right,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “The tunnels save you approximately three of every five steps you would take above ground. There are no winding paths down there – just straight ones that crisscross around the place.”
“What was it that you said about genocide?” asked Kogure.
“Oh,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “At some point in history, the entire population of all these hills mysteriously vanished. Historians attribute this to epidemic most of the time, but I’m more inclined to believe that it was a deliberate attempt to efface these people. It still isn’t clear who perpetrated this.”
“How are you so sure?” asked Fujima. “It’s just as likely that they died of disease. Or maybe they just moved. Wait, why do I care?”
“I wouldn’t be able to answer the last question,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “But then again everyone inevitably comes to appreciate history at some point in their life. You ask why I’m so sure that it’s genocide? Because there is a vague mention of it in the only historical account we have of this place. It was written in the early nineteenth century, and this is what it says: ‘Shadowed Men alighted, armed with the wrath of the demons, and burning with the vengeance of a beast at hunt, and as inexorably as a river of fire did they explode upon all that is good in this world, and leave behind a conflagration that promised to undo creation, and evict from the living everything in the form of man, woman, child, and beast, to leave behind the ashes on which none can live, and from which nothing can grow.’”
“What does it mean?” asked Haruko, who wasn’t very familiar with the richer forms of imagery.
“Some people appeared on these hills one day and set fire to everything, and killed everyone,” said Fukuda, who was.
“What if it’s a metaphor for disease?” asked Akagi.
“I don’t think so,” said Coach Anzai. “If that passage was written in the early nineteenth century, then it cannot be metaphorical.”
“Exactly,” said Dr. Wanatable, pleased by Anzai’s erudite observation.
“Why not?” asked Jin.
“Because it was against the law for people who lived in hills to speak or write in riddles.”
“You’re kidding!” said Maki.
“I’m not. It’s one of the darker secrets of our history. Well, then. Any other questions?”
“Yeah,” said Ayako. “I understand how you managed to move around the hotel ground. But why did you do it?”
“Good question,” said. Dr. Wanatabe. “You see, while I was in the catacombs, I saw a girl.”
“A girl?” asked Mitsui, his interest piqued.
Hasegawa nudged him with his elbow teasingly.
“Yes, a girl,” said Dr. Wanatabe.
“Who was she?”
“That’s what I wanted to find out. But she was constantly running away from me. She seemed to know the catacombs a lot better than I did. My guess is that she had nowhere to stay and made the tunnels her home.”
“Then why did you tell us you were the gardener?” asked Kogure.
“I didn’t want to reveal anything about the catacombs.”
“Fair enough. So now that you have revealed everything about the catacombs, could you take us there?” asked Kogure hopefully.
“But don’t you want to see this magnificent palace first?”
“No.”
“Even if I told you that the Princess’s bedroom on the third floor is haunted?”
“Did I say ‘No’? I meant ‘Let’s go!’”
“Splendid,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “Ken, you may return to the ticket counter. I will be the guide for today.”
“Sure thing,” said Ken. He wasn’t all too keen on sticking around anyway. He had an innate fear of the palace.
“What about my money?” said Coach Taoka with a frown.
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t have to pay me anything. Normally I ask for more money for being guide than Ken’s permitted to do,” said Dr. Wanatabe.
“Ha!” said Coach Takato. “In your face, Taoka!”
“Shut up, Takato.”
“Good,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “Let’s go.”
“I just have one question,” said Mitsui. “Ken told us that no one is allowed into that room over there because it’s haunted. Then how come you were in there?”
Dr. Wanatabe smiled.
“For precisely the same reason.”
Kogure had found his idol at last.
“Now we shall proceed down the corridor and see the dining hall. I am to understand that traditionally one of the royal servants was beheaded before the emperor before every meal.”
“How gruesome,” said Ayako.
Kogure was a step ahead of the rest.
“Come on, guys,” he said. “You don’t want to miss this.”
“Au contraire, I do,” said Fujima. “It’s bad enough that the dining hall at the hotel used to be an execution chamber, but this is plain outrageous.”
“Come on, Kenji, be a sport,” said Hanagata.
“There are some things, Toru, that I prefer not to do, this being one of them. You know how much I hate violence and blood, don’t you? This is type of thing is what makes me feel queasy,” said Fujima at length, recalling childhood memories of how he used to wretch unfailingly whenever he got even the tiniest cut on his person. “I really don’t understand why you’re so attracted to the idea of pointless butchery.”
Hanagata gasped.
Kogure shook his head reassuringly.
“Don’t worry, Hanagata,” said Kogure. “A layperson wouldn’t be able to see beyond the blood and the mangled corpses. He wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of death and life after death.”
“Of course,” said Hanagata. “Just remember, Kenji, I am not a murderer, and I don’t advocate killing.”
“Who would have guessed?” said Fujima darkly.
“Stop being gay,” said Mitsui.
“Who’re you calling gay, you fag,” said Hasegawa, bristling. “Quit talking to Fujima like that, you loser.”
“Loser?” said Mitsui with a laugh. “Me? You’re one to talk, after the humiliation you suffered at our hands in the Elimination Games.”
Hasegawa colored.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said. “You’re as arrogant as you used to be in Junior High.”
“There’s a fine line between arrogance and a natural feeling of pride at your skills. The difference is that arrogant people don’t have the necessary talent to back their words up. You see? I’m perfectly justified in being proud of my skills, because I actually have skills, while you’re just talk. So who’s the arrogant one now?” said Mitsui smugly.
“Wow, Mitsui,” said Ayako, plainly impressed. “That was really deep.”
“Thanks,” said Mitsui.
Hasegawa clenched his fists. He was all the more frustrated because he knew, deep down, that what Mitsui was saying was true – at least partly.
“But I’m better than you,” said Jin, being, for the first time since he asked the class bully to give him back his candy bar in second grade, self-assertive.
Kiyota laughed in approval.
“Tell him, Jin!” he said.
Jin, encouraged by Kiyota’s support, went on.
“I score every one of the shots I take. I don’t collapse during games. I got the award for the Best Shooting Guard in Kanagawa at the end of the Elimination Games. And finally I go to Kainan.”
Coach Takato was touched by this stunning display of loyalty.
“Oh Jin,” he said, placing a hand on Jin’s shoulder in a fatherly way, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so proud to have you on our team.”
Jin was applauded by the Kainan team and by the Shoyo team for glorifying their school’s noble name and for putting Mitsui in his place, respectively.
Mitsui clenched his teeth, and was about to hurl an obscene invective at Jin, when the unlikeliest person in the world hurled one at him.
It was Miyagi. He was extremely cross with Mitsui for flirting, not once, but twice, with Ayako.
“At least Jin doesn’t wear dentures,” he said. Everyone gasped at this bit of information. (“Mitsui wears dentures?” “I didn’t know Mitsui wore dentures!” “How… ewww!”) “And I bet Jin didn’t get beat up by his teammates like you did when you tried to get the basketball team disqualified.”
“That was under trying circumstances,” said Mitsui reticently, and with a self-conscious cough. “And I would appreciate it if we could all just put the past behind us and pretend as if none of it had ever happened.”
Dr. Wanatabe, who had been standing in the sidelines and watching the drama unfold patiently, thought the others might have forgotten they were on a paid tour, and decided to remind them.
“Is this really important? Because we’re kind of wasting time.”
“Not at all,” said Coach Takato reluctantly. “Let’s go boys. And girls,” he added when Ayako gave him one of those weird looks that girls usually give older men when they want to appeal to their paternal side.
“Wonderful,” said Dr. Wanatabe, assuming an air of erudition as he pointed around the passageway through which they were passing after exiting what was probably the predecessor of the modern conference room. “As you can probably see, the walls around you strongly reflect Chinese culture, this being a subject of taboo, for obvious reasons. The Emperor obviously gave more importance to foreign relations than his neighbors across the sea did. And now, as we exit this passage, we come across the classic example of the British Grand Staircase.”
“Wait a minute,” said Maki skeptically. “How did that get here?”
The staircase was grand, and made of marble, and therefore it should have been far too heavy to have lasted so many years inside a building that was made of wood, and sandpaper, and whatever other embellishments the idiosyncratic architects of the past may have employed to lend the building the false appearance of a mosaic of different kinds of architecture. Unless, of course, the marble staircase was made of wood, too, unscrupulously veneered with a fake marble texture so as to hide its true ugly colors.
“What do you mean?” asked Dr. Wanatabe.
“Is that really marble, or is it just my imagination?” asked Maki. “That thing shouldn’t be standing.”
“Maybe it’s a ghostly aura that protects it,” said Kogure as if he were imparting esoteric scientific knowledge. He turned to Dr. Wanatabe. “Did anyone ever die on this staircase? That would explain it.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “But I can assure you the staircase is standing because it was built on a base of solid rock, as is the rest of this building. It doesn’t fall prey to the vicissitudes of mountain weather or the ravages of time – at least for the present.”
“Still, it doesn’t look very safe,” said Coach Takato.
“Nonsense,” said Dr. Wanatabe with a laugh. “I’ll prove it to you.”
He began climbing up the staircase. An odd creaking sound coincided with his stepping on the fifteenth step. Simultaneously the sixteen, seventeenth, and eighteenth crumbled to dust, the result being that all forty or so steps followed suit, and the staircase, which must have been grand at some point in the past, was not even a staircase anymore.
“You were saying?” said Coach Takato sarcastically, tapping his foot, as Dr. Wanatabe emerged from the rubble.
“Let’s take the other staircase,” said Dr. Wanatabe brightly.
When they reached the location of the other staircase it transpired that where there should have been a staircase there were only a couple of steps, dangling off the edge of a rotten plank that was hanging precariously off the second floor landing.
“What happened here?” asked Muto of Kainan.
“Nyahahahahahahaha,” said Sakuragi. “There is no ‘other staircase’!”
“That’s strange,” said Dr. Wanatabe. “It was here the last time I was here.”
“Which was when?” asked Coach Taoka.
“Barely a few hours ago.”
“I sense paranormal activity!” said Kogure excitedly. “So who is it – the ghost of the Emperor or the ghost of the Emperor’s daughter?”
Just then there a sound of movement proceeded from the second floor landing, and before anyone could react, the plank of wood came crashing down.
“What the heck?” said Mitsui, whom the falling plank barely missed. He was so startled that he reflexively hugged the object nearest him, which just so happened to be Ayako.
Miyagi’s howl of rage and Ayako’s cry of indignation were both cut short when there proceeded the sound of giggling from the second floor landing.
When they looked up…
“It’s that girl!” said Dr. Wanatabe incredulously.
A young girl dressed in a royal-looking kimono was peering down at the group from the second floor, the bright, florid design of her robes contrasting severely with the ruins around her. She covered her mouth with her sleeve as she giggled away in abandon – her voice sounded distant, as if it were trying to escape the tortuous prison of immeasurable time; her eyes carried, not actual mirth, but only the reflection of laughter long dead. Then, just as soon as she had appeared, she was gone.
“It’s that girl!” repeated Dr. Wanatabe. “The same girl I was chasing at the catacombs.”
“But then…” said Coach Taoka dumbly.
“If she’s here…” said Uozumi.
“Then she’s…” said Akagi.
“The ghost of the princess!” cried Kogure in sheer exultance. He couldn’t remember when he had been more elated.
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