APIBAGS Chapter 36

Merai had gone to the moneylender and explained that her son had put up the building as collateral without her knowledge—that she couldn't hand it over—but all she received for her trouble was a slap across the face and a shove out the door.

She needed money. She needed a sum so vast that selling every last child wouldn't come close to covering it.

She went to the nobles who had purchased children from her over the years, only to be turned away at every door. Merai even made her way to the temple, seeking help—one of the priests there had been a reliable client of hers.

And then, in that place, she came face to face with a painting so beautiful and so transcendent that it made her tremble. It felt as though an angel had reached down to lift her hand.

Inside the painting was the summoning circle she had once disposed of, back when the previous director was trying to avoid a crackdown. Mercifully, the temple's foolish people hadn't even recognized it for what it was.

Merai put off her appointment with the priest and went straight back to the orphanage.

She had heard the entire summoning procedure by word of mouth from the old director, and by good fortune she remembered every step with perfect clarity.

She opened her arm, drew the circle in her own blood, and offered a child as sacrifice. The demon she summoned was the same one now standing before her—the idiot who kept refusing every form of entertainment she provided.

"That demon introduced himself as Melek," she said.

Summoning the old demon again had worked. Merai had felt relief—but the problem turned out to lie somewhere unexpected.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't me."

The demon had denied the past. She had summoned him using exactly the same method. The same appearance, the same name, even the same voice—and he was claiming he wasn't the same creature?

"How pitiable. You're still chained to the past."

The demon had even taken the trouble to pity her. Me? Merai thought, outrage rising in her chest. I got this way because of you. A strange feeling of betrayal gripped her, and she declared:

"In the end, you'll devour the children. Just like before."

Demons love souls of unblemished, pure white.

She didn't know why, but the demon she had finally met again after twenty years was tormented by hunger. He looked starved. She had thought that placing his favorite meal right in front of him would sharpen his appetite.

Merai had brought every last one of his beloved provisions down into the basement—but the accursed demon had remarkable patience.

In the end, before that patience could run dry, her beloved son had shown up at the orphanage leading who-knew-what guests. The city guard? Or priests, arriving just as they had twenty years ago? Or the people who had lent Troy the money? She didn't care which—none of them were welcome.

Merai's composure crumbled.

If the demon refused to hunt on his own, there were other methods. She occasionally had to spoon-feed the picky eaters herself, just to get vegetables into them.

So why not pour a well-prepared meal directly into his mouth right now?

Merai seized the chain attached to Melek and pulled.

Melek began to walk where she led. They were heading toward the torture chamber where the children were confined.

The door opened.

Yulma tried to hold herself as steady as possible. Just do what Ranen and I planned. Nothing complicated. I can do this.

But Yulma's composure broke immediately.

The director hadn't come alone. She had brought the man in chains.

'Why did she bring him?'

The man was standing directly behind the director, which made it nearly impossible for Ranen to strike from the rear. The completely restrained man moved like a puppet wherever she led him.

"Who let Yulma loose?"

The director swept her gaze around the room and asked pleasantly.

"Why is no one answering? Your director is back. Come on, everyone—turn around and say hello."

No answer came. Every single child in the room had their ears covered. Yulma had told the younger ones to stay absolutely still—faces to the wall, ears covered, not turning around for any reason. The children were afraid of Yulma, so they would do as they were told.

For the impatient ones, Yulma had offered a concession: count to a hundred, and then you can look. Yulma was fairly certain none of them could actually count to a hundred.

"Yulma. You answer me. What is the meaning of this?"

"That's what I want to ask. Director—what are you going to do with us? I thought you were going to sell us."

At that, the director's eyes crinkled as she smiled sweetly.

"Sell? Ha. Ha ha ha. What a charming misunderstanding. Well—it was the original plan, so perhaps not a misunderstanding at all? You too, Yulma. If only my son hadn't put such obvious marks on the merchandise, we could have gotten a much better price. Leaving scars in plain sight—what a wicked, wicked child."

'I'm merchandise?'

Yulma felt a surge of betrayal toward the director and, beneath it, a strange flicker of something like weak gratitude toward Troy. Being injured was better than being sold off to purposes unknown. A scar like this was nothing—no blemish, no damage, not to Yulma.

"But the situation has changed, you see. Troy borrowed quite a large sum with the orphanage as collateral. Even if someone offered to buy all of you, it still wouldn't be enough to pay it back. So I found another way."

Take that back. That worthless bastard son of hers! This was all happening because of money he borrowed?

Yulma steadied herself and pressed on with the questions.

"So what's this other way?"

"Would you believe me if I told you? I couldn't believe it myself until I saw it with my own eyes… But yes—you'll understand when you see it."

The director walked to the wall and ran her hand along the weapons hanging there. Yulma went rigid. Had she noticed the missing one? By sheer luck she seemed not to—her hand passed over the empty space without pause.

A moment later, Yulma bit down on her tongue to keep from swearing aloud.

The director picked up a blade.

Damn it. Ranen was right. The director really had intended to use that thing on them.

"You'll understand me eventually, Yulma."

Understanding? For what? Selling living, breathing children to line her own pockets—Yulma would sooner starve to death.

"You're a good child, aren't you?"

Was good really what mattered right now? It was something the director always said. The children had learned to be sweet and adorable just to hear those words.

"I do like good children. They're the ones that satisfy a demon."

The director pointed the blade at Yulma. Her back was fully to the door. And over her shoulder, through the doorway, Yulma could see Ranen—face white with shock.

Aside from the blade in the director's hand, everything was playing out much as they had planned. The plan: Yulma acts as bait; Ranen attacks from behind.

The director raised her hand.

"Ranen!"

Yulma squeezed both eyes shut and prayed for success.

The drawer Lady Evangeline had broken open was where the director kept important things. Daisy knew well that the director always carried its key on her person.

「8 silver 30 copper, 12 silver 150 copper, 10 silver 200 copper, 7 silver, 13 silver 32 copper…」

Daisy read through the documents Troy had found, and read them again. No matter how many times she went through them, the contents didn't change. The papers held records of the director's child sales.

"I only found out about papers like these not long ago."

Troy was hunched over, barely managing to explain. Daisy had never seen him look so deflated before.

"You're not framing the director for something you did?"

"Can't you see what year it starts from? A five-year-old managed that all on his own, did he?"

Daisy knew. She simply didn't want to accept that the director—so warm, so devoted—had been selling children.

'Director, don't the children ever miss you? Why don't they come back to visit…'

'Doesn't that mean they're happy where they are?'

She remembered the answer that had come to a young Daisy, long ago, when she'd voiced her hurt at the adopted children never returning.

Happy. No—they simply hadn't been able to come back.

"Troy. Did you always know? Is that why you gave Yulma that scar?"

Troy nodded. Daisy remembered that Troy had been especially cruel to children who were right on the verge of being adopted. Yulma's adoption had fallen through because of that ugly wound on her arm. So it hadn't just been bullying.

"When did you find out?"

"First found out when I was ten."

Troy was seventeen now. That was a mere seven years ago.

"Why are you only saying this now? If you'd known earlier—"

"I did say something! I said it. I told everyone. I said Mom was selling the children. I said the food you were eating was bought with that money! What did everyone say to me then? You told me to stop being jealous of the kids getting adopted into rich families!"

Troy's voice cracked with old fury. Daisy fell silent, remembering how she had despised him back then and taken every chance to put him down.

Troy had done his best, in his own way. He had intervened to stop what was called "adoption" but was actually a sale. He had confronted his mother more than once.

When that didn't work, he had even reported her to the city guard—but there was no evidence, and the guard had essentially said that one or two orphans disappearing a year was no reason for an investigation. It was their roundabout way of saying they weren't interested in tangling with whoever rich noble had been buying them.

"I know! My mother is insane! That's why I was trying to shut down this damned orphanage!"

And so Troy had chosen a different approach.

"There are thirteen children left in the orphanage. I borrowed fifteen gold coins against the building—enough that selling all thirteen of them still wouldn't cover the debt. I thought if I did that, she'd have to stop selling them. But then…"

The director had vanished, taking the children with her.

Troy said he had only realized after the fact that his mother might sell all the children at once and cut her losses. He thought it was his own actions that had made everything worse—the guilt had been too heavy to carry sober, so he'd been drinking to burn the memory away.

"It's because of me…"

Daisy pulled the tear-soaked Troy into her arms.

The children probably hadn't been sold. Just as Troy had said, even selling them all wouldn't cover a debt that size. Instead—just as Troy had done in his own way—the director would have found a different solution.

She had drawn that circle on the floor to call up a demon and make a wish. Daisy understood now, with cold certainty, why the circle had been drawn in the director's office.