This chapter feels a little rough to me, but I suspect that I will never like it no matter how many times I go over it. But it's a necessary step. Should I mention that we're finally nearing the end of part one? Yes, this turned into a much bigger project than I first imagined. Fun, though!
Chapter Thirteen: As Time Divides
The early morning air smelled of drying stone and sand from the desert. A glare of sun slanted through the fallen wall, sparkling off pools of collected rainwater. Reflections broke, their upside-down world shattering under Kuroro's boots. He lifted another chunk of stone.
Fortunately, none of the stolen items seemed to have been harmed by the miniature rockfall. Likewise, there was no sign of a body amidst the wreckage. The chain-user survived. And escaped. That much was apparent. Which meant that she'd been in good enough condition, after fighting half the Ryodan and a death-curse and having half a building dumped on her head, to disappear right out from under the noses of the functioning half of the Spider.
"—don't understand why we can't hunt her down and—"
Isn't it obvious? Kuroro asked himself for the eleventh time, only half-listening as they hauled away the rubble that had buried their treasure last night. Shizuku had offered to vacuum it, of course, but he wanted the relief of simple, physical labor to clear his thoughts … and occupy the more hot-headed Spiders.
All the items would have to be checked individually for signs of damage anyway.
"Dancho—"
"You need to realize this, Nobu," he cut the swordsman off. "Our survival last night is not any sort of victory. Over half our members were injured … not because we were too powerful or too clever to be killed, but because our enemy decided we weren't worth the effort."
He'd seen it in that last look Kurapika had given him – surrounded by chains and the dark fire of a killing-curse – underneath the bitter hatred burning in her eyes … Contempt. In retrospect, it was so easy to read in all her actions. Neither of them had been fighting against each other with full strength. The only difference was, she'd been playing him: using the Spider to draw out the curse.
Was it irrational to feel slighted?
"Go to hell. Kuroro Lucifer."
He dropped the concrete boulder on the other side of the stairs, immediately turning around to get another.
"Until we find a nen-eraser, we don't stand a chance against the Kurata," he added.
"Evidently?" Pakunoda murmured as she passed by, her arms full of splintered wood.
"Evidently."
Raising his voice so that all of them could hear, he added, "If you think about it in terms of relative location over the past week, you'll realize that the chain-user must have been within very short distances of the Eyes at various points throughout the auction. But nothing happened until she came here."
"Oh! I get it!" interrupted Shalnark, catching on with his usual enthusiasm. "We were in contact with the Scarlet Eyes and nothing happened. And she was in contact with the Scarlet Eyes and nothing happened. But when all three of us were in the same place at the same time—Bang! Death-curse, screaming, mayhem!"
"Er … yes." Kuroro decided not to critique the description. "Anyway, we can be sure that this isn't over."
"What do you mean?" Pakunoda frowned. "The Kurata—"
He leapt lightly up onto a broken column to address the Ryodan more formally. The familiar faces looking up at him had decreased in number – the absence of Ubo, one of his oldest followers, sent another stab of unhappiness through him. Those that remained looked tense, worried, and angry; even Hisoka seemed extra watchful from behind his teetering house of cards.
"The pair of Scarlet Eyes we stole from this auction were indeed destroyed." He'd crushed them himself. "But that's not the only set in existence."
Kuroro let them absorb that thought and its implications for a second.
"We barely survived one curse … I doubt very much we would last long against thirty-five." He glanced over at Bonorolf – the closest thing the Spider had to a formal expert on the mystical side of nen. "Or thirty-six, if we kill the girl. So as long as a single pair of Eyes exists, we're all in danger of falling victim to their curse. Correct?"
"Maybe," the Spider answered, only his staring eyes visible through the bandages.
"You can't say for sure?" Feitan grumbled from the other side of a rock. "I thought you were a shaman."
"My tribe summons the spirits of our ancestors to give us strength, but we don't deal in curses. Those who traffic with hungry ghosts and their resentment invite…" Bonorolf paused, then shrugged. "They invite misfortune. It's a perversion of the world's natural order."
"We're not exactly big on world order ourselves," Phinks muttered, flourishing a solid gold sword from out of another crate.
Kuroro ran a finger along the rim of a blue jar – remarkably undamaged thanks to its careful packaging. It barely escaped destruction. His skin stung with remembered pain.
"Please. Don't."
What had the chain-user been asking for, there at the end?
"Take my hand."
He'd seen no evidence that the creature attacking them was anything but a phantom, a rudimentary expression of nen searching for something to anchor it. At the time, he'd trusted his own understanding first … dismissing the Kurata girl's behavior because he couldn't see purpose behind it. But she'd talked about 'freedom' and 'benefits' like the curse had been a fully-developed human being – like it could understand and reason back.
"I have always been with you."
Things that could reason and converse were things that could plan and conquer. The whole Ryodan could very well drown in the dark without knowing more about this threat. We need to find a nen-eraser. Kuroro curling his fingers up into the fur-lining of the sleeve that Machi had stitched back together for him.
"I don't understand, Bonorolf," protested Shizuku, digging into the pile of treasure beside him. Her glasses had gone crooked again, and she had sawdust in her hair. "Why should the chain-user be unfortunate because of the curse? It came from her clan."
"That just makes her the most suitable target for possession," explained Bonorolf, sounding irritated. "She's in as much danger of losing her soul as we are. More, probably."
Nobunaga muttered something inaudible – most likely a fervent wish that the Kurata fall victim to fates worse than death or insanity.
"Even if she wanted to preserve her mind or whatever, that doesn't explain why she didn't eliminate us when she had the chance. Machi and I were completely overwhelmed, but she wouldn't even sit still long enough to cut our throats." Shalnark caught his partner's glare and ducked his head. "No point denying it, Machi. Anyway, there's something we're unaware of preventing us from predicting her behavior and making a good plan."
Kuroro fished a much crumpled scrap of paper out of his pocket and held it up. Morning sun flashed over the white page, turning the scrawl of ink to a pattern of iridescent darkness.
"Your premise is correct." He grinned with a morbid humor. "But not your conclusion."
Pakunoda and several others crowded forward to have a look.
"Evidently, we're not the only ones to have taken advantage of Neon Nostrad's fortunetelling."
He'd caught a glimpse of the paper and its familiar hand-writing sticking out of the girl's pocket, during their brief, preliminary exchange of blows … before the curse had exploded so spectacularly around them. Stealing the page, slipping it into his sleeve had been a simple game – the sort he'd been played in childhood.
Now the Spiders passed the prediction from hand to hand, scanning it over and listening to him at the same time.
"With this, we have the data we need to predict the disasters in Kurapika's future." His voice carried through the ruined columns, strong with self-assurance. "We can choose the time and place of confrontation instead of allowing circumstances to force us into an unfavorable position."
By their faces, he could see that this argument finally satisfied them. For the moment. He had his doubts … but the important thing was that they obeyed his orders to the letter this time.
"We're leaving York Shin. Today."
He levered up one last section of broken column, finally reaching the floor beneath the pile. The air still smelled scorched, and curious soot-marks discolored the underside of some of the debris. On the concrete at his boots, he could see the faint stain of spilled blood.
Too much blood to belong to the still-living Kurata. But the alternative is that it came from the dead one.
Shifting a broken splinter of stone aside with his foot, Kuroro frowned.
Do ghosts bleed?
Pakunoda paced restlessly up and down the length of the alley, her phone clenched in one slender hand. No messages. She'd sent out the call more than an hour ago … Should have an answer by now! But the cellphone remained silent in her grip: an inert rectangle of uncooperative circuits. The Spider stared at it blankly for a second, fingers tapping on the plastic case. She had already bitten all her nails ragged ― And I don't care, damn it!
The Spider shook her head, a cynical, self-deprecating smirk twisting her mouth.
I'm afraid.
Kuroro kept telling her that she got too caught up in the human element of a battle, that she should learn to place people's psychological drives in context of circumstantial restrictions and the setting … instead of assuming that an enemy would always be at full-strength, always at full-potential. He said it made her good at jobs that required caution and subterfuge – but made her paranoid and fatalistic in a fight.
As usual, Dancho, she saluted in the direction of the hotel in which he and the others were even now planning the details of their exit strategy, You're always right.
Except when he was wrong.
But she really didn't have any way to convince him.
Turning, she spotted a dark figure at the end of the alley. Her foot tapped impatiently at the unwelcome intrusion. She had made her excuses to the boss and slipped out of the base in order to get away from her fellow Spiders. Too much time in their company left her with a headache on the best of days.
The other strode forward into the light falling across one side of the alley, the sun illuminating his face like a mask.
Hisoka.
Her scalp prickled. She had sought out this place because it was distant, but not too distant from the lair: a place she was unlikely to be discovered by friends or enemies. For one of the other Spiders to track her down … She bit an already ruined finger-nail. Something must be wrong.
But he looked indifferent enough. Maybe he just wanted to enjoy his favorite pastime: tormenting an easy target.
"Troubles on your mind, Pakunoda?" the clown drawled, coming to a stop a safe distance away.
He had come just to irritate her.
"No."
"Lying again." He shook his head in mock-sympathy, glancing around the alley's grimy walls and trash-piles. "You wouldn't have sought out such a homey place if you weren't just the least little bit upset." When she didn't answer, he added, "None of the others have noticed it yet, but you can't hide your abnormal behavior forever. I found you out … and Kuroro won't be too far behind."
An experienced liar, Pakunoda knew that her face had already revealed too much.
"What do you know?" Her lips felt stiff, though her fear was not centered on him. "You weren't even there."
"At the massacre?" Hisoka took up a seat on the round lid of a trashcan, sliding out his deck of cards and beginning to snap them from hand to hand. "True, I wasn't. But I'd wager I know more about it than some of the players more … directly involved."
"You're under oath to her," Pakunoda shook her head, spitting the words out angrily. "That cursed child! I'm not giving you any information."
Hisoka smiled.
Unintentionally, she took a step backwards. Her abilities were not designed for combat; in a one-on-one duel, she had no doubt that the magician would win. Technically, serious matches were forbidden between members of the Ryodan … but if he had any evidence at all, none of the others would lift a finger to help her.
The lies she had built up over the last several years would collapse as easily as his house of cards.
It wasn't like that! The ragged edges of her nails bit into her palms as her hands clenched. It was to save us! The whole Spider!
"You won't get anything out of me."
"Oh?" Hisoka replied, his voice a pleasant menace. "Whatever will you say next?"
Deep in dreams, Kurapika opened her eyes.
Red stained the water around her, a spreading taint that dyed the ocean crimson. That's right, she thought, the sounds reverberating like an underwater bell. I'm bleeding. She should do something about that … but in this place there was no pain, no heat or cold or desire or urgency.
Oblivion is its own price and punishment.
The quality of the water changed – blood sliding into streamers of tattered bandages, and then a storm of red wind and white paper. She tried to brush the pages away, struggling to focus on the words burned into their surface. Something important was written here – a message, a secret was being confided in her. Her eyes stung, refusing to focus.
And she realized that they had been torn out.
A sense of inevitability weighed her down, numbed her reactions. This was always meant to be my fate. So it was fine. There was nothing to worry about. No plans or preparations needed to be made. No one could demand anything from her.
She could stay here, blind and unfeeling, for as long as she wanted.
The last of their loot inspected, Kuroro let Shizuku vacuum it up for the time being. In a little while she and the team escorting her would make their way to the harbor, steal a ship, and head out to sea. Even the most tenacious hunter would have trouble locating them in all the vastness of an ocean.
The rest of the Ryodan would split up into teams of two and three, taking land and air-routes to a variety of locations.
Sitting on the lower stairs, Kuroro brooded over the damage done to his favorite seat. A deep crack had riven right down the center of the grand staircase; one half of the stairs no longer reached the upper floor, slumped and crooked and falling just a little short of the landing. The other half was safe enough to sit on, though.
"Dancho?"
He glanced up to find Pakunoda standing in front of him, a frown etched on her forehead. Unusual. Wordless, he raised an inquiring brow.
"I'd like to stay behind for an extra day."
Kuroro frowned at the unexpected request. "Why?"
"Zenji. I want to check him one last time, now that we know a little more. The Nostrads too."
"Hm."
He thought it over. He'd intended to have her accompany him and Shalnark, concentrating on their usual task of fact-finding and analysis. But the kind of research they would be doing didn't really require her expertise. Only one Kurata had survived the massacre to be questioned – and Kuroro wanted to be on solid footing before he went after her again.
If any other Spider had made this request, he would have refused point-blank. But Pakunoda was cautious. She could fake an identity as easily as Coltopi could forge a banknote … And there's the prediction to consider too. Hers is different from ours. The chain-user had never seen her face either. So the risks are lower for her than the rest of us.
Besides, she was Paku. He trusted her like he trusted himself.
"Alright. Just join me and Shalnark in Zaban next week."
An almost invisible tension in her face eased.
"Thank you, Dancho."
By the end of the morning, there was no evidence – aside from some rather extensive damage to the walls and interior – that the Ryodan had ever visited the ruined hotel. By the end of the afternoon, they had scattered to various points of departure, traveling in groups of twos and threes. And by the end of the day, the Spider was long gone from York Shin.
Kurapika woke abruptly, escaping dreams she could not recall. A cracked, mold-spotted ceiling blurred uncertainly above her. Something wasn't quite right with her body … it felt too heavy and too light all at once. Nearby, familiar auras murmured across her gathering awareness. Her thoughts wavered from memory to memory, trying to string events together.
"What time is it?"
For a moment, neither of them answered – and she wondered hazily if she had really spoken at all.
"Two in the afternoon," Senri replied in a soothing tone.
"I slept for twelve hours," Kurapika muttered, but the vague irritation that accompanied the realization cost too much energy to maintain. There were more important things to worry about anyway. "What happened?"
She couldn't bear to ask about the Spider. I don't want to think about it. Her head ached, and her mouth tasted of sleep and medicine she didn't remember taking.
"The mafia has decided not to hold the underground auction again," Senri informed her, after a beat of hesitation – unable to focus clearly on her face, Kurapika couldn't tell what her expression might be. "All the remaining items were sold online. Most of them have left the city."
Leorio put a hand on her forehead ― I have to apologize to him about … something. Exactly why she had to apologize escaped her, but that memory would come back.
"Still feverish," the doctor said, his face close enough for her to see the worry lines. "You need more sleep."
He replaced a wet cloth on her forehead, but she couldn't follow his suggestion just yet.
"What about the fake Eyes? Zenji left them at Neon's hotel …"
During the long pause that followed, she concentrated only on the present: the steady rhythm of her own breathing, the sweaty tangle of blankets around her legs, and the cold of water droplets sliding from the cloth at her forehead. What happened to the mud? She wanted to lift a hand to her face, to see whether or not grave-dirt still clung to her skin—but thinking about moving made her sick.
"Both they and Zenji seem to have disappeared," Senri finally said, the undertone of her words full of questions. "Neon and her father return home tomorrow."
Oh. A time limit on the forger's ability, that was useful information, she could use it against … I won't think about it now.
"See, you can still rest," Senri smiled, but the tone in her voice was grave.
Kurapika closed her eyes.
"She still believes it's only Sunday." Leorio's voice followed her down into sleep.
Senri answered, "An erratic melody―"
Kurapika wanted to tell them that she could hear … but the determination slipped away before she could truly grasp it.
Killua brushed a hand through his hair, inspecting himself in the mirror. The Southern Peace auction would start soon, and he thought he'd done a rather good job getting himself dressed up for the event … unlike his messy friend, who was still trying to figure out the intricacies of his formal wear.
"Kurapika went back to sleep," Leorio reported, throwing himself moodily down on the couch. "Hasn't twitched in over an hour."
"Good," Gon said firmly. Then his determined expression wavered, and his voice changed into a complaint, "Killua! I don't get it!"
Killua looked at the crumpled tangle of his friend's tie and collar – which was somehow still buttoned wrong despite numerous hints – and snickered.
"Here," Leorio offered, getting up from the battered couch. "Let me see that."
He proceeded to not only fix the bow-tie into an acceptable shape, but straighten Gon's entire suit in the process – while taking the opportunity to lecture them both about the importance of arriving at an expensive auction in only the most impeccable outfits.
Spoil-sport, Killua thought, without any real sourness. It wasn't that he enjoyed teasing Gon for being inept, it was just funny to see the other kid's implacable determination completely frustrated by a strip of cloth.
"We should try to wake Kurapika soon," Killua said, when he was done laughing at the two idiots. "Or she might not get up again at all."
"Let her recover naturally," Leorio advised. "One more night of sleep would be good for her. I'd feel better, at any rate."
"That's because you're an idiot," Killua told him.
"What! You punk!"
The next several minutes were devoted to proving his point, traditional Zaoldyek style. Well, almost Zaoldyek style … he didn't want to kill the old man. Not more than once a day, at any rate.
"I mean it," Killua repeated, catching his breath and straightening his own tie. Leorio blinked, from where he had been tossed back onto the couch like an overstuffed cushion. "Kurapika needs to get back on her feet soon. We can't stick around like this forever."
He caught Gon's eye. The other boy shuffled a bit, and ducked his head. Killua sighed.
"Just because it's unpleasant for her to face what's happened doesn't mean it's doing her any good to stay asleep."
You have to break out, he remembered, from his own days moping in the Zaoldyek mansion – before he had decided to seize his own life and chase what he wanted. You have to accept the bad things and beat them, or run until you can. But a whisper of old terrors shivered over him anyway.
"She said it herself," he concluded. "We have our own goals. That's why we came to York Shin."
Gon straightened up, apparently taking the motivational speech to heart.
"The auction," he nodded, suddenly resolute. "My dad's game. Getting stronger and learning more about nen."
Relieved, Killua smiled. That's right. They should be developing their own strengths. Become strong, and have no more fear. It was a hard lesson, one that his brother had taught him long ago. Killua never could feel grateful for that one.
"We're gonna be late," he said, running from the memories one more time. "We'd better leave."
"Are you sure you don't want to come, Leorio?" Gon asked anxiously. "Our ticket will get five people in."
"No," Leorio sighed. "I really couldn't watch people spending all that money."
More likely, he doesn't want to leave Kurapika alone with only Senritsu to keep watch. Unexpectedly, Killua felt a flicker of something he refused to call sympathy for the man.
"We have Zepairu coming along already," he reminded Gon. In an undertone he added, "And we don't want Leorio busting up our plan for Greed Island."
"Ah!" Gon exclaimed. "Right! Okay, Leorio – you stay here."
Actually, Killua doubted that Leorio could or would want to do anything that harmed their chances. Gon's plan for getting Greed Island had turned out to be unexpectedly plausible, and Zepairu was handling everything about the money for them. Not that they needed it for anything other than redeeming the Hunter card that Gon staked as collateral for their loan. Leorio had even helped them with that, so it was triply unlikely that he would want to interfere.
Spirits high, they left for the Southern Peace auction.
Senritsu peered into the wide room they'd adopted as a living and eating area for the last few days, looking for the young doctor. He was sitting on the couch, reading yesterday's newspaper again.
"Leorio."
"Yeah?"
"If you feel fine with being alone for an hour, I'd like to stretch my legs a bit." She winked with cheerful good-humor. "Well, as far as they stretch anyway."
"Go on, go on." He chuckled, doubts soothed even before he was really aware of their existence. "It's fine."
"Just give a shout if you need me. I won't go out of earshot."
"I think I can handle watching a patient sleep."
She left quietly, not wanting to risk waking Kurapika.
Outside, the autumn air was cold, despite the bright sunlight. Their group had chosen to hide in this creaky, empty apartment complex – staking out residence in the ground floor. Senritsu had listened to the floorboards of the second-story and declared it too unstable to walk on for a prolonged period of time. But the ground level was perfectly safe … and the ceiling wouldn't give way unless someone went up there and started jumping around.
Killua had chosen well. As expected of an assassin – he knew how to find good places to lie low even in the midst of a crowded city. Senri hummed to herself. She'd become fond of both the boys, as well as Leorio and Zepairu. They all had dark notes in their melodies, but the sounds were harmonious as a whole.
Kurapika is a good judge of character – if a bit demanding.
A second, identical set of apartments had been built across a paved courtyard, and it was to that place that Senri turned her steps now. She polished her flute with one sleeve as she walked, reflecting on the current situation. From what Killua and Gon – mostly Gon, of course – had said about the confrontation between Kurapika, the Ryodan, and the ghost, things were dire enough.
All three sides of this tragedy are unstable. Like a tripod about to fall. A single wrong move two nights ago, and innocent civilians would have been endangered. Senri believed that it was only divine intervention that had prevented a major calamity.
Her slippers padded a gentle path through the thistles and scrubby poppies blooming in the cracked pavement.
But this can still be resolved. Only once in her life had she lost hope … and it would take a lot more than the Genei Ryodan to cast her into despair now. Kurapika and the Kurata, however, were very, very troubling.
Especially Kurapika.
There's something wrong with the way her heart has been beating. An irregular, discordant note disrupted the clarity she had admired when they first met. When did it begin to stutter like that? The melody-hunter drummed her fingers gently over the flute's worn metal. Was it even before York Shin? A hidden dissonance that I failed to detect? Every beat of Kurapika's heart sounded labored now – like the organ was struggling just to function at normal capacity.
But then, that's not the only thing that's been bothering me.
Senri came to a stop at the edge of the weedy courtyard, closing her eyes to better focus her hearing.
"Come out, please," she called to the echoing, abandoned complex of apartments. "I'd like to talk."
No one answered, but a rustle of breath – an involuntary betrayal of surprise – greeted her ears. Third apartment on the right, first floor. Still the same person as yesterday and the day before.
The melody-hunter sighed.
"I know you're here." She began to walk toward the noise, keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. "I don't want to fight, but I can't keep ignoring you. Please come out and let's talk."
After a moment of tension-filled quiet, a brisk metronome of footsteps sounded over creaking floorboards.
A woman appeared in the broken window, pale in the shadows of the building. Through the bright afternoon glare of the courtyard, it was hard to see inside the room … but that wasn't a problem for someone like Senritsu. She could easily hear the notes of confusion in the other woman's heart. Surprise. Displeasure. Curiosity. Readiness to fight. And, deep beneath the other melodies like a sour chord: fear.
"You were thinking about breaking in, now that the boys are gone." Senri smiled, coming to a stop at the other side of the wall. "But that would be a very bad idea. Especially since you're alone."
For a second, the woman opened her mouth to lie … but then something in her heart changed. Perhaps she sensed that Senritsu was not there to harm her. Or perhaps she dismissed the melody-hunter as a threat.
The first visual impression of this person was one of cool, resolved composure – but the uncertainty of her heart thrummed in a rattling contradiction.
"You're a Spider, right?" Senri could hear the wordless answer. "But what would a Spider be doing here? All the others from the Ryodan left this city days ago."
"You're very well-informed."
Her voice was well-controlled too, without a hint of the indecision that weakened her heart.
"I hear things."
She hopped up to sit on the creaky windowsill, her feet dangling. The Spider took one careful step backward. The heels of her shoes clicked like a conductor's baton on a music-stand. Prelude to the cymbal's crash.
"Now," the melody-hunter continued to speak in a calm, gentle tone, "I've been spending quite a lot of time with an assassin lately, and I don't think that's why you're here."
Nothing changed in the Spider's expression. But Senri could hear her heart's melody, the rhythms of her existence. Any lie would ring false in her perfect, hell-tempered ears. The flute, warmed between her fingers, rested in her lap.
The smile never slipped from her face.
Kuroro turned another page, flicking through the book for a second time in hopes of catching some word he'd missed before. But no sudden epiphany shone down upon him and no spark of inspiration illuminated the manuscript. Another dead end.
Literature on nen was rare – often hidden or obliquely encoded under the language of some other topic – but some texts did exist. But not, evidently, any that talked specifically about nen-curses. He had begun to suspect that the high-fatality rate associated with the phenomenon had prevented it from being well-documented. Kuroro held books in far too much respect to dump this one on the floor, but he did close it with something of a snap.
Ordinarily, he enjoyed pursuing difficult, obscure subjects … several days without any new leads, however, tested his patience. The feeling that there was something he'd missed, some minor detail overlooked, haunted him. Something I can't quite recall.
The buzz of his cellphone disrupted the tenuous thought before it could fully develop.
"Oi, Dancho!" Phinks's gruff shout greeted him. "Reporting in to tell you we're still alive! No signs of chain-users, ghosts, or other freaks to be concerned about."
"Any problems?"
"Nah! We nicked the courier just fine on the highway through this damn desert. Feitan's disappointed, though. He wanted to go to the auction."
"Southern Peace is a bit too high-profile for someone who's supposed to be dead."
"Yeah, well, we're headed away from the city now. Got a nice car and everything."
"Good."
Kuroro hung up.
He'd allowed Phinks and his team of Feitan and Hisoka to take a short detour and practice a little highway robbery – some game they wanted to play – but only on the condition that they stay out of York Shin proper and theoretically away from the Kurata's notice. Evidently, they succeeded. But he wouldn't feel easy in his mind about it until all of the Spiders reported that they'd left the vicinity.
The Ryodan had split into roughly four teams: the group escorting the treasure back to Shooting Star, the group hunting for a nen-cleanser, the group hunting for the slave-traders, and finally his team. Thought no word from Paku yet. She had seemed to think that she would be at least another two days getting to the meeting point.
And I must be on edge, to be hovering over people's shoulders like this. Kuroro rubbed a hand over his mouth. His annoyance turned inward, directed at himself. Really, I haven't been this bad for years.
After a minute of brooding over his irritation, the Spider shook it off. No time for self-indulgence. Back to work.
"Shalnark," he called across the room to the bank of computer monitors and their user. "Tell me you have something."
"Well," the boy ran a hand through his hair, not really paying attention, "yes and no, boss."
Kuroro got up, leaving his small fortress of books, to drag a complete answer out of his distracted subordinate.
"Explain."
Shalnark blinked up at him for a moment, the glow from the screens reflecting in his eyes as he processed the request. "Oh. Okay. So I wasted a bunch of time looking around for our little chain-user, but got nothing."
"Nothing?" Kuroro raised an eyebrow.
He hadn't expected there to be much, but he'd expected more progress on this front.
"Pretty much zero. It's not like this Kurapika is a person in absolute secrecy, but…" Shalnark shrugged. "She might as well be for all we know right now. No previous employment, health, criminal, or education records. No passports or identifying papers, and no bank transactions. She doesn't even have a birth registry anywhere! As far as the net is concerned, she didn't exist before the Hunter Exam. Like—"
"Like she was from Shooting Star."
The other Spider pulled back, alarmed. "Dancho, you don't think she went to our city after the massacre? Damn, that's just too creepy."
"No." Kuroro dismissed the idea. "Shooting Star is a good place to hide from the outside world. But not from the world inside Shooting Star. And colored contact lenses don't keep well in the garbage. Without a reliable disguise, someone would have noticed those eyes sooner or later."
"Right, well … Anyway, aside from about three sentences on the Hunter site there's nothing on her. So I then I thought, how about her tribe?"
Kuroro nodded, since this question seemed to require some response.
"And that is where things get really weird."
"Define weird."
"Umm … it goes from strange to straight-up crazy faster than Feitan in a room full of electrical cables."
"Very colorful but not very informative."
"Okay, okay." The other Spider flashed his customary grin, then sobered again. "So, the Hunter Site has lots of information about the Scarlet Eyes (current prices, list of current owners – for an additional fee, so forget it) and how great they are. Seventh wonder, beautiful treasure, etcetera etcetera. But if you start trying to purchase the linked pages for data on the tribe's territory, history, stuff like that … you get an error message."
"And?"
"And!" Shalnark practically bounced in his seat. "The Hunter Site never has errors! It never crashes, steals your money, gets hacked, or gives false information! In fact, I think it's actually a nen-based program that—"
"Focus, Shal."
"Right. Okay. The point is, if the site doesn't know the information, there shouldn't be a link to these pages. Since the links exist, we know that it used to have the data … but for some reason, access has been restricted. Not only that – someone didn't want it to look like it was restricted, so they blocked the pages with this phony 'error' message instead."
"Why not just erase the pages themselves?"
Shalnark shook his head. "Erasing data once it's been entered would be a direct violation of the rules governing both the Site and the Association. Punishable by revocation of license and your name on the black-list."
"But obstructing access isn't a violation."
"Er … not directly. It goes against the spirit of the law, but so long as no one catches on it's probably overlooked."
Overlooked. Kuroro shook his head. There's been too much of that going on lately. And in the past, too. How could I have not noticed—
And suddenly, the revelation he'd been seeking struck him with all the blinding force of lightning.
"Shal," he said, ignoring whatever the other Spider had been saying, "what do you remember?"
"Uh … about what, Dancho?"
Kuroro sat down suddenly, his chin in his hand.
"The Kurata job. The massacre. What do you remember?"
"Just watch!" Gon seethed, stomping over the sidewalk. "I'll pass and shut that guy up! He can say whatever he wants! It doesn't make a difference!"
Killua crunched through another piece of candy, keeping up easily with Gon's angry gait. It wasn't so much that their plan for playing Greed Island had failed them, as that they had failed it. But it's not too late. The Zaoldyek licked sugar off his fingers, fishing in his pocket with his other hand for another sweet.
"The goatee-man is probably right," he pointed out, figuring that Gon had had enough time to vent. "If Battera really holds a test to hire the best hunters to play the game for him, then we need to be at the next level to get through."
"What do you mean?" his friend demanded, scowling as he kicked at the concrete.
"Right now we're only doing basic exercises." The Zaoldyek held up two fingers, a round candy held between them. "We need hatsu. Special abilities."
Gon chewed that thought over for a few minutes in silence.
Just as well. Killua tossed the candy into his mouth. They were getting close to the apartment and the last thing he needed was for Leorio to start grumbling about how they needed to be quiet. Or worse, he shuddered, one of Senritsu's 'friendly' reminders. Really, something terrifying happened to women when they got maternal. There was no explaining it.
"Yeah!" the other boy exclaimed suddenly. "Let's show that old man! I'll blow him and his stupid test away!"
Well, at least he's thinking positive, Killua snorted. Even if he has no appreciation of how difficult it could get. But that was Gon. He hid his smirk and followed his friend through the broken back door of the apartment complex.
I know what I have planned for my first experiment—
He bumped into Gon's back.
"Hey! What—"
There, as cool as you please in the middle of their living area, the memory-reading Spider was sitting and drinking bottled tea with Senritsu.
His nerves set up a screech that was probably audible.
Pakunoda. Gon had said she didn't fight like the other one that had captured him, but that was no reason to underrate her abilities. But still—! If it weren't for the fact that Senritsu was sitting there, tranquilly holding her drink and smiling at him, he would have been out the door and down the block by now.
"What's she doing here?" Gon demanded, planting his feet and bristling like an angry dog.
And where are all the Spiders we don't see? Killua's eyes darted over all the possible hiding places, his senses on high alert. Are we already trapped?
"She claims she came to talk," Leorio growled from beside the other door.
At least he was keeping watch, but this way the Spider knew exactly which door to go through to kill Kurapika in her sleep.
Worry about yourself first! Killua kicked himself. Senritsu is acting relaxed, but she could be manipulated! Leorio is acting upset, but he's not doing anything!
"The rest of the Ryodan isn't in York Shin anymore," Senri said, holding up her hands in placation. "Calm down and listen to what she has to say."
"They pulled this trick last time!" Killua argued. "The Ryodan could've tailed her without her knowing—"
Pakunoda cut him off, inspecting her nails with a critical show of indifference. "The other Spiders wouldn't think of coming here. Not for some time. They won't think the way I do."
"No?" Gon demanded, breaking his aggressive silence. "And how does someone like you think?"
Intense and challenging, his gaze never strayed from her face; the Spider was pretending to ignore it, but Killua knew first hand that it was not easy to be the focus of that stare.
"I think," she said carefully, "that it would be better to discuss this with your Kurata here."
"No."
"Oi, Gon!" Leorio broke in. "Isn't that Kurapika's decision?"
"Only if we wake her up," the boy replied, with admirable ruthlessness. "And I don't see any reason to do that." He glared at the woman. "You get out of here. Now."
"Gon—"
Killua interrupted Senritsu, edging around for a more strategic position, "Sorry Senri, but there's no way to believe that the whole Ryodan isn't here."
And, with Kurapika completely out of action, there was very little chance that they could escape for a third time. That's no reason not to try! Worst case, the whole building was surrounded … but he knew a few tricks. At least, he could try to get Gon out.
"No one came with me," the Spider insisted. "Because they don't know that they don't know."
"Don't talk in riddles!" Leorio growled, flicking his switchblade open and closed like a nervous tic. "Just say what you have to say and be done!"
Pakunoda bit at one fingernail, and Killua was jolted by the smell of blood. The woman was biting into the skin of her fingertip itself. So hard that it's bleeding. He felt his muscles tense up so hard they began to lock on him. There was something very wrong with all of this.
But even knowing that, the Spider's next words still blew him away.
"About the Kurata. I erased their memories myself."