10. I'd Rather be a Hammer Than a Nail

She watched, standing, as he poured out a glass of wine.

"It was polite of you to come through the door," he remarked. "After what I'm told took place at the House of Blue Leaves, I half-expected a robot to come crashing through my roof."

Her tongue felt numb. "I left my Pfadfinderin back in town."

"Ah." He lifted the glass to his lips. "And how is Doctor Kabapu?"

"He's good."

"Is he still the same tedious fool as ever?"

She nodded.

"And have Doctor Shioji's – habits improved at all?"

She shook her head.

"You know," he said, laughing quietly. "I never would have expected to see you fallen in with that bunch." He examined her face in the low light, and she felt herself blush. "You've changed."

"So have you," she said.

He glanced at his reflection in the windowpane. "I suppose I have. But how I forget myself!—Please do have a seat. What a poor host I am." With a sweep of his hand, he indicated one of the handsome chairs at the kitchen table. "I don't think wine is quite appropriate for one of your still-tender years. But could I offer you milk?"

"Sure."

Feeling like a child, she took a seat with her legs pressed close together. He set the glass in front of her – a long-stemmed wine glass, like his own, but filled with milk. She couldn't help smiling.

In the corner, Menchi trembled with her tail wrapped around her legs.

"Heavens!" Ilpalazzo nudged his glasses. "What did you do to that poor thing?"

"Emergency food supply," Excel muttered.

Ilpalazzo lifted the dog and cradled her gently in his arms, making soothing noises.

"There, there…it's alright. The scary lady isn't going to hurt you."

Excel sipped her milk, on the verge of tears.

"Does this belong to you?"

She turned, to see Ilpalazzo holding her handgun by the barrel.

"…Yeah."

He set it on the table in front of her. "Well do keep track of it, then. I so like to keep the place tidy."

He sat across from her, still holding the terrified Menchi. He looked so small without his cloak, she thought again. So defenseless.

"I think you'll be pleased to know that I've received word from Miss Cosette Sara in Tokyo." Casually, he removed a postcard from the breast of his uniform. "Would you like to hear?"

Excel nodded.

After sipping his wine again, Ilpalazzo read: "'Dearest Lord Ilpalazzo.'" He stopped to laugh. "Such a formal girl!—'Thank you for the letter of the eighteenth. I have quite recovered, although I was the cause of some concern at the hospital when I attempted to slay Doctor Takano with my hairpin. Since then I have been removed to a different ward. I am now in the company of other children who, like myself, experienced trauma at an early age, and subsequently exhibit homicidal behavior. The doctors are trying to cure us through a program of fresh air, exercise, and arts & crafts. The other day I received a very nice compliment from Nurse Kusaka on my macaroni collage of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian. I don't know I feel about 'recovery,' but I suppose it might be pleasant if, tomorrow, I could look at a kitten without imagining the way its blood would spill from its severed throat.'

'Your truly,

'Cosette.'

"A happy ending. Wouldn't you agree?"

Excel nodded.

"Yes," he repeated, reflectively, tapping the postcard on the table. "A very happy ending."

He stood. Menchi leapt out of his arms, and took once again to the corner. "Now. When it comes to you – and us – I have a few unanswered questions. So before this tale of bloody revenge reaches its climax, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth.

"But therein lies the dilemma!—For, when it comes to the subject of you, I believe you to be truly and utterly incapable of telling the truth – especially to me, and – least of all, to yourself.

"And, when it comes to the subject of me, I am – truly and utterly incapable – of believing anything you say."

"How do you purpose we solve this dilemma?" Excel said dully.

"Well!—It just so happens, I have a solution."

With a flourish, he produced a gun – treachery! flashed through her mind – and fired. Instead of a bang, through, there was a quiet pop, and she stared at the four-inch hypodermic dart protruding from her arm. There was only a slight itch of pain, followed by a more unpleasant draining sensation.

She sputtered. "W-what – did you just shoot me with!"

"My greatest invention," he said, replacing the gun inside a cabinet. "Or at least, my favorite. I call it the Undisputed Truth. Twice as effective as sodium pentathol, without – any of those messy side-effects. Except you may perhaps experience—" he waved his hand airily—"a slight wave of euphoria?"

"Euphoria?" she gasped. "—No."

"Mm." Ilpalazzo smiled again. "That's a shame.—Don't touch it! It's already begun to set in. You'll only make it sting."

With a grimace, she put her hands on the table. "Fine."

She expected a sadistic smile, but as he returned to the table, his expression was grave. He sat with his hands laced in front of him. "I imagine you may have one or two questions of your own. After I've asked mine," he said, "I'll allow you to ask yours."

She nodded.

"So…" He nudged his glasses. "My first question."

Excel waited, trying to meet his eyes. He looked resolutely at the cream-colored wall.

"Did you ever really believe that you would be able to kill me?"

"No."

"Then why did you come here?"

Because I hate you, she thought, but her mouth independently formed the words: "B-because I love you."

He glanced again at the window. Outside, the leaves of the palms showed soft and bright, like metal. Seeming to go off track, he said: "I always told you that the world was corrupt. Isn't that right?"

She nodded.

"But that isn't the truth. I realize that, now."

"But – it is the truth! Everything you told me is true! About – the governments, and…"

"Haven't you realized?" he said gently. "There is suffering in the world; but the world is not corrupt. Hard, hateful men are the cause of suffering – men like myself."

She had traveled thousands of miles, and overcome deadly obstacles, all for the sake of bringing her vengeance to him; but the admission still shocked her. "Lord Ilpalazzo…"

"Yes," he said, as if he hadn't heard. "Like the man who went into the world to seek treasure, and in the end found it buried in his own backyard – I sought to destroy corruption, but it was my own heart which was corrupt."

"Lord Ilpalazzo."

"Righteous indignation turned to vapid cruelty. Determination became fanaticism. Idealism rotted until only dogmatism remained." He spoke calmly, as if he come to terms with it out here in the jungle; here, where it was quiet and peaceful, and there were no obstacles between a man and his conscience. If he felt guilt, he had also moved beyond it, to a state she couldn't fully understand.

He looked at her, smiling. "Thank you. I think I understand something that I didn't before."

"Lord…?"

"Love written as loyalty. It's true, isn't it? My ideals corrupted; but yours never did. Even now, you are as loyal to me – and to ACROSS – as ever. Isn't it true?"

"Yes."

"And if I ordered you to take your own life, with that gun in front of you – you would do it. Wouldn't you?"

"Y-yes."

"Ah. My poor Excel. My poor, dear Excel."

She felt a light pressure on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw his hand there. It was a stern, paternal gesture, but it was no less painful for that.

"Y-you said I could ask q-questions."

He opened his hands. "By all means."

"W-why?" She cut her eyes at the gun. "Why'd you do it?"

"Don't you understand?" He smiled. "I'm not a good person."

"No!—Lord Ilpalazzo is a wonderful person.

"Lord Ilpalazzo is my favorite person.

"B-but every once in a while – you can be a real dick."

He laughed. Then, sobering, said: "Excel-kun. You know what you have to do."

"Lord…?"

"It was your loyalty to ACROSS which led you to destroy it. Now you have to finish what you began."

She stared at him.

"For the sake of the Ideal." When she still stared, he went on: "I know that Nabeshin taught you the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. You know what you have to do."

Slowly, horror spreading over her face, she shook her head.

"Agent Excel! I order you to kill me."

She shook her head.

"Kill me."

No.

"You can do it, Excel," he said calmly, with his hand on her shoulder. His mouth was forming into an unbearable smile. "I believe in you."

No.

"You can do it, Excel. I believe in you."

She looked at her hands. There was a long silence.

"You know," she finally said, in a strangled voice. "If I had to make a list – five years ago – of impossible things that would never happen…you, performing the coup-de-grace on me, by busting a bullet in my bust…would've been right at the top." She looked up. "I would've been wrong. Wouldn't?"

"Oh.—I'm sorry; was that a question? Yes, on the subject of impossible things that could never happen – I'm afraid you would have been wrong. Excel-kun."

She smiled. Then she struck out – once, twice, three-four – then pulling back her hand, like a snake about to strike (although it trembled) – the last blow.

Ilpalazzo shuddered, gasping. Excel looked at her own fingertips in disbelief.

It was the first time she had ever touched him; and the last. Her mind lingered on the fleeting sensation. Then he was smiling at her, simply and kindly, and a trickle of blood worked down from the corner of his mouth.

"Excellent," he whispered.

She stared.

"How do I look?" he said, smiling.

She smiled helplessly back. "A bit like Hatchan."

He laughed, and the laugh became a cough, and more blood ran from his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his sleeve.

The dam broke. Excel sat weeping like a little girl, making no effort to hold it in. She watched as he stood, straightened his uniform with a tug, and touched his glasses.

She stood. As he turned his back, she raised her arm over her head, calling out: "Heil—Ilpalazzo!"

He had already begun to walk, and didn't turn back. She tried to count the steps, but before she knew it he had collapsed as if unglued. Lord Ilpalazzo lay on the floor underneath the window, motionless, in a pool of moonlight.

She understood the meaning of the words: never again. She sunk back on the chair, put her head on the table, and decided she would sit there forever.

After hours, or minutes, rocked by her own hard sobbing, she became aware of another noise. She opened her eyes in a wild hope: but he lay the same as before. She looked down. Menchi was rubbing her cheek against her ankle, whining softly.

She bent down, expecting the dog to bolt, but Menchi allowed herself to be picked up. Excel held her close. Menchi touched her chin with her small, rough tongue; and in spite of herself, Excel laughed.

"I missed you, girl," she murmured.

Menchi yipped.

Excel stood up, Menchi in her arms. Turning her back on the window, she faced the doorway, and began the long, slow, difficult walk away.