Shido awoke as if from a dream, the kind so vivid and real that its ghosts were more real than the waking world, the kind that lingered throughout the day like a long-forgotten memory. The golden beams of sunset wove their way through the heavy brocade curtains covering the window, though none of the gleaming rays touched the bed where Shido lay. That was important somehow, he recalled, though in that state between dream and waking he could not quite remember why.
He threw off the sheet and rose from the bed, his naked flesh pale in the room's shadows, a silver contrast to the gold light. His clothing was laid out for him, and he quickly donned smallclothes, lace-cuffed shirt, snug white breeches, gleaming black knee boots, and a green coat in a color that matched his eyes, trimmed in golden-amber braid that also matched his eyes. The incongruity of that thought did not strike him as odd; it did not, in fact, strike him at all. A starched cravat went about his throat; his nimble fingers tied it into an ornate knot with skill born in days of long practice. An emerald stickpin secured the folds of lace, and a white ribbon tied back his long hair to keep it manageable. He glanced in the mirror, verifying that his appearance was all it should be, and was struck by a faint spark of humor at the thought. Why? No matter, it was but a passing fancy.
The last item of clothing was a mask, a simple domino. He slid it over his face, then turned to the door. There was no need to linger; he was alone in the room and strains of music from outside beckoned him on. Shido left, then descended the stairs and was greeted at their base by a fat man with a waxed black moustache.
"Ah, Maestro, I had feared for a moment you would not wake by sunset."
"Would that be so terrible?"
The man looked at him as if stricken.
"Maestro, this is Carnival! To miss but a single hour of the festivities would be a tragedy beyond compare!"
It was quaint and theatrical, and yet so obviously heartfelt that Shido was touched.
"What about yourself? Are you not going out?"
"Maestro, I am but a humble innkeeper, and my pleasure is to see that each and every one of my guests enjoy themselves to the utmost. You are not long in our city, and will soon pass on along your way, whereas I am always here at this time. So go on, Maestro, and let this night be always a fond memory in your heart."
Shido smiled, and left the inn, beckoned on by the music. A hundred tunes seemed to leap from instruments and voices scattered throughout the city, yet merging together into a single harmony that was the soul of Carnival. The scents of perfumes, of flowers, of heady wines and roasted meats and spun-sugar confections filled the air. Iron poles at the street corners were capped by lanterns of colored glass whose flames sent garish radiance everywhere, while iron cressets mounted to buildings held burning flambeaux to banish the darkness.
Through the gaiety Shido walked, surrounded always by masked revelers who laughed and sang, ate and drank, danced and celebrated all around him. This was Carnival, and everyone, whether clad in phantasmoragic costume or simply masked as he was, seemed to be positively bursting with life, living it to the fullest with reckless passion and pleasure. Revelers caroused, lovers kissed, and enemies brawled, holding back nothing. Entertainers merged with the crowd; Shido saw clusters around actors and pantomime-artists, jugglers, fire-eaters, magicians, and minstrels. A fiddler with the pointed black goatee, headscarf, and earring of a stage Gypsy played while a bear danced.
Bemused, Shido's smile grew. A paunchy gentleman in motley and a dandy in domino and top hap screamed vicious insults at one another, then at the height of their rage suddenly broke off in fierce laughter as if at some absurdity, then flung their arms around each other's shoulders and strolled off as if they were the best of friends, calling for wine and women. It was wild, perhaps insane, but it was earnest and driven, this craving of the crowd for sensation, for emotion. Each and every one of them seemed to be striving with all their heart and soul to live as fully and freely as they could.
"For who knows when Carnival shall end?"
Shido flinched in surprise; the words had so perfectly answered his thoughts. They came from a figure next to him, swathed in a hooded gray robe. The hood was up, casting the face in shadow, but Shido's keen sight pierced the darkness effortlessly to see a white full-face porcelain mask, painted like a harlequin. The mask's mouth was level, but its eyes laughed at Shido's surprise.
"Is that not what you were thinking?"
"Yes, I suppose it was."
"Indeed so, for Carnival is a time of celebration and joy. After Carnival we remember and we lament, but for now we live. We love, we hate, we revel. Joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain are our companions, and we clutch any one to our hearts as eagerly as another."
A strange philosophy, Shido thought, and yet its evidence was there all around him. There was an appeal to it, besides. What, after all, were goals and purposes but reasons to give life meaning? To make sure, that, above all, one's allotted span was not wasted?
The harlequin face's eyes were eager as Shido thought of these things, and he was curious to know what lay beneath the mask and robe. Was it a man or woman? Young or old? The enveloping folds of the gray cloak concealed all. Even the voice was impossible for him to place; he could have been speaking to anyone, or everyone.
Something was wrong with that thought, but he somehow could not place it.
"But you are a visitor to our city, are you not?" the masked figure asked.
"I am," Shido answered.
"And will you find what you seek here, I wonder?"
"What...I seek?"
Did the porcelain lips curve into a smile, or was it only the mask that made it seem that way?
"All who come here are seekers. If you came here, it is because you need what can be found at Carnival, the thing you have sought whether you know it or not."
"The thing I sought..."
"Tarry not, seeker," the harlequin suddenly laughed, "for you have not forever to find your way." It pointed dramatically up and behind Shido, towards the face of a great clock tower which began to peal the hour, seven chimes one after the other. When Shido turned back to the robed figure to see what it had meant by its cryptic hint, there was no trace of it. A jester clad in green and orange motley strolled, bells jingling, through the very place where the harlequin-masked figure had stood, juggling torches that each burned with a different-hued flame. The juggler walked on, but the robed figure was gone, and Shido was alone in the crowd.
Well, then, if one way is as good as another, then I'll take my lead from the clock.
The streets he passed through were quaintly medieval in style, with buildings of gray stone and wood that reared above the streets, taking on color and warmth from the carnival lights while during the day they would be cold and forbidding. The clock tower was set in a high spire that reared above castellated battlements as of an imperial palace. Behind it, the sky had been swept clean of stars and even the moon was only a faint sliver, drowned by the lights of the city below. Shido entered a broad square dominated by a fountain in which a chariot raced before a cascade of water. Was it meant to depict a heroic charge, outstripping the tide, or instead the final moment before the driver and steeds were engulfed? He could not say.
Then an act of crude violence impacted on his attention. A woman in an ornate dress and garish feather-trimmed mask was being forced back against the stone wall surrounding the fountain by a man dressed much as was Shido. She squealed in fear as the man tried to tear at her clothing.
At once Shido strode forward, seizing the man by the shoulder and pulling him back. His intervention sent the man stumbling back several steps in surprise; the dandy barely regained his balance without falling.
"So! A cavalier steps forward!" the man bellowed. "But a cavalier without a blade! Tch, but what sport is that?" The dandy's hand dropped to his waist, and in another instant his ornate brass-hilted rapier was drawn, the sword's tip wagging as tease and threat at Shido. "I shall chastize you severely for your inattention to detail."
Shido then surprised himself with the smooth way his body reacted to his opponent, shifting balance into a countering stance almost as a reflex, while his mind gathered details about the swordsman that would reveal his likely next move. When the attack came, Shido was perfectly ready. He smoothly dodged, letting the thrust at his head pass harmlessly over his shoulder, then stepped forward and grasped the dandy's sword-hand, wresting the blade out of his opponent's grip.
"Clearly it is you who needs the lesson," he replied.
Shido dropped the rapier, seized the swordsman by his coat lapels, and tossed him into the fountain with a splash. The crowd roared with laughter, while the woman he'd saved flung herself against him.
"You beast! Oh, you beast, to do that to him!" she shouted, pounding at his chest with her tiny fists, but her face did not match the words. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, and there was an excitement in her eyes, a look that said she found his danger, his effortless, easy mastery of another and his quick use of violence thrilling.
Shido knew that look well. Where from? He had seen it many times in the past. When? There was a certain kind of person, the sensation-starved, who was intoxicated by such things, by battle and danger and the exercise of power by one over another.
A memory flickered in his mind's eye, of himself and another man, his long blond hair encircling his body, golden sun to Shido's moon. They lay naked on crimson silk; a voluptuous woman was pressed between them, but she was meaningless, merely an object serving the two men's passion. Then the memory was gone, before he could put names or meaning to it, only to be replaced by another. A tall, elegant woman in formal court dress regarded him with the same heated gaze as the one he'd just rescued, and arched her head to bare her throat.
Her throat? Why? There was something there, too, something Shido ought to know–
Nothing. It was gone, like dust on the wind, and the woman was gone too. She'd moved on, it seemed, to other arenas where she might perhaps find what she wanted, if she even knew what that was.
Perhaps she was no better than he was, lost while looking for something she couldn't name.
"Ah, Maestro!"
The voice cut like a well-honed knife through his confusion. It was strong and bold, the voice of a confident, self-assured man despite the lesser status implicit in his form of address. It came from below and to his left, and Shido turned to look at once.
"You seem to be at your wit's end, Maestro," continued the speaker. He was perhaps four feet tall, dressed in yellow and red motley to resemble a dwarf from some noble's court, but his face was boldly handsome, if saturnine, with a strong jaw not concealed by his neatly trimmed black beard. A fool, possibly, but one who was perhaps less so than his masters.
"You might say that," Shido admitted. "I find it hard to keep a clear head."
The jester laughed heartily, as if Shido had told some hilarious joke.
"Trouble keeping a clear head! I shouldn't wonder at that, my friend. Indeed, if you see that as your problem, Maestro, then it's no surprise you are looking so lost."
"And how is that?"
He tapped his thick, spatulate forefinger against his temple.
"Your head, Maestro. This is Carnival, do not forget. Your trouble is not that you are having problems using your head–no! Your trouble is that you are trying to use it at all!"
A shout rose up from the crowd further along the street, several voices raised to cheer some event. The jester did not turn and look; whatever it was did not interest him.
"What do you mean?" Shido asked.
"This is not a time to stop and think! This is not a time for philosophy and reflection! It is a time to act, a time to feel!" He thumped a powerful fist against his chest, over his heart. "If you let thought and reason rule, then you will never find what you seek."
"Wait! How do you know that I'm looking for something?"
The jester laughed, a booming sound all out of proportion to his size.
"All who come here seek something!" he roared. "You would not be here if you did not! Now go, Maestro, and search with your heart if you hope to find your way!"
-X X X-
"Mr. Shido?" Riho called. "Mr. Shido, good evening!"
He didn't answer. She poked her head around the door and looked out into the office. It was deserted.
"This is silly," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "I might need more rest than he does, but I didn't sleep that late!"
"What, did Shido go off and leave you while you were snug in your coffin?"
"Guni, where is Mr. Shido?" Riho asked, the need for information outweighing her desire to zing back.
"I don't know; I haven't seen him around this morning."
"That's strange. Even if he goes out on his own he usually lets us know where he's gone."
"Maybe he's still asleep?"
"Maybe."
Riho went back down the hall to the closed rooms–closets, really–that the vampires used as bedrooms. Shido's door was usually locked; ever since a recent incident he'd begun taking that basic precaution when he slept. This time, though, the knob turned when she twisted it, and the deadbolt did not hold the door shut.
"Mr. Shido?" she said quietly.
"Is he in there?"
Riho shook her head. The room was windowless and dark, but the vampire girl's eyesight had no difficulty in noticing the open and empty coffin.