“Ha-ha-ha… The passage of time is far too different for you than it is for us.”
“Time is a constant. I will admit that we feel it differently.”
As they conversed, the two old men and the woman descended a staircase.
The way he walked didn’t betray his advanced age. Then there they were, in front of him:
“Oh, Master Quates.”
“You’re looking very well, sir.”
“You haven’t changed a bit…”
“You truly are a marvelous being…”
On seeing Quates, who hadn’t changed at all in twenty years, about a dozen men let cries of admiration escape them.
The men were of all different ages, but even the very youngest appeared to be around forty. As for the oldest… There were three elderly individuals who seemed as if they might be ninety.
The old man who’d been surrounded looked around at the codgers who’d done the surrounding and spoke with an air of boredom.
“I don’t see Barnes or Stagen.”
The old men glanced at one another, then looked down. The butleresque fellow who’d escorted Szilard delivered the news with a sorrowful mien.
“Master Barnes is currently at the ‘distillery.’ Master Stagen Heim…passed away last year.”
“I see.”
Quates didn’t appear particularly moved by the news.
“There’s nothing to be done about death from old age. If he’d lasted another year, he would have seen this day.”
No one raised an objection to his declaration that the cause of death had been old age.
They understood. They knew they wouldn’t die from accidents or illness.
“With failed liquor, I was unable to make your souls eternal… Precisely because sudden death ceased to exist for you, your fear of aging must have been extraordinary. However, even that ends today.”
A small cheer echoed through the underground hall.
“…Although there seems to have been a problem of some sort.”
Instantly, the cheers were replaced by silence.
“Is it true that the blender died?”
In response to Szilard’s query, the butler replied hastily:
“Y-yes, sir… It appears he was stabbed to death by a robber yesterday…”
“What happened to the criminal?”
At that, a man of about forty stepped forward and took over the butler’s report.
“Master Szilard. The culprit was just arrested in a sting operation by police inspectors. Apparently, he committed his crimes while disguised as a panhandler… He seems to have been a thug with an inclination toward drug addiction, and he was unaffiliated with any syndicate.”
“A coincidence, hmm? If that’s how things are, I should have added—I don’t know his name, but—that blender to our number. Failed product or not, if he’d only had a sip of that, a robber wouldn’t have been enough to kill him.”
Possibly having something on his mind, Szilard clicked his tongue softly.
“A word, Master Szilard… The man was a dull one, incapable of anything save blending and alchemy. Making him our comrade would have been rather…”
The butler suggested, timidly.
“I see… You’re right.”
Although you don’t seem much different to me. Inwardly, Quates sneered at the old men surrounding him, but aloud, he agreed with them.
“We can simply find another blender. The problem is the finished product. I assume Barnes is keeping it secure?”
“Yes, we’re told there are about three dozen bottles left.”
“Is he all right on his own?”
“On paper, that place is a wheat storehouse, so there’s no worry of invasion by anyone besides rats. In any case, if we assigned someone who was not a member to act as his bodyguard and that individual found out about the liquor, it would be troublesome…”
Then, do it yourselves. You just don’t want to take responsibility if something goes wrong. Even as Szilard privately despised them, he agreed with the butler’s assessment. He addressed the woman behind him:
“Ennis. Take the car and go pick up Barnes and the liquor.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ennis, the female chauffeur, bowed respectfully to Szilard and the old men, then began climbing the stairs, key in hand. Szilard barked one more order at her back.
“Also, if Barnes has touched even a drop of it… Don’t hesitate. Just kill him. If he’s failed to preserve the liquor properly and spoiled it, kill him then, too.”
“…Understood.”
Cold sweat ran down the backs of the old men.
They wouldn’t die from injuries or illness. As long as they didn’t age, they could rely on regenerating even if they fell into boiling lava.
However… The exception was that they could be killed with ease.
The two before them were creatures capable of eliminating them.
Conversely, they had no hope of killing those two.
An absolute terror from which there was no escape.
They would be able to conquer their fear of old age with the “finished product” that had just been completed. However, the terror in front of them would remain.
Unless willing to confront the blade of death those two wielded, their only alternative was to pledge loyalty.
Loyalty for as long as they lived. In other words, for eternity.
A terror from which only death could free them.
It was a spiral that was somehow contradictory.