I looked at Nito to see her staring inside with a stiff look on her face. More than fear of the witch, it seemed to come from being nervous about finally getting her question answered. This was it. She was about to learn whether the Golden Sea existed—or rather, whether her mother had lied.
A dusty red carpet greeted us as we entered the mansion. A sweeping staircase stood in front of us, winding upward, and a large landscape painting dominated the hall. Corridors stretched out beyond open doors to the left and right, but even then the house didn’t look quite vast or maze-like enough to get lost in.
We followed Jack’s instructions and headed down the corridor on the right. Tall windows lined the high-ceilinged corridor, letting enough light in that it was almost strangely bright. The singing grew louder as we progressed until eventually it was clearly audible. Ahead of us was a fluttering curtain, the only one filled by the wind. The door to the room across from the curtain was wide open, and once we drew close enough, I poked my head through it.
The room itself had no window and was fairly small. The lack of natural light made it somewhat gloomy despite the full daylight outside; only a single lantern lit the room’s interior. A pair of sofas stood between us and the far wall, facing each other across a long coffee table, but no one was sitting on them. A single cabinet stood on the side of the room, and next to it a woman was perched on a thin-legged chair, languidly resting her cheek on the cabinet. On a small table in front of her sat a gramophone—a black box topped with a horn that spread open and drooped outward, almost like a lily—playing music that gave me shivers.
I wasn’t sure whether I should call out to her. There was a particular atmosphere to the room. Perhaps it came from the music, perhaps from the woman, or perhaps a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it made me hesitant to disrupt the scene.
The wind blowing in from the window in the corridor strengthened and the curtain rustled behind me. The woman suddenly raised her head and saw us. She straightened her back and stood up from the chair, eyes still sleepy. Her dark-green dress billowed in the wind. This was definitely the same woman we’d seen in front of the secondhand shop.
“The witch?” Nito murmured, but it was less of an actual question and more of a confirmation to herself.
The woman’s eyes softened slightly, and her painted red lips alone seemed to come into sharp relief against the rest of the room.
“You have something you are searching for, don’t you?”
Nito’s shoulders trembled.
“Come inside,” the witch said, seating herself on the small sofa on the far side of the table.
Nito and I were both bewildered, but we couldn’t just stand in place forever. Carefully, we entered the room and sat across from her. The witch sat elegantly straight-backed, her long legs pressed together and angled off to one side. Even her fingers on her lap were completely gorgeous. I straightened without meaning to.
“I will answer,” the witch began, “a single question. The answer will be either an affirmative or a negative, and you only get one chance to ask. Very well?”
She wasn’t speaking to me, but to Nito. Somehow or other, she knew that it was Nito that wanted to ask something. Nito was still tense with nerves as she gave a halting nod, her head moving like a rusted hinge.
“Also, as payment, I will take something that is precious to you. Have you brought such a thing with you?”
Nito nodded again, looking down at the item she had been holding all this time. The thing she had pulled from the Kettle when Jack had told her of the witch’s conditions was her mother’s notebook.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
It was, without a doubt, the thing most precious to her in the world. Her whole journey had started because of it. She looked up at me and nodded. I had no doubt she would have agonized over it far more than I was, but there was no hint of hesitation in her eyes.
“I don’t have anything else irreplaceable,” she told me. “Besides, I know all the pictures by heart.”
Nito leaned forward and held out the notebook. The witch also moved slightly forward and stretched out her hand to take it. She caressed the old cover and looked once again at Nito.
“This is bursting with your memories of a certain important place,” she said. “I can see several vivid images. This was your father’s...no, your late mother’s notebook, which you inherited. I see. That will be sufficient.”
Nito’s eyes were wide.
“H-How could you tell?”
The woman didn’t give her an answer.
“Now, ask your question. Consider it carefully, though, as you do not get a second chance.”
Nito’s fists clenched in her lap, creasing her dress. I remembered our conversation around the campfire. She had never been able to leave her room, and the pictures her mother had showed her from that notebook, along with the stories about them, had been the only beauty in the world for her. But then her mother had died and she’d realized she didn’t know whether those stories were the truth or not.
Nito was searching for the Golden Sea, but I was sure that what she was actually searching for was the truth. She wanted to know whether her mother’s tales—which had supported her mind and soul for so long—were actually true. That was without a doubt the reason she had traveled across this dead world. If she could confirm that the places within her mother’s notebook were real, then she could believe that the tales she had been told of the most beautiful place in the world—the Golden Sea—were also true.
But, I thought, what if they’re not?
“Does the place called the Golden Sea exist?” Nito finally asked.
She waited intently for the reply, her eyelashes quivering with the effort to not blink, refusing to miss even the slightest shift in the witch’s expression. The witch took her gaze directly. Time seemed to stretch out, and I stopped breathing. As a smile made its way onto her lips, the witch spoke.
✦ ✦ ✦
“It does not.”
I was certain I heard Nito gasp.
“Unfortunately, there is no place called the Golden Sea in this world.”
Silence settled over the three of us. The gramophone in the corner echoed, and then the beautiful, but painfully out-of-place, soprano voice suddenly vanished as even the music fell silent.
“I...see,” Nito answered, her gaze falling.
The sunlight streaming in through the open door lit up the back of her head in silver as her hair fell in a shadow over her face. I heard her murmur another soft “I see.” I thought she might be crying, but when she raised her head, there was a smile on her face.
“That’s a relief. Thank you.”
Then, seeming to realize I wanted to say something, she preempted me, adding brightly, “I’ll go out ahead. You should ask whatever you want to. You don’t often get the chance to meet a witch.”
She stood up and left the room, and I followed suit immediately.
“You don’t have a question to ask?” the witch queried.
I stopped and looked back.
“Maybe some other time,” I said, bowing at the bemused woman before leaving.