A woman crouched, collapsed to her knees, on the night road, reaching out as if for help. A customer who had wished to block her ears to the vain chatter of those around her—Layla was her name. In the end, her prayer had cost her any sound at all. No matter what Carredura said to her, she didn’t hear, and at the same time, she couldn’t speak.
Just as Carredura had expected. She smiled.
Another person brought to grief by a sancta.
It felt good. It felt right.
“It’s your own fault for using a crutch like that,” Carredura said. And why shouldn’t she? Her pitiful client couldn’t hear her anyway.
Carredura was done here. She turned and walked away, melting into the darkness. Antiques Carredura had to find its next customer.
She would find someone in need and offer them a helping hand, a sancta that could solve their problems. That was how she had made her living to this day. She did exactly what an antiques dealer would do—but all of her offerings led to destruction.
“To whom shall I give a sancta next?” she mused, smiling to herself there on the street. Her words were a wish for destruction, but no one heard them, no one apprehended them; they simply melted into the darkness of the night.
Then Carredura hid herself away, to find someone else to ensnare.
At least, that had been her plan—until a voice said from behind her, “You say the most awful things.”
The words pierced her. It was almost as if the speaker had heard everything Carredura had said to herself. Who was that? Was it Layla? No. Not possible. She wasn’t supposed to be able to hear anything.
“I turned to you, and you gave me these earrings knowing that by the end, I wouldn’t be able to speak, didn’t you?” It was Layla, right behind her, speaking clearly. “You’re a terrible person.” There was heartfelt contempt in her voice.
Not possible. How was she managing to speak? Was she utilizing some other sancta besides the one Carredura had given her?
Very amusing.
Carredura turned to see what was behind her out of pure, simple interest. Curiosity.
When she saw who was standing there, she was disappointed.
Her client Layla was there all right, crouching in the street and glaring at her—and beside her was an antiques dealer. Red hair that shifted like a flickering flame in the night. A scarlet dress to match. Fingers ensconced in gloves, hand wrapped around the handle of an umbrella.
The woman who had served as an antiques dealer since the founding of Cururunelvia, the land of prayer.
“Hello, Carredura. It’s been too long.”
Riviere, of Riviere Antiques. The woman who had chosen a different path from Carredura all those years ago.
Riviere had picked up the Memory-Guiding Specimen and looked at all of us. “It’s not impossible to use this sancta to find her,” she said. Well, color me confused. I thought she had just explained at length that the Memory-Guiding Specimen could only track people—whereas Carredura was more like a sancta herself.
“Didn’t you just say it was?” I asked with a puzzled look. It felt like this was some kind of riddle.
“I said it can’t take us directly to Carredura herself,” Riviere replied.
“Uh… Which means what?” I wasn’t very good at connecting these kinds of dots.
“We simply need to ask it to take us to the person who’s currently being victimized by Carredura.”
Well, there was the answer. It sounded so simple when she said it. This sancta led you to people—well, then it could lead us to Carredura’s victim.
“So you want to find this person and ask them to help us out?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
If we could get that person to cooperate with us, then we could figure out the rest somehow. Maybe the person could tell us where to find Carredura or help lure her out, acting as the bait in our trap. Our missing connection to Carredura suddenly fell into place. If I had one doubt, it was…
“Do you really think this person will help us?” Henri asked, furrowing his brow. What if they turned out to actually feel grateful to Carredura? They wouldn’t help us track her then. They might even tell her we were on her trail.
Riviere, however, was clear: “It will be all right.” She released the butterfly specimen and said, “Not one person has ever met that woman and gone away happy.”
Freed from its pin, the butterfly began to fly off in accord with our wish. Its time, so long stopped, began to flow again.
“Ahh… Urgh… Wha…what tho I doo?!”
The town was draped in the cloak of night. We found a woman crouching on the roadside and sobbing. I didn’t know who she was—I’d never seen her before. But it was clear that she was one of Carredura’s victims.
The butterfly fluttered along, guiding us, and then it came to rest on her shoulder.
I went straight up to the woman. “Are you okay? Stay with me!”
“Wha? Wh-who are you?” she asked, looking at me in confusion. Fear was written all over her face.
“I’m a friend,” I said, and I explained to her that we were with Riviere Antiques, and we were there to save her from Carredura. Was she all right? Was she hurt?
I tried to sound gentle, reassuring, but she said, “I’m…sorry. What are you saying?” She still looked terrified. Maybe this was all too sudden; maybe she couldn’t follow what was going on.
But no.
“I can’t…I can’t hear your voice!” she wailed, weeping.
Her name was Layla—and she was another of Carredura’s victims.
We quickly shepherded Layla back to Riviere Antiques, where Riviere broke the curse on her.
“You’ll be all right now,” she said, her pale, slim fingers brushing Layla’s ears. This sancta, she said, was called the Earrings of Silence. It caused you to cease to hear sounds that you found unpleasant; the original owner had ultimately stopped hearing anything at all when they came to find every sound in the world too hideous to bear, and finally they ceased to speak themselves. “She probably gave them to you hoping that you’d end up just like that original owner.”
In any case, Riviere said as she slid her glove back on, she was glad we had been able to help Layla. She patted the other woman on the shoulder.
“Thank you…so much,” Layla said. She bowed again and again, tears rolling down her cheeks. She listened attentively to our explanation of what was going on, nodding eagerly the entire time as if to catch every single word we said—maybe a byproduct of so recently having had all sound stolen from her.
She’d also just been brutalized by Carredura—so when we asked her if she would be so kind as to work with us, she happily agreed.
“Do you have any plans to meet with her?” Riviere asked.
“Not plans, no. But…” Layla reached into her bag and took out a black business card. “She told me that if I ever wanted to see her, I should use this.”
Riviere took the card and studied it intently. If Carredura herself had given this to Layla, then it was no ordinary object.
“I guess this is what you would call the Business Card of Summoning Carredura If You Wish to Meet Her,” Elaina interjected.
“Why do you suppose she would give out something like that?” I asked.
“Search me,” the witch replied. “Maybe she just wanted to watch her deafened client squirm. If you lose your hearing and have no one to turn to, the only thing you could do would be to use the business card.”
“That’s gross…”
“Cruelty is gross,” she replied.
It wasn’t enough just to make someone unhappy—Carredura’s job wasn’t done until she had mocked her broken, pleading victim.