White Devil Mountain (6 page)

The mountain could be seen through the window. It looked for all the world like an ordinary, snow-covered peak.

III

His departure early the next morning was forestalled by a knock at the door.

“What the hell do you want?” a hoarse voice of peerless unsociability called through the door, causing the person on the other side to fall silent. Finally, he said, “It’s the bellhop. Actually, we’ve got a number of dangerous-looking visitors downstairs—and they want to know your room number, sir.”

“Oh, thanks for the heads-up. Guess you earned that tip. Okay. Better go down and see ’em.”

“Beg pardon?”

“How many are there?”

“Ten.”

“That’ll be a nice little warm-up before breakfast, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do they look?”

“Like drifters, warriors, or bounty hunters—villains, plain and simple.”

“Pretty much what I figured. I’ll be headed right down. Tell ’em to wash behind their ears and be waiting in their Sunday best.”

“As you wish.”

Once the informant had left, the hoarse voice asked, “Who are they?”

“As the man just told you, people who heard rumors of me being here,” said D. His tone was just the same during the day as it was at night. When exactly did the young man sleep?

“Hoping to join you on the trip—or I suppose not, eh? Probably hoping to take your place.”

The voice gave a gloomy yet amused chuckle. But it broke off and muttered, “What’s all this?” It seemed to be listening rather intently. “A brawl’s breaking out down there! They’re turning on each other, jockeying for position, I suppose. Let’s go watch!”

There was no reply. D remained lying on the bed.

His left hand jittered. “Oh, man, we’re talking about complete strangers mixing it up! What could be more fun to watch than that? I wanna see it. I wanna hear ’em. The wilder it gets, the more fun it is. If someone gets killed, that’d be the best! C’mon! Let’s hurry up and get down there.”

D opened his eyes.

“Finally!”

“He said there were ten of them, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. No, wait a sec. Now that you mention it . . . We’ve got some late arrivals . . . Two of ’em. Probably more bounty hunters.”

Here the hoarse voice fell silent for a while, perhaps listening through the thick wooden door and floor for sounds from below.

“Oh, someone’s getting thanked. And the one doing the thanking . . . seems to be the hotel’s owner or something. And someone else says they’re welcome . . . A woman. That lady doctor from last night. Well, let’s go see ’em.”

Still, D didn’t move. This young man was absolutely indifferent toward other people.

Then the Hunter sat up.

“What is it?”

“The weather’s cleared. Time to climb.” His heavenly visage was peering out the window at Mount Shilla.

It was ten minutes later that D descended the grand staircase down to the lobby with a big backpack over one shoulder.

On the Frontier, they always cleaned up quickly after trouble, because it tended to hamper business. There was no sign of even a single wounded or dead person, and an old man who was apparently the janitor was busily mopping the blood from the floor. Judging from the fact that the great carpet had been pulled up, quite a lot of blood must’ve been spilled.

The man and woman seated on the sofa to one side of the lobby got to their feet and looked up at D on the stairs. It was the village doctor—Vera—and a bald giant of a man who stood nearly six feet eight. It wasn’t Baska. At the man’s feet was a pack that looked to be easily three times the size of D’s, and bearskin cold-weather gear. Other winter clothes were resting on the sofa. Vera wore black cold-weather gear, while the giant had on a wool shirt and thermal trousers. The shirt was made of the stitched-together hides of snow mice. In these parts, they were said to be the best protection you could have against the cold.

“Good morning,” said Vera.

D merely nodded slightly. Not that he was arrogant. Nor unsociable. That’s just the sort of young man he was.

Smiling, Vera continued, “Allow me to introduce you: this is Dust, a guard here in the village. He’s agreed to serve as my bodyguard, at the mayor’s behest. We’re to accompany you.”

Down in the vicinity of D’s hip, his left hand groaned.

“Why?” D inquired.

“Would you come down here? I don’t care to have you looking down at me from the stairs.”

Saying nothing, D came down the stairs. His next question wasn’t a reiteration of the last. “What happened to the ten people who were here?”

“Dust was kind enough to take care of them.”

One look at the man would be enough to convince anyone that he was probably up to such a task. It looked as though, if his massive form were hollowed out, D in his entirety would easily fit inside. Even through his heavy shirt, the bulging lines of his biceps and pectoral muscles were evident. Judging from the splashes of blood he wore in a variety of places, there must’ve been some fierce fighting, but he was sufficiently composed.

Not responding at all, D headed for the exit. Their request to accompany him up the mountain seemed lost in the depths of forgetfulness.

“It’s not known how many people were onboard the aircraft, but if there are any wounded—well, you know where this is going. Orders from the mayor. Here it is in writing.”

Dashing his eyes across the stark sheet of paper she produced from her cold-weather gear, D told her, “Good enough.” His tone carried not the tiniest fragment of interest. Nor did he ask her anything about the business with the Sacred Ancestor. “But I’ll be too busy to look after you. He alone will have to serve as your babysitter. One more thing—you’ll have to follow my instructions.”

“Understood.” The doctor nodded, turning her gaze to the giant.

His enormous bald pate slowly dropped and rose again.

“Quite a pair they make. They’ve got their act down pat,” a voice fairly whispered, but apparently it reached the ears of Vera and the giant, who furrowed their respective brows but ultimately didn’t understand where it’d come from. The hoarse voice asked, “What happened to that fella who ran amuck in the bar last night?”

“He’s in the hospital. It seems when you threw him, he broke his neck.”

There was an appreciative whistle. When the man had gotten up again so easily, he must’ve been hiding the pain he was in. He was possessed of a good deal of nerve.

“We’re off, then,” D said without turning, pushing his way through the doors.

“Just a minute!” the doctor cried after him in an agitated manner.

The beginning of the route up the mountain was to the west of the village. The entrance to the trail up the slope was blocked by thick concrete slabs and barbed wire. Next to the door waited a middle-aged man.

“Mr. D, isn’t it?” he called out, his words seeming to float into the air. That was on account of D’s good looks.

“That’s right.”

“The mayor told me to wait here. I’ll open ’er up for you straightaway.”

To the right side of the door was a little steel hatch for making inspections. Pushing his key into the heavy lock and opening it, the man stepped to one side.

“How long have you been here?” D inquired.

As if in a dream, the man replied, “Since daybreak.”

“Anyone come by besides me?”

“Not a one. Why would they?”

“Any other routes up the mountain?”