The girl who fell from the polar star - Side Story 1: Beck

Beck sat in a tavern in the Central District grumbling over his cups. He had just finished going through his shopping list, and under his table was a bag filled with eggs, milk bottles, and other groceries. If truth be told, he could have gotten all this in the West District. Instead, he’d come all the way here, and for no other reason than to stay out of sight of Stock Company men. If they found out Beck was shopping groceries for a child, he would never hear the end of it. It was too embarrassing.

“Dammit! Why do I gotta go through all this trouble just for a bottle o’ booze? Why always me?”

“Keep your voice down, will ya,” said the tavern keeper. “Do you have any idea where you are?”

“Course I do. Here”—he tossed the man a coin—“bring me something fancy, I don’t care what!”

Catching the coin, the tavern keeper grinned. “Now that’s kind of you. All right, then, I’ll fix you up with a glass of our best wine.” He took out a bottle, popped the cork, and poured the red liquid into a glass. “Here you go.”

A fragrant aroma tickled Beck’s nostrils. He sipped in silence. It was certainly good—but if only his mind were free from worry, it could have been the best drink of his life. He sighed, long and deeply.

Why did it come to this . . .

He’d been minding his own business, going around collecting debts for the Stock Company as usual. It was supposed to be just another visit to Glenn’s store.

Except that when he got there, he and his wife were both dead and their daughter Stella had turned into a monster. She had killed Beck’s partner—slashed his throat open—after taking control of their bodies with that strange crystal of hers. The girl was no more than a child, yet she had not hesitated to commit murder. Beck’s blood froze as he remembered. If she’d talked to him first, he wouldn’t be here today.

“Yo, Beck! Don’t see you around here often. How you doing, huh?”

“. . . Leave me alone. You’re with the Palpud Union.”

“Heh. C’mon, don’t be like that. This is the Central District, no less. The turf war stays in the West District. That’s the rules, remember?”

“I mean, yeah.”

This particular member of the Palpud Union was a hopeless kleptomaniac who’d been hired for his lockpicking skills. He and Beck knew each other—he’d run afoul of the man a few times while collecting debts for the company. The trick with these encounters was to make just enough noise to show that you were doing the job while avoiding bloodshed at all costs. He didn’t want to die, after all, but he needed to look good for the higher-ups. Being an underling was tough work.

“Haven’t seen you lately. You screw something up or what? The Georgia Family didn’t hire you or anything, right?”

“No, course not. Ever heard o’ Glenn’s General Store? I guard that place now.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but he couldn’t exactly say that he was Stella’s slave. He’d only laugh at me.

“Ah, the birthplace of those ‘tears of falling stars.’ To think that old man would have the vision to come up with that, huh.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “I should pay him a visit.”

He seemed to know Glenn. Preying on the weak was their business, so it would make sense if he had harassed and threatened the man before. The Stock Company was technically supposed to prevent that sort of thing in their territory—that was what the protection money was for in the first place—but orders from Leroy were to refrain from causing too much trouble with the Union. He seemed to be avoiding an all-out war with them. The Union had apparently dished out similar orders, but this man wouldn’t care. People like him were not above ignoring their orders for the sake of some coin.

“Glenn’s gone,” said Beck. “It’s just his pale ghost of a daughter now. The one with the scary eyes.”

“What, he vanish or something?”

“Died. Glenn and Luana both. Hanged themselves, the bastards.”

“Oh, really. So this daughter is running the store all on her lonesome, huh. But she’s getting a lot of business, ain’t she?” He chuckled. “Brings a tear to my eye, it does.”

He nonchalantly drained his glass, but looking at his eyes, Beck saw a glint of greed. The beast had found its prey.

Guess I’ll warn him. “Stay out of it, man. I dunno what he saw in her, but she’s Mace’s favorite. He has his own men watching out for her.”

“Heh, that bookkeeper? I’m not afraid of him. If it was Gard, though, now that’d be different. That one’s more rabid dog than man. He’ll hit you first and ask questions later, see if he don’t.”

“Whoa, no, stop it. Not in front of me.”

If anyone’s listening, he’s done for. And so am I, for letting him get away with it. You did not mess with Gard. The man was violent and impulsive, and every underling feared him—but with his superior strength and leadership, the same could be said of his enemies. He was a seasoned soldier, and the men under his direct command—Gard’s Regiment, as they were called—made their presence sorely felt in the West District. No one in the Stock Company could match his taste for violence.

“Ah—Sorry, sorry. I don’t fancy dying either.”

Incidentally, “bookkeeper” was a mocking nickname for Mace. A man of brains rather than brawn, he had climbed the ranks to vice president with nothing but his negotiation and money-making skills, which had not helped him gain the gang’s trust. In this line of work, strength was everything, and methods such as his were looked down upon. Still, some people had enough money and charisma to make it work. Greggs, the mayor, was a prime example of that. He was no common nobleman—behind that pretense, the man was working every scheme he could devise to keep this town firmly under his grasp. It was something Beck could never hope to accomplish.

As far as hierarchy went in the Stock Company, first came Leroy, as president; then Gard, as his adviser; and then Mace, as vice president. There was no official heir for the seat of president, but everyone could tell it would probably be Gard. Beck used to think the same, but with everything he’d been through, it now mattered little and less to him.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Beck. “Whatever you’re planning, I’m not responsible.”

“Heh, ’preciate it. . . . Anyway, there’s this talk going around that our boss met with your president in secret. Well, it’s not really a secret if people are talking.” He cackled.

“They met? Why?”

“Beats me. Maybe they’ve a mind to merge or something. Then the West would finally be united, huh?”

“Yeah, not gonna happen. Been too many deaths for that.”

Blood had flowed and lives had been lost, all in the name of pride. With their territories so close to one another, new conflicts cropped up all the time. It only hadn’t evolved into a dispute because both sides were doing their best not to let things get too out of hand. One need only look at the pile of corpses in the South District to see what could have been. Endless power struggles had turned that place into a mess of gangs, big and small, with no semblance of order whatsoever. Greggs had even ordered it completely sealed off from the Central District to avoid the chaos from spreading. Jumping into that warzone was one way to reach the top, but Beck wasn’t bold enough to try.

“I wonder. Well, as long as I’m alive and making money, it’s all good. Anyway, here’s a little something for you. Go fetch some food and drink for those fellas you’re working with. You lot deserve it. Babysitting is tough.”

He handed Beck a silver coin. He had no reason to refuse. “Generous today, are we?”

“It’s nothing, really. We underlings gotta make friends where we can, and I’ve a feeling our friendship will last. Give your buddies my regards.”

“All right, I will.”

“ ’Preciate it. Well, now I’ve got work to do. See ya around.” He left the tavern whistling.

After eating and drinking his fill, Beck finally stood up to leave. He looked at the silver the man had given him and considered buying a woman for the night, but then Stella’s face came to mind and he lost motivation. Those cold eyes, that pale face, her callous manner of speaking. Beck’s heart started beating faster. I’m just fearing for my life, he told himself. I don’t have any weird fetishes. I don’t.

After weighing it in his mind, he decided to leave it for another day, and just grab some booze on his way back to the store like the man had suggested. At this hour, the men would be growing bored of standing guard. They deserve a break for food and drink, to forget their troubles.

Beck called the tavern keeper and said, “Fetch me a couple bottles. I’ll take them to go.”

“Aye. And have something to nibble on, on the house.”

“Thanks.”

Beck arrived back at the store with both his hands full. It was dark, and Rye was lighting a lantern outside.

“I’m back,” he said to her. “Here, got the stuff. I’m done.”

“No, you’re not done! What took you so long?! Where the heck were you? If you were done shopping, you could’ve helped us out at the store!”

“Shut up. I’m supposed to guard the place, and that’s it. I’m doing my job, so get off my back.”

“You’re also supposed to help out! Stella told us to use you! You were there, you heard her!”

“Jeez, you’re annoying. Not my problem, all right?”

Beck couldn’t see Stella inside the store, so he got daring. She must be in the back staring at that crystal of hers for her “training.” One day I’ll shatter it and show her who’s boss. The alcohol had numbed his fear.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Rye. “Dinner is almost—”

“I’m not eating here today. Tell ’em I’m doing some rounds, will you?”

Ignoring her bickering, he took his bottles and headed to where the men were standing watch outside. Tonight, he would feast and drink with them all night. Nothing good has happened to me since that day, he thought. Even God would look the other way if I just cut loose for one night.

Stella’s terrifying smile floated in his mind’s eye. Beck shook his head violently, driving it away, and staggered into the night.

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Source: https://ncode.syosetu.com/n4468cs/13/