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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