Albedo Castle

Dario was looking at him attentively, astonished.

“The working theory: Baer, also known as Bear, recognized me and used a mercenary to cause concern – but so he wouldn’t give himself away. On yesterday’s broadcasts with the Nonoda leadership, Yusuke Kuma said the same quote as Baer once did – and that’s not a coincidence.”

Dario was quiet, they stood opposite each other in the middle of the room, Richard went on.

“The quote belonged to the philologist Rublev, Rublev was Baer’s professor when Baer was called Boris Medvedev, and he studied in Moscow twenty years ago. Kuma isn’t connected to Rublev – we already checked that – but he might be connected to Hermann Hesse.”

“Hesse? The Glass Bead Game?”

“Yes, Hesse and the Game. Just remember it, you’ll understand later.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We need to find out whether Bear and Kuma crossed paths before. I didn’t find anything on the web or in the Circus database – but real people normally remember events differently.”

“Okay, I’ll do everything.”

“One does not simply get into Nonoda’s headquarters, the areas open to visitors are separated from the offices. We’ll be taken where it’s advantageous to take us – to exhibit us to the employees and to film good material for the chronicles – so we’ll need to take every opportunity.”

They were already on their way out of the hotel room, to meet up with the other members of the team in the lobby, but Dario couldn’t let go of a question.

“Bear – I get … But why Lion?”

The elevator doors with the hotel’s heraldic figure on the upper panel frame opened, Richard let Dario in first.

“The lion is a cliché about someone who wanted to be somebody,” he replied and added after a pause, “and the lion is big in Japan.”

10. Big in Japan

[Japan, Tokyo, Minato City]

“The Power of Dreams – a slogan that unites over two hundred thousand of our employees all around the world,” said the CEO of Nonoda, Toshihiro Minobe. “For three years now, the ‘new’ Nonoda has been rapidly transforming to bring the power of dreams to every home and every heart all around the world.”

Yusuke Kuma poured yet another portion of peated whiskey into an empty rocks glass, leaned back in the chair. The gigantic curved screen that turned the wall of panels into something resembling the cockpit of a spaceship showed the recording of today’s tour presentation for the Rote Stier team. The circular assembly hall on the second floor, rows of benches in a semicircle, and in the center – a motorcycle on a pedestal, three speakers … It was in Kuma’s habit to re-listen to all important public events as background noise, sometimes at one-and-a-half speed rate, barely paying attention to the visuals, relying solely on his hearing.

He wanted to remember everything – and not miss the details where, as it’s known, the devil is. The acoustic system in the office on the tenth floor allowed him to pay attention to the details – if it was necessary; in other cases, a cursory run-through sufficed.

Time had tumbled over midnight, the top levels of the headquarters in the Aoyama building were empty, the top management had long gone home, though on the lower floors there could occasionally be heard the tapping of fingers on a keyboard, the rustling of snack wrappers and the hiss of energy drinks.

The office had been in chaos all week – because of the Grand Prix in Suzuka and these incendiary fellows from the Rote Stier racing team. Within a week, three people from the event management department were sent on sick leave with tachycardia and brainfag – and a dozen more were likely concealing ailments. The deification of work never bothered Kuma – it was a part of his Japanese nature.

He smirked at the thought and put the whiskey to his lips. The only thing that set him apart from a typical Japanese – he never got shitfaced.

“Koto and mono,” Minobe went on, “useful experience and material objects – these are the fundamental values of the company, aimed at improving the quality of our clients’ lives. We are happy to share these values with you.”

Before taking the presidential seat, Minobe had been the head of the Research and Development center that united the Solution System Development Center and the Innovative Research Excellence department – where Kuma labored. The new era of Nonoda began with Minobe taking on the role of the CEO, the ‘challenger’ – within a couple of years he brought their electric vehicle production to the global level, announced the revolutionary development of solid-state batteries, capable of uprooting the automobile industry.

Utilizing external expertise and forming useful alliances was also a part of the development strategy – like the return to Formula One, but not as a racing team owner, but in the role of a power units supplier for Rote Stier.

To become, at once, indispensable – and amaze imagination every time … That’s Nonoda’s mission, that’s the mission of the Innovative Research Excellence department.

“And we fully support you, Mr. Minobe,” spoke Christian Pierce, the chief of the Bulls, and then nodded at Kuma, who was, at that moment, standing on the right of the makeshift stage. “Mr. Kuma rightly noted before yesterday’s race: the mission of popularization is, always, a building of a bridge between the manufacturer and the consumer, between the artist and the spectator. Golden hands create what we, the big circus, show.”

Kuma rocked the whiskey in the glass, it was challenging to drink the thick, smoky, wet wool-scented beverage even in small sips. Peated whiskey was remarkably good when served in the hollow of a scoop of vanilla ice cream …

“All of you remember the RS14 that Mr Doodle doodled for the Wings for Life charity auction,” spoke Pierce. “The artist made a work of art on an automobile industry manifesto – and Max and Sergio signed it on the rear-wing end plate. The Doodle Bull was sold for two hundred twenty thousand pounds sterling – and the proceeds went to a fund that finances the treatment of spinal cord injuries. At the season opener, I was asked why I didn’t put on a suit like Mr Doodle’s – black and white, with a pattern …”

The cameraman timely captured shots of an assistant handing a cover from behind the speakers – obviously, with a suit inside. The team was hallooing, they had already guessed that the time for the suit has finally come …

“Max, it’s been decided that you will wear the suit,” Pierce announced. “Instructions from the head racing engineer.”

“From the physiotherapist!” Daniel Rizzo called out.

The spectators burst into laughter, Max Vermeer was already rising from the bench to take the cover, his young face was grinning from ear to ear.

“Daniel, you are absolutely right,” the chief added. “And let me tell you a secret – this time from your coach.”

A second cover ended up in Pierce’s hands, Vermeer was already pointing at Rizzo and guffawing as he returned to his seat.

Next was Sergio Pelaez’s turn to take the garb with exclusive design from a famous graffitist, but Kuma was no longer paying attention to the recording – he had turned away from the screen, staring pensively ahead, towards the wide window with Tokyo’s night lights.

Show – and showmen. A big circus, indeed … Nonoda creates the products of the future – but someone’s got to promote and sell them.

Like with robots – everyone loves robots. Isaac – a humanoid robot named after a science fiction writer and his three laws of robotics, which had stood in the headquarters’ exhibition hall for over two decades, became Nonoda’s trademark – because he spoke sign language, acted like a human, poured coffee into a paper cup, and hopped on one leg like a child.

Isaac’s technologies gave rise to an entire new branch of development for mobile autonomous and remote-controlled systems – but it’s the robot that everyone remembers … Like the Doodle Bull and Formula One drivers dressed in patterned suits with the team’s logos.

At the entrance to the headquarters is an enormous banner with Vermeer’s portrait, in the welcome hall of the first floor there are posters with images of Rote Stier team’s drivers, whose cars hold Nonoda’s power units. Fans make daily pilgrimages to these; the chrome elements of motorcycles and electric cars don’t attract as much attention as a driver’s face and a bright race car – whether exhibited in a museum or roaring down Tokyo’s central street during the city show run.

Kuma knew the words of his speech at the meeting cold – but not because he prepared it in advance. Artificial intelligence will never fully replace a human being – as long as humans fancy looking at humans. Humans ensoul robots, humans need a circus and heroes … And villains, too – and theater, and drama, and tears – of sorrow and joy. Advisory systems, neural networks, autonomous cars, drones and other gadgets – to make life easier for humanity, to serve – so that humanity can spend more time on entertainment.

Everything’s simple: an Austrian, a Brit, a Japanese – all want the same thing. To streamline the operations, less routine, more vivid interest – to advance and achieve results.

Development is a mechanism embedded by evolution, the property of everyone, even those considered hopelessly good-for-nothings. Workaholics are especially quick to get addicted to the eternal race for unattainable satisfaction – and they die on the job every year, receiving posthumous allowance.

Kuma oft asked himself whether he was a workaholic. The whiskey bottle on the table, the carelessly loosened tie knot on his neck, said he wasn’t … However, results were always the measure of his self-worth.

The catastrophe that happened to him two years ago opened his eyes – he almost lost everything, and the death that had nearly taken him was merely a part of the fall.

For many years he had been building his empire – and in an instant the tower of glass and metal came crashing down, threatening to bury him in the debris. After the car crash at an intersection in Toshima City, a ward in Tokyo – the fault of a tourist who lost control of his car and died on the spot – Yusuke Kuma, with multiple bodily harm and a traumatic brain injury, was rushed to the hospital and spent about half a year in a coma.

The resurrection and the return to the rails of the head of the Innovative Research Excellence department was a true miracle. A few months of rehabilitation – and Kuma was good as new, as if a new man.

“I almost forgot!” Pierce gave a forced exclamation. “I’ll reveal one more secret, only to you – and our hospitable partners from Nonoda.”

He was pulling a sheet with an artist’s name out of an envelope, the winner of the competition to design the livery of the Bulls’ race car for the last of the three American Grand Prix – the one taking place in Austin in the second half of October. One more way to attract the fans to the big circus show …

“Rear and front wing end plates, the side pods, the side chassis … No, it’s not graffiti,” Pierce smiled, “and not anime.”

The team had already guessed the subject of the surprise, they were perkily calling out their guesses and whispering, the cameraman alternated between filming Vermeer, Pelaez, and Rizzo, who stood out against the blue and orange suits.

Kuma had already brought the whiskey glass to his lips, but never took the sip. An instant – and the camera’s already switched from the row of the chattering Bulls in the assembly hall to the speakers on the stage – the laughing Piece, Minobe, patiently watching, and Kuma himself, who was looking over Rote Stier chief’s shoulder to read the text on the card.

He slammed the rocks glass on the table with a clatter, made a stopping motion, pausing the recording, reached for the touchscreen control panel embedded in the desk to rewind.

An instant later the whiskey glass flew into the glass wall panel a couple of inches from the screen, the liquid splashed on the floor mid-flight, leaving a glistening stroke, the shards scattered across the office to the deafening, sparking accompaniment of the ringing.

In the envelope was the name of the designer who had created the layout inspired by the symmetry of Blake’s Tyger – titled ‘Invariant.’

On the curved screen was the mug of Richard North – in Rote Stier’s brand baseball cap and jacket.

The son of a bitch is in Nonoda – right under his nose!

11. The Lovers

[Japan, Tokyo, Chuo City][Japan, Tokyo, Chiyoda City]

On the thirty-sixth floor of the Mitsui Tower, a young man in a red hoodie came perilously close to crashing into Adam Bradshaw. Adam staggered back from the bright blotch hurtling towards him, jumping out of the elevator, the man, with a laugh, raised his hands apologetically. They instantly passed each other by, the young man, with springly steps, continued down the corridor, Adam stepped into the elevator.

He had just been talking to Alexandra and was on his way down, but not to his hotel room, for a stroll – because it was boring to sit in the hotel room. He suspected that she had simply sent him out.

These agents were so strange, anyway …

As the elevator doors closed, Adam thought he heard someone scream – in joy, like people do when they unexpectedly run into someone they know. Clearly, the young man in the red hoodie pleasantly surprised someone with his arrival.

Dr. Bradshaw had tried dishes from all the ramen shops in the neighborhood, and Alexandra, who had been keeping him company since day one, while Richard was in his room, was complaining that she’s already tired of soba and udon. Adam was trying to find something to do – it felt like he was disappointed that his assistance was no longer required as soon as Richard started feeling better.

He had no plans to leave yet, he felt that all this – the unplanned trip to Japan, the encounter with MI6 – served some purpose.

Although it could simply be procrastination – and a reluctance to return to Baltimore.

Alexandra had already shut the door behind Dr. Bradshaw, who went off to have lunch alone, but she lingered by the doorway – as there were footsteps approaching up the hallway.

She opened the door without waiting – and immediately cried out, echoing the young man in the red hoodie who rushed towards her with open arms. Christopher yelled without shame – and so did she, uncaring of what the guests in neighboring rooms would think. Soon they let go, appraising each other, the visitor squinted.

“How long has it been since we saw each other – a month and a half?”

“About that,” Alexandra replied.

“How’s Richard?”

“Alive.”

Christopher already knew how Richard was – because partrons are connected even without calls and messengers. He had last talked to Alexandra in the waking life when she came to London – on another reader event organized by the Träger publishing house. They, too, didn’t have to see each other to stay updated – but every in-person encounter became an experience.

They shared a unique ability to find trouble wherever they wandered. Such compatibility even had a name, neither a spy nor an alchemical one – ‘friendship.’

Christopher stepped back, looking around, making it clear he had no intention to spend time in the hotel room.

“I suggest we go to the Museum of Modern Art in the Imperial Palace, there’s bound to be some ludicrousness on display there,” he said. “You haven’t been there, have you?”

Alexandra shook her head: she and Richard only went outside on Sunday, while alone – or with Dr. Bradshaw – she never strayed farther from the hotel than a few miles. The broadcast tower of the Tokyo Skytree had already become an eyesore.

“Tonight we’ll go to an izakaya, it’s been a while since I got shitfaced Japanese-style,” Christopher added. “I won’t let you die of boredom.”

“We’ll sooner die of something else.”

“We’ll find the jag-off and cut him up into yakitori. Do you seriously think he could be dangerous?”

The jag-off – Baer, Medvedev – hired an unidentified man to hurt Richard, now Richard went to Nonoda’s headquarters and is playing the lure again … Alexandra had no doubt that he would be recognized there – but had no idea what would come of it.

By visiting Kuma’s domain – who, for some reason, quoted a specific text – Richard is making a move – and entering Baer’s chess match. He knows what he’s doing, his partner Dario’s with him … He’s still on the mission with the Bulls, and he has the assistance of the Circus behind him.

Alexandra sighed.

Richard was like Wagyu beef – fed select grains, given beer or sake, and vibromassaged to make the meat marbled and tender – but still sent to the table in the end.

“Yes,” she replied. “Baer is the Grandmaster’s student, Baer has personal scores to settle with Richard, and luckily for Richard Baer didn’t find him interesting enough to kill – only to spook.”

“But he doesn’t know that Richard is in Rote Stier.”

Alexandra nodded.

“Yes, I believe so. Otherwise, he would have called him Richard Bateman, not Richard North.”

“Baer knows you.”

“Only as a writer, at most – as a part of Richard’s cover. I don’t think he knows we share a teacher, or put me and Poets together – he never took alchemy seriously.”

“You might be wrong.”

“According to Richard – and Rublev – Baer is a pragmatist. He never believed in alchemy because he couldn’t find an explanation for how it works – and never showed his involvement with the Poets publicly.”

“That means he’ll make a mistake someday – and we’ll cut him up into yakitori.”

“You’re just hungry,” Alexandra chuckled. “Let’s have dinner. Wanna meet our new doctor, the one Dario kidnapped from Singapore?”

Christopher shook his head.

“Doctors and spies – in the evening. I wanna hear about the serial killers from the new book you’re writing.”

They went on foot to the Kitanomaru Park, a part of Kokyo Gaien – the outer garden of the Imperial Palace – but never made it to the Museum of Modern Art. They just strolled, lingering for a long time without even entering Edo Castle and seeing the twin Nijubashi bridge and the white watchtower Fushimi-yagura.

Alexandra had already finished her coffee and was holding the paper cup, Christopher was chewing a to-go onigiri from a café near the concert hall, behind their bench birds squabbled in a Japanese dialect. The setting sun descended behind the skyscrapers lining the horizon and surrounding the oasis of parks in the heart of the capital.

“Did it really not bother you that he talked to me more than to you?”

Christopher licked his fingers and took the next portion as he waited for an answer.

“No. He wanted to separate work and … me,” Alexandra shrugged. “It helped him focus.”

“He didn’t separate me and work.”

“Well, you’re a former agent.”

“That’s just an excuse. It’s easier with me. With you … To him, it matters what you think of him.”

Alexandra shifted her gaze from the colorful red-yellow-green bushes to her interlocutor.

“Are you for real right now?” she winced. “He didn’t talk to me because he didn’t want me to see him be unable to do something?”

“Yup.”

“And he told you that himself?”

She hoped that it was just Christopher’s imagination … But he nodded, as if reluctantly.

“He flew to you as soon as he found a reason to … As soon as he realized what’s really important to him.”

“And what could that be?”

“You.”

“Now that’s just peachy,” Alexandra scoffed. “What you’re describing is some kind of love addiction and idealization. Richard has his own things to do, I have mine, he knows I’m always there even when we’re apart – and he definitely doesn’t need me to meddle in his work.”

“You’re meddling in his work now.”

“Because he let me.”

“And now you see that he’s not doing well.”

“Why isn’t he?”

Christopher pretended to be busy chewing his food, then reached for the poison-colored soda, Alexandra was looking at him expectantly.

“I doubt Richard would be happy about me and you discussing our relationship behind his back,” she added. “He didn’t ask you to talk about it.”

Christopher smiled, the bottle hissed as he turned the cap.

“He won’t tell you that himself,” he said finally.

“He will if he needs to. Weird conversation … Imagine William telling Richard about me – things I can’t bring myself to say directly.”

She winced ironically, Christopher grinned.

“Imagining. ‘Richard, Richard, stop thinking about her exes, she’s not thinking about yours,’” he portrayed a soft, discreet tone. “‘Richard, Richard, stop querying Christopher about her – she’s not asking him about you.’”

Alexandra laughed, placing the paper cup on the bench beside her.

“Resembles. No, even if you’re not exaggerating, he has nothing to worry about.”

“You never told him that you love him.”

“Of course I did!” she objected. “Of course I— No, Christopher, you’re definitely pulling my leg,” she kicked his shoe, he laughed, nearly spilling the contents of the bottle he held to his mouth onto himself. “He knows that I love him – he doesn’t need all this sentimental rubbish.”

“Rubbish, you say …”

“What do you, yourself, think?”

“Me, myself?”

“Does Richard need this sentimental rubbish?”

“He said it, not me!”

“Liar!”

“No! There – you made the decision for him, about what he needs and what he doesn’t.”

“Don’t twist my words,” Alexandra protested. “In any case, we’ll discuss it without you.”

“He’ll tell me everything later anyway.”

“Look elsewhere for melodrama plots!”

“Just take note of what I said,” Christopher leaned back on the bench and took a sip. “He’s not bulletproof.”

Alexandra has never considered Richard bulletproof – even when he expertly lied and pretended.

“Okay,” she agreed.

Christopher pursed his lips.

“I envy you two sometimes.”

“What, specifically?”

“Infatuation, love, passion, romance,” he drawled. “Heroism – not for the sake of work …”

“Leg-pulling again.”

“I mean it. You don’t appreciate a bloody bit about what you have. You landed such a man for yourself, and it’s like you don’t even notice it.”

Alexandra gasped.

“So that’s how it is!”

“It is indeed!”

At first, she wanted to say that his world had long become hers – and vice versa; that for Richard, she would tear anyone to shreds – and, because of that, would move Heaven and Earth no worse than Circus agents. At first, she wanted to ask: isn’t that the measure of love and engagement … But then she understood that Richard is perfectly capable of handling everything himself – so her assistance, the only love language she was capable of, wasn’t always of use.

He wanted her to be there for him, to help – and yet to avoid appearing helpless.

But she always told him he can do everything – and knows everything – himself. He just misses some things due to inexperience …

She also misses things – that she forgot to add alchemy into her relationship. The instructions are always the same, the recipe is personalized.

Christopher watched Alexandra’s expression change – from pensively sad to mysteriously sly. He raised an eyebrow questioningly when she looked at him.

“Got a prophecy for you, Christopher,” she smiled. “The Lovers card.”

“For me?”

“I know how it works. It’s contagious.”

“I don’t understand,” Christopher frowned, now it was his expressions’ turn to change as he ran through guesses.

“You will. Just start noticing.”

12. Every Other

[Japan, Tokyo, Chuo City][Japan, Tokyo, Shinjuku City]

In the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental hotel on the thirty-eigth floor there was a crowd at the reception desk: the card keys which allowed guests to call the elevator to their room floors, rather than just to the restaurant and other amenities, had stopped working. Dario and Adam were sitting on the square sofas nearby, Alexandra and Christopher approached them – not the check-in counter.

“There they are, the technologies of the future,” Dario grumbled jokingly, turning around. “The power of dreams.”

“Agent Christopher, agent Dario, agent Adam,” Alexandra introduced them one by one.

Adam coughed at the word ‘agent,’ Dario extended his hand to Christopher.

“Another agent,” he nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dr. Bradshaw repeated after him.

“Same to you.”