Chapter 98 “Alice doesn’t know anything”
This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com
Picture this unsettling scene: You find yourself aboard a ghost ship, the wood beneath your feet creaking eerily as you navigate through a dimly lit corridor. You reach the end and push open a heavy, worn wooden door. The room inside is dim, lit only by flickering oil lamps that cast an ominous glow. In this ever-shifting light, you spot a headless doll clad in a dark gothic gown seated in front of an antique vanity mirror. Astonishingly, the doll’s head is cradled in its own hands. As you watch, the disembodied head rotates slowly to face you, revealing a fixed, unsettling smile.
If Duncan hadn’t already spent so many days on this peculiar ship and become accustomed to Alice, he would have swiftly drawn his weapon and cautiously moved closer. But he knew Alice, or thought he did, anyway.
Seemingly unaware of the unsettling aura she’d created, Alice promptly snapped her head back onto her neck with an audible “pop.” She instantly became more animated, her glass eyes lighting up as if she were human. Flashing a bright, cheerful smile, she greeted Duncan, “Good evening, Captain! Were you looking for me?”
It took Duncan a moment to collect himself. Suspicious, he scanned Alice up and down for an uncomfortably long time before speaking. “What in the world are you doing in here? Goathead told me you were in the cabin counting strands of hair. What’s that about?”
Alice rotated her neck gently, stretching as if to loosen imaginary muscles, and used her small doll hands to straighten her disheveled hair. She looked a little sheepish as she answered, “Ah, well, I was just taking stock of how much hair I have left, you see.”
Duncan was about to make a sarcastic remark when his eyes fell on something at the edge of the vanity table. A spool of thread had evidently rolled out from some hidden nook, and wrapped around it were strands of silver-white hair. The source of the hair was painfully evident.
Duncan’s face was unreadable. He simply stared in silent disbelief.
Noticing Duncan’s focus, Alice hastily picked up the spool of thread. She looked him squarely in the eyes, her face suddenly serious as she explained, “See this strand? Its name is Miffy. And this one over here is Polly, and this one is Phemia, and so on.”
Duncan could only muster astonishment. “You’re naming each fallen strand of hair?”
Alice nodded, her voice filled with solemn gravity, tinged with a slight wistfulness. “Yes, just for commemoration. You did tell me once, remember? I’m just a doll, and dolls don’t naturally grow hair. So, in the event that I lose all of it one day, I can still hold onto the list and cherish the wonderful times I had with each and every strand…”
Duncan was left utterly bewildered by Alice’s strange sentimentality. For a moment, he even forgot the reason for his initial visit to the room. Gathering his thoughts, he finally said, “I only mentioned that offhand, Alice; you don’t have to take it so literally. No wonder you’ve been secluded in this cabin for the past few days. Do you actually sit here daily, counting and naming each strand of your fallen hair?”
Alice’s actions had rendered Duncan both incredulous and momentarily speechless, making him question how well he truly knew this strange, sentimental doll.
Alice nodded her head innocently, affirming her peculiar behavior. “Yes, that’s correct.”
Duncan managed to maintain a stoic expression but sighed defeatedly after a pause. “Fine, once we return to the city-state, I’ll seek out someone who specializes in… hair replacement, or something of the sort.”
Alice’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait, are you planning to kidnap a doll maker and bring them aboard?”
Rolling his eyes, Duncan shot her a stern glare. “I was thinking more along the lines of purchasing a few wigs for you. Do you really think the captain of a ghost ship, the Vanished, sailing the perilous waters of the Boundless Sea, would resort to kidnapping a doll maker?”
Alice mumbled under her breath, “Well, it’s equally unlikely for a feared captain who’s referred to as the ‘Moving Calamity of the Boundless Sea’ to sneak into human cities for the purpose of wig shopping…” Realizing she’d spoken out loud, she hastily corrected herself. “Ah, I should probably hold my tongue, hehe…”
Duncan felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. “Enough of this nonsense,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, finally recalling why he’d sought out Alice in the first place. “Sit down, Alice. I have something crucial to discuss with you.”
Noticing Duncan’s sudden shift to a more serious demeanor, Alice knew this was no time for frivolity. She quickly set aside her thread spool, silenced her playful smile, and took a seat on a wooden box next to the bed. Her posture was impeccably upright, hands folded neatly on her lap, exuding an air of graceful composure.
For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Duncan always found it challenging to keep his emotions in check around Alice. Even when he first entered this bizarre world, he’d managed to maintain his cool when dealing with Goathead. He could even keep a composed face when he was performing some dark ritual involving a sacrificial victim surrounded by ghastly remnants. But Alice, with her unsettling yet oddly endearing qualities, always seemed to teeter his emotional balance.
After a moment of introspection, Duncan figured it must be her unique charm, the “Alice style,” that he found so difficult to resist.
Waving his finger subtly to the side, he beckoned a chair that scraped across the floor and positioned itself behind him. He sank into it, fighting to reclaim his stern, authoritative demeanor, and locked eyes with Alice.
“Ray Nora. Does that name sound familiar to you?”
“Ray Nora?” Alice’s eyes blinked in genuine bewilderment, devoid of any sign of deceit. “I can’t say I’ve heard of it. It sounds like a woman’s name, elegant and noble. Is she someone you’re acquainted with?”
Duncan sighed, not overly surprised by her response. “Technically, she should be someone you’re ‘familiar’ with, although you claim otherwise. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Let’s move on—what about the Frost city-state? Have you heard of that place? Does it ring any bells?”
Alice’s puzzlement seemed only to deepen, leaving Duncan to wonder just how much—or how little—he actually knew about this enigmatic doll that sailed with him through the Boundless Sea.
“The Frost city-state? Ah, yes. I overheard sailors talking about it when I was stored in my box,” Alice recalled, her eyes distant as she sifted through fragmented memories. “It’s said to be a city surrounded by icy waters, with Cold Harbor serving as a major port and gateway between the northern region and other central waters. But, I must confess, that’s about the extent of my knowledge. I’ve never been there.”
“And what about the name ‘Alice Guillotine’?” Duncan probed further.
Alice wore a puzzled expression. “Well, Alice is my name, but guillotine? What’s that?”
As Duncan continued his line of questioning, the answers—or lack thereof—were consistent with what he had already suspected.
This was essentially what he had anticipated.
From the moment they’d first met, Alice had declared her complete ignorance about her origins and her past. She had no recollection or understanding of what “Anomaly 099” referred to, no awareness of the Frost city-state, and certainly no knowledge of its late queen, who had reportedly passed away some fifty years earlier.
While Duncan hadn’t actually expected to receive any revealing answers, he had still felt it necessary to gauge Alice’s reactions to these key terms. Now, having concluded his impromptu test, he was left with the conclusion that Alice remained what she seemed: a naive, albeit peculiar, doll.
It was highly unlikely that she possessed the cognitive capacity to feign her genuine responses so convincingly. She simply didn’t seem capable of such intricate subterfuge.
This led Duncan to another line of thought. Rather than focus on Alice, should his attention be directed towards her “coffin,” the opulent wooden box she seemed so attached to?
With this new focus, Duncan’s eyes narrowed as they settled on the elaborate wooden box positioned in the room. Alice was currently perched on top of it.
This box, clearly designed to house dolls, was something Alice treasured. She utilized it both as a seat and as a repository for her personal items. She had even been known to sleep in it, despite having a perfectly adequate bed available.
“Open the box. Let me take a look,” Duncan commanded.
Appearing slightly puzzled but compliant, Alice hopped off her treasured box and proceeded to unlatch and open the lid.
Stepping forward to investigate, Duncan observed the interior, which was lined with plush red velvet. Nestled in one corner of the box were several random items: a comb, a spool of thread used for winding her silver-white hair, a small handheld mirror, and a few aged metal trinkets.
“I found these objects in another cabin on the ship,” Alice began, pointing to the assorted items as she carefully explained. “I asked Mr. Goathead, and he confirmed that they were unclaimed. May I keep them? I find them quite beautiful.”
Duncan examined the aged trinkets and baubles. They were likely a century old, remnants of a past life aboard the Vanished, perhaps once adorned in the hair or worn on the chests of previous inhabitants.
A chill ran down Duncan’s spine as he pondered the mysterious history of these items and their original owners. And, more importantly, what they might mean for Alice, the doll with no past but a box full of secrets.
“You’re free to keep them,” Duncan nodded, his gaze still scanning the contents of the box. His eyes caught on a specific object, drawing his hand almost instinctively to pick it up. “What’s this?”
In his hand was a finely crafted hairpin, unlike any typical trinket one would expect to find aboard the Vanished. It was shaped like a silver feather, and it seemed to ripple with intricate, wavelike patterns. Despite presumably being as old as the other items in the box, this particular object looked pristine, almost as if it defied the passage of time.
As Duncan examined the hairpin, an inexplicable sense of nostalgia washed over him. A name, tantalizingly out of reach, flitted at the edge of his consciousness.
Why? Why did this small, delicate object provoke such a strong, albeit undefined, emotional response?
In that moment, Duncan had an epiphany.
Just as he had instinctively known the name “Duncan Abnomar” upon his arrival on this ship, he now realized that the strange sentiment evoked by the hairpin was another echo from the depths of his own fragmented history. The revelation left him deeply contemplative, pondering the complex mesh of emotions this seemingly insignificant artifact had elicited.
He was shaken from his reverie by Alice’s voice, tinged with concern. “Captain? Captain, is something the matter?”
“I apologize, Alice. I can’t let you keep this hairpin,” Duncan said, abruptly returning to the present. Sensing that his sudden change in mood might unsettle the naive doll, he hastily added, “Don’t worry. When we reach the city-state, I’ll purchase new ones for you. All of these items are, after all, quite old.”
Alice’s face lit up instantly. “Really, Captain? That’s so kind of you!”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Duncan cautioned, slipping the hairpin into a pocket of his coat. “We still haven’t finished discussing something of importance. Alice, it’s crucial that you listen closely. This pertains to your very ‘nature,’ and it’s a discussion we can’t afford to delay any longer.”
The hairpin is real captain Duncan wife one?
Could also be for the daughter.