196

Nitocris waited a few moments, intently waiting for clarification from the man, who simply was content to take drags from his smoking pipe. Before, she realized with a start that the Servant had no further intention of explaining his words and looked at him suspiciously. "And?"

"And? And what?" The man looked at Nitocris with a slightly interested expression, then shifted his gaze to Medb before raising one eyebrow. A sign whose meaning passed over Nitocris' head, to which Medb responded with an almost apologetic breath. "She's not very smart."

Nitocris, realizing that Medb's comment was directed at her, allowed herself to irritably twitch her bunny ear on top of her, as she looked at the two Servants who had just mocked her openly. The man, noticing this irritation, finally took the smoking pipe away from his lips. As he did so, it dispersed a moment later, demonstrating that it was part of the Servant himself, like his weapons and clothing, and therefore absolutely essential to his legendary image.

What kind of man has a smoking pipe to be part of their legend?

"My name, Lady Nitocris, is Sherlock Holmes." The man in the prime of his life, who had introduced himself as the legendary detective Sherlock Holmes, nodded slightly. The act caused Nitocris, who had received as much information from the Throne of Heroes as any of the Servants, but who still failed to recognize the great detective when he used his famous phrase, had her ears twitching again. This time, however, in great embarrassment, causing her to lower her eyes to the ground.

'Amazing, Nitocris – what else are you going to manage to screw up? Are you sure your Noble Phantasm won't work backwards or something?!'

"Oh, I see you are familiar with my background after all – please don't worry, my nature was hard enough to determine…"

"Lack of discipline in communication is the indulgence of misguided stupidity." Medb cut Holmes off abruptly, as he tried to console Nitocris, interrupting him before she glanced down the wide but empty passage leading ahead at a slight angle. "Ozymandias had not warned of your presence…"

"Ah, if he did, it would have been a great surprise to me," Holmes shook his head slightly, with a joking demeanor. "Considering that he was unaware of my presence. And, I suppose, he was unaware that I even existed in the first place."

Nitocris, who had instantly grasped the important information, was determined to bring it to Ozymandias' ears as soon as she could.

"A splendid idea, my dear." Holmes merely nodded as if he could read Nitocris's thoughts before turning away, ignoring the others and walking forward. "I confess that fixing Atlas took somewhat longer than I had hoped or calculated. Indeed, I had wished to make the necessary actions without the presence of strangers, so I had hid myself."

"It's rather unfortunate, then, that you won't be able to do it now, isn't it?" Medb, disregarding Holmes' paternalistic attitude and his disdain, followed after him, forcing the silent Sita and Nitocris to follow them.

"Hmm…" Holmes, after walking a few steps, paused for a moment, glancing back at Medb with an inscrutable gaze, before returning to his relaxed stride. "I suppose so."

Step by step, the four Servants began to plunge beneath the ground, passing through empty, bending tunnels that glowed with a measured whiteness. Before, after a dozen minutes of silent walking, they reached the doors of what could only be described as a 'fortified vault'.

Bursting with a multitude of wires and mechanical panels, combined with strange mechanisms made of unknown alloys and materials, crossed by magical patterns that shuddered gently with each pulsation of the nuclei of similar structures. The door made for a very interesting sight, pretty much screaming to the world 'there's something important behind!'

"Truly… an interesting sight." Holmes paused for a moment, staring at the fortified door, before placing a hand upon his chin in a gesture of thoughtfulness, surveying the occult technical defenses with an educated eye. "I suppose that the next step is to – oh?"

A moment later, just as Medb took a step forward, seemingly with no intention of stopping in her tracks, not caring that a large door barred her way. The mechanical doors, with an almost inaudible click, moved, opening swiftly in front of Medb, allowing her to advance without stopping for a second.

"Indeed… I wonder." Holmes said calmly to himself, paying as much attention to Medb's actions as she did to a fly that passed her by, and equally quick to turn away from her as he also walked past the door. "I presume that I need not explain to you how Atlas' mainframe works and how it functions?"

"Do it if you want, it would certainly prove beneficial to that one." Medb lightly waved her hand as she pointed for a moment in Nitocris' direction, causing Holmes to shift his gaze to her, and for Nitocris to frown and look down, shifting a little uncertainly from foot to foot. Nitocris would really be glad of Holmes' explanation of what exactly Medb wanted to do with Atlas, or what she's supposed to be looking at. She couldn't really tell if something's supposed to be important, or what might just be the Atlas' equivalent of a toothbrush – but at the same time not wishing to admit to another of her thousand deficiencies.

On the other hand, if Nitocris had already failed on all fronts – was it any difference whether she had failed a hundred thousand errands or a hundred thousand one?

"So, hm, this is the search system of Atlas and the repository of all knowledge available in Atlas – but, not only for the knowledge obtained in the institute. In other words…"

"It's the collection of all human knowledge." Nitocris said slowly, turning her gaze to the frozen, slightly shimmering small panel, extending with cables and racks to the floor.

"In some sense, yes." Holmes did not agree with Nitocris completely, and continued to elaborate.

"It is not a library – it is more correct to say it is a search function instead – a directory of knowledge. You should only ask it a question, and it will lead you to the necessary information. The question is, of course, what question should you ask?"

Medb made her way to the panel, touched it with her hand, and then froze. Nitocris, waiting for her next move, stared at Medb's back, waiting intently for her next move.

Which didn't happen in a second, five or twenty.

Medb froze with her hand outstretched to the panel, perfectly still, allowing Nitocris to look closely at what she's touching. Was it flickering with some strange colors? Were there any occult symbols or lines of code running across the screen? Was Medb trying to influence the computer in any way at this moment?

Nitocris didn't know exactly how Atlas' computers were supposed to work or what Medb was planning to learn from it, so she carefully tried to identify the girl's actions with her eyes. Try as she might, but she couldn't pick up anything out of the ordinary. According to what she's seeing, Medb had simply frozen with her hand on the panel, for several long minutes.

She even looked closely at the surrounding Servants, but Holmes continued to stare blankly at Medb and the panel. While Sita, apparently not at all uncomfortable with the situation, simply started glancing at her surroundings – looking out at the otherwise empty room except for Medb, frozen in the center with her hand on the… Control Panel?

At least that's what Nitocris could guess from her first glance at the room's decorations, correlating that with the information she now knew about Atlas. Is that what it's called? She's too ashamed to actually ask Holmes or the others about it.

The silence lasted a few moments more, before Medb, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at the time, removed her hand from the panel, causing Nitocris to perk up. "There's still some charge left in it – for a few more questions at least."

Holmes, as if what Medb said were some kind of sign to the world's most famous detective, took a step forward, and was instantly beside Medb.

She stepped back from the central panel and didn't dignify Holmes with a glance, as if she and Holmes were really communicating on some level of mental connection. Or, maybe they were both acting as they were without any actual consideration, acting according to some predetermined algorithm that perfectly matched each other.

Nitocris couldn't really wrap her mind about what the two very smart people were thinking about and how to gauge their actions.

On some level, Nitocris was envious of this kind of observation. Watching Holmes and Medb was like watching a rehearsed production, each actor in his place, each act acted out in sync, and yet Medb and Holmes didn't know each other until an hour or two ago… 'Maybe they really are communicating through telepathy?'

"Etiquette," Medb, however, having made her way to a stop just outside Nitocris, uttered a single word.

Nitocris, blinking momentarily with incomprehension to the random word Medb just spouted, shifted her gaze to Medb, causing her to roll her eyes slightly, a nonverbal sign that only made Nitocris cringe more than before. She just failed to notice something obvious again. "That form of telepathy you're trying to imagine exists – and it's called 'etiquette'."

Nitocris, unable to find the strength to raise her gaze, only embarrassed herself once more, allowing her shoulders to slump slightly. She has no idea what Medb was talking about.

After a moment, Nitocris heard a slightly disappointed sigh before Medb elaborated her point further. "Etiquette is a set of rules of conduct in society, deemed acceptable and appropriate for a particular situation. In some sense, it really can be considered as a form of silent communication – telepathy even. Thoughts expressed not in direct transmission to the mind, but in expression of thoughts through determination of a suitable form of behavior, which forms the rules of behavior no less than these rules form the actions themselves. In other words – between me and Holmes, there is no need for an exchange of thoughts because each of us is capable of conveying a thought to the other through our actions. If you require an example, imagine the situation during… Hmm, it's probably best to use a potential acquaintance as an example in this case."

Nitocris, completely confused, looked up at Medb, whose cold detachment was mixed with a kind of pity in her eyes that made Nitocris feel even worse. "When you first meet someone in front of you, how do you present yourself? As Nitocris, Pharaoh of the lands of Egypt, the godlike queen of the Nile? As Nitocris, the first herald of the will of the King of Kings, Ozymandias the Great? Perhaps even Nitocris, Servant of the Class of Caster? Or like Nitocris, the girl who loves flowers and turquoise jewelry, moonlit walks and satirical limericks about those in power?"

Medb paused as if to drive her point home in Nitocris' head, seeing Nitocris' confused look, Medb sighed to herself before continuing on.

"Each of these identities, you introduce yourself as, sets the initial tone of the conversation. It would set the framework for your interactions, serving as a non-verbal signal that describes many things about how the situation would go, setting the direction of the conversation long before it gets to the specifics of the encounter. In other words, a single phrase can convey multiple meanings, permitting dialogue on several levels, creating not only a beautiful poetic composition, but a faster and more efficient exchange of information. Yet, at the same time, serving as a kind of cipher for the prying eyes of observers. Each introduction cuts off some possible ways of dialogue, at the same time opening new ones, the sentences said on one level become intents and are built into phrases on another, so that the dialogue continues to run parallel to each other. A person who knows the proper etiquette is able to have a conversation in several languages at once, without speaking any at the same time. And like any language it requires learning and understanding, but at some time it would become natural to a human or even a Servant's way of thinking."

Medb finished explaining before shifting her gaze after a moment, forcing Nitocris to look at Holmes' back as well.

"Holmes knows this language, and so we can communicate in it – there is no need to exchange the words telepathically, if we can just speak with gestures. There is no need to translate our thoughts into words, if we can communicate without them, gathering many meanings in one movement. What may seem to you a strange agreement is really nothing more than the result of communicating in a language unknown to you, actions that have determined our position in relation to each other – etiquette. If we were communicating in the presence of a child, neither would he be able to determine that the sounds unknown to him carry a symbolic descriptive meaning, conveying information and bringing our intentions into unified agreement. Etiquette is a language, and you, as you do not forget to remind yourself or your surroundings, are an 'inexperienced pharaoh', in other words, a child. You're not yet able to perceive that there is another language besides the one you know, one that looks strange and wild to you, but which still exists, conveying thoughts and concepts between the two participants. However, like a child thoughtlessly dreaming of 'adulthood' like a status, you, as an 'inexperienced pharaoh', try to invent the possibility of becoming an 'experienced' pharaoh through a certain set of knowledge, skills, or actions. Perhaps to demonstrate your 'experience' through a set of certain actions like 'helping' Ozymandias, thinking that accomplishing this will be the basis for some kind of recognition of you as a 'real' pharaoh. And no, no such action would lead you into achieving that state."

Medb smiled slightly as she delivered a long-winded critic of Nitocris' character, expounding on her insecurities and dismay. Her smile got even wider as she looked into the eyes of Nitocris, who was frozen, not knowing exactly what she was experiencing at the moment. Should she be mad of the measured explanation from Medb, as if she were, in addition to explaining to Nitocris' what she meant by etiquette, an examination of Nitocris' personality and self?

Like a judge, or maybe a psychologist, Medb had conducted an examination of Nitocris in order to create a unified psychological portrait of her and to evaluate what she is. If only she could not crush her ego as well in the process, Nitocris would really prefer it. "A set of certain actions, like 'walking on your heels' will not make you an overnight adult, nor will helping me or him in his affairs make you 'worthy of serving Ozymandias'. Growing up takes decades, during which specific attributes, whether 'knowing how to tie a tie' or 'knowing how to lead an army', are not as important as the change in personality itself and the commonality of stages passed. Stages that can be hurried, but cannot be skipped."

Confused completely by her thoughts, Nitocris lowered her gaze before realizing that she was behaving exactly like a child, lowering her gaze to the adult who was telling her off, so she raised her gaze defiantly… Only to face Medb, who only shook her head slightly, making Nitocris realize that this behavior already reminded her of a child trying to show her childlike 'disagreement' to an adult telling her off, and she froze once again.

"That's what I'm talking about." Medb sighed, shaking her head before suddenly reaching out and placing her hand on top of Nitocris's head, causing her to reflexively spread her bunny ears to the sides of her head. Nitocris belatedly realized then that Medb had to tiptoe to do so. "I guess I do understand Ozymandias' actions now…"

Nitocris, hearing a name she was interested in, sharply perked up, rising from her half-stupor, shaking off Medb's hand in the process. Seeing the perked-up Nitocris, Medb once again shook her head, once again ignoring Nitocris and not finishing her long, deep explanation, returning her attention to Holmes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Definitely," Holmes's voice finally snapped Nitocris out of the silent contemplation that had attacked her.

"Will you come with us or go on your own way?" Medb inquired as she took a step towards the exit of the room.

"Away, I suppose," Holmes answered quietly, then stood still, listening intently to something only he could hear. "A little faster than I expected."

Nitocris did not have time to ask a question, before her ears caught the quick steps of many feet, mixing with each other approaching their location, before she looked up at Holmes.

"Atlas allows anyone to enter its mansions – but not to leave." Nitocris heard Medb say, explaining their situation.

With a relaxed gesture, Medb began leaning on her back, so much so that she would have fallen if not for the throne that appeared out of nowhere beneath her back, as if it were an illusion.

After another moment, the footsteps approaching the room were suddenly silenced, as if whatever was approaching the main supercomputer had frozen at a half-step… Or were unable to take the next step.

"Fascinating", Holmes's voice, cut through the silence a moment later. "It's really fascinating – that's hard to find in this world."

"Not so hard for those who know more than others." Medb shifted her gaze to Holmes after a moment, then rose from her throne in one cohesive motion, letting the throne, which had appeared for a moment, disappear as easily as it had appeared, without a sound or a glance.

"Let's go," Medb glanced at Nitocris, then, unexpectedly for Nitocris herself, she smiled slightly, with one corner of her lips, the way she sometimes saw Ozymandias smile when he looked at her, without any love or tenderness. Perhaps only fatherly – or maybe a teacher's love for a student, no perhaps even more than that… "If you cannot speak my language, I must speak yours."

Leaving these words hanging in the air, Medb moved forward, causing Nitocris, who had paused for a moment in her attempt to comprehend what she had just said, to regain consciousness and walk after her.

And in all these discussions of philosophy and etiquette, Sita could only sigh as she was quickly forgotten, a bystander almost in the trio's conversation.

Semiramis tried to comprehend exactly when her life took a wrong turn.

Called into the Singularity by the influence of the Grail in a historical period that was foreign to her, in a world that was not just on the brink of apocalyptic catastrophe, but was already in the middle of it. Maybe it started then? Semiramis should have realized, should have understood that her life, which had seemed like some kind of blessing, had already gone down the drain?

But no, Semiramis, no less foolishly, had chosen to ignore such information the world itself had conveyed to her. Instead, she had rejoiced at the opportunity to find herself in this world, in the territory that had once belonged to her native Assyria – and, most fortunately, in the very place where the Hanging Gardens had once existed.

She should have known that something like that was too good to be true.

It made quite the ironic sense to have her Gardens so easily summoned, when Semiramis was not connected to the Hanging Gardens' existence at all. Even tracing the reason why her legend was connected to it in the first place was difficult! Semiramis did not even live at the time of their existence!

But for Servants, creatures of legend, mistakes sometimes meant as much as achievements.

And so, in a strange whim of fate, Semiramis found herself in her native, now-dying Assyria. The only place in the world where her Hanging Gardens could gain their full power and where there would be no problem with the resources needed to create them.

Taking control of the states that had begun to crumble under the weight of the impending apocalypse was even too easy! Just as organizing the creation of a monument to human error and legend that Semiramis had nothing to do with – the created Gardens revealed Semiramis' power to this world, holding on their shoulders the falling sky of a dying reality.

The only concern for Semiramis was one small and not so old fortress when compared to her own legend - Alamut, the fortress of the legendary sect of assassins. The one place where the hand of her rule could not reach.

The only time Semiramis tried to take control of the land she was rightfully entitled to, she… well, ahem… Um… How could she diplomatically put it… Tactically retreated, somewhat before the moment of full-fledged battle even.

That is, Semiramis used her powers to announce her intention… Before the Commandant of Alamut forced her to retreat, showing her his… How could it be called – a thought-form? Intent? A presence?

I mean, no, Semiramis didn't run away at all because she was frightened by the gaze cast upon her by the only inhabitant of this fortress, absolutely not, of course not.

She simply decided, ahem, to attend to other important government business at the moment, not related to the old fortress of Alamut at all, home to Death, which even the legendary Queen of Assyria herself would rather not go near.

And from that moment, Semiramis could not forget the presence of the Old Man of the Mountain, who only silently continued his service in Alamut. Who continued to not pay any attention to the deeds of the Servants in this world, waiting for the moment when he leaves his demesne with bated breath.

And it seemed to her that this had happened – and her heart almost stopped beating from that realization alone. At a certain point, Semiramis suddenly felt her realm invaded by an unknown, hidden from her view, but she could feel that it was something wrong, something dark in this world.

And Semiramis, even if she had been frightened before, was not going to simply accept her death, readying to fight – even if she realized, on some level, the futility of her attempts.

But not every defeat comes simply because someone gives up their battle, and not every defeat ends in death – and Semiramis had lost… Which, however, did not end with Semiramis herself dying with dignity. Instead of a moment of pain, the magus, nay, monster, who defeated her dropped her from her throne, in the truest sense of the word, before, sitting in her throne relegating Semiramis from her position as queen to…

Semiramis wasn't even sure – the driver? Who could even afford to have Semiramis as their driver?!

Semiramis shifted her gaze to the magus, who had never introduced himself all this time, before she reflected on how she got to this point.

Dropping the rules of decorum and her role as queen, rules that her new unnamed acquaintance didn't care about at all and had no intention of playing her games, she rubbed her forehead with her hand. Bereft of any means of injuring her new 'guest', she could only stare thoughtfully at him.

The unknown man, distracted for a moment from studying the Hanging Gardens with a look as if he had seen such legendary wonders many times in the past, if not previously ruled them at all, raised his gaze to Semiramis. "Yes, is something wrong?"

"You never introduced yourself to me." Semiramis thought for a moment about trying to regain some of her lost power and dignity, perhaps demanding his name, before giving up and waving it away.

"Ainz," The magus said instantly, a name that evoked no memory or association in Semiramis' mind. Of course, the man, Ainz, could have lied, or his name could have even been forgotten – or never known at all, so such a thing would not tell of Ainz' weakness, giving him no reason to lie.

Still, at least Semiramis could appreciate the symbolic gesture of revealing his personal name, which stored in itself the strength and weakness of the Servants. Not that it helped her in any way, shape, or form.

This, of course, did not atone for his actions towards Semiramis. She herself did not think she would ever forget such an encounter with Ainz, but in the current situation at least Semiramis understood what she had to do and the situation she found herself in.

Besides, Ainz was apparently planning to face the Old Man of the Mountain, and whoever won in the end would at least be weakened, which would give Semiramis the opportunity to strike her own blow.

I mean, what else could one expect from the world's oldest legendary poisoner, summoned with the abilities of the Assassin class?

Well, until then, Semiramis could at least relax for a moment. Of course, she enjoyed ruling her soaring fortress, but sitting on her throne, she was unable to even move from it unless urgent matters of state demanded it. Now, after descending from her throne, at least for the first time in a long time, Semiramis could afford to walk through the empty passages and peer over the railing, looking at the kingdom spread out beneath her gaze. Her kingdom…

"Huh, amazingly, even my defeat has some small positive features…" Semiramis let a slight, twisted smirk appear on her face, no longer maintaining her eternal dignified mask of a queen.

"Not that it could save him from my revenge, should I get the opportunity for that – but at least I have to say that he gave me a reason to get out of my throne and look at my Assyria… Maybe if he hadn't stolen my Hanging Gardens and just defeated me, I wouldn't even be too mad at him after such an opportunity, and if he hadn't assaulted my persons, of course. "

Semiramis sighed, then shifted her gaze to the mountains approaching slowly in the distance and the lone fortress on it before shaking her head and glancing at Ainz.

"Well, the Old Man of the Mountain vs. Ainz… Let us see which of them will prove to stand victorious in the end. And who would gain the pleasure of tasting my poisons."

Ainz had to hold himself back from commenting on the fact that he could hear her planning her revenge and that she should get a hidden alcove or something to do that – not five steps from where he's sitting.