The Actor Takes the Stage

The vulgar crowd always is taken by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar.

— Niccolò Machiavelli

———

Lord Blackwood tilted his head with what might have been amusement. "An interesting proposal, young Leone. You believe your... familiarity with the staff might prove beneficial?"

I hunched my shoulders further. "I just thought... maybe I could notice if someone was acting nervous? Or strange? I've been trying to be better about paying attention to people instead of just..."

"My cousin has a point," came a new voice from the doorway, rich with that particular brand of noble confidence that could silence a room. Leo von Valerius stepped into the hall, his sapphire eyes taking in the assembled nobles.

Of course you're here, Golden Boy. Can't resist inserting yourself into every drama, can you?

"Young Master Valerius," Father's voice carried surprise. "I wasn't aware you were visiting our estate."

"I was passing through and thought I'd pay my respects," Leo replied. "I couldn't help but overhear your discussion. A theft of such magnitude requires thorough investigation."

Translation: I smelled drama and came running like a moth to flame.

Grundy stepped forward, wiping his palms on his trousers. "I'm somewhat concerned about involving young Master Kaelen. The servants might feel intimidated by his presence during the search."

"I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Maybe I should just stay here?"

"Nonsense," Leo declared. "If my cousin believes he can assist, then assist he should. Justice requires all available resources."

Blackwood nodded slowly. "Very well. Though I'm curious about this sudden civic responsibility from the Leone family's youngest son."

I let my face crumple slightly. "I know I haven't been... that I've made mistakes. But maybe this is a chance to do something right for once?"

Leo's expression softened. "Redemption begins with small steps," he said, and I could practically hear inspirational music swelling in his internal monologue.

God, you really can't help yourself, can you?

"Then it's settled," Blackwood announced. "We shall proceed to the servants' quarters. Grundy, lead the way."

"I believe we should start with the kitchen staff quarters, as they would have had the most opportunity during the festival preparations."

And there it is. The opening move in your little chess game.

The procession to the servants' wing was a silent parade of power. The transition was jarring—narrower corridors, bare stone, air thick with lye soap, boiled cabbage, and sweat.

I caught sight of Lyra and gave her a slight smile.

Grundy appeared, carrying a tray of cleaning supplies. "The quarters are prepared for inspection, my lord. I've asked the staff to remain available should you need to question anyone."

I positioned myself near the tray. The bottle of cleaning fluid was within reach, its cork slightly loose.

Now for the delicate part. One chance to plant the seed.

Thomas Hartwell rounded the corner carrying freshly laundered linens—a young man with ambitions and quiet resentments about being passed over for promotion.

Perfect. The exact weapon I need.

I turned, a carefully engineered caricature of startled foolishness. My elbow caught the bottle, sending it tumbling with a crack. The pungent smell filled the air.

"Oh! Oh no!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees. "I'm so sorry! I'm such a clumsy fool!"

Thomas immediately knelt to help.

"This smell is dreadful," I complained. "It's almost as sharp as that cheap spirit Steward Grundy drinks. Gives me such headaches."

I watched Thomas's hands still fractionally. His eyes flicked toward Grundy, then back to the mess, and I saw the seed take root.

There you go, Thomas. A nice little detail about your superior's habits. The kind that might explain certain financial discrepancies.

"Here, let me help with that," Lyra said from behind me.

"Thank you," I mumbled, scrambling to my feet. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful..."

Grundy hurried over. "No harm done, young master. These things happen."

But his gaze lingered on Thomas too long, and I saw the footman notice that look.

===

Twenty minutes later, I positioned myself near the servants' common area. Thomas had vanished after our cleaning incident, but now reappeared from the direction of the administrative offices, his face carrying the look of someone who'd just confirmed their worst suspicions. His posture had changed—shoulders squared, chin lifted, pace carrying the self-importance of a man who suddenly holds the key.

Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

Thomas approached the staff clustered near the kitchen entrance. I watched him exchange meaningful glances with several older servants.

"Found what you were looking for in the steward's office?" asked Martha, the head cook.

Thomas's jaw worked silently before he nodded. "The young master wasn't wrong about certain... habits."

Perfect. The servant's grapevine is more efficient than any royal decree.

I turned back to the main group. The hierarchy had reshuffled—Lord Blackwood now walked a half-step ahead of Father, Leo maintained his place at Father's right shoulder.

"The search will be conducted methodically," Blackwood announced. "We understand this is unusual, but the innocent have nothing to fear."

Leo nodded approvingly. "Truth always rises to the surface. Justice protects those who walk in the light."

For the love of... Does the author just have a macro for this guy's dialogue? CTRL+V Righteous Platitude #7.

Lyra stood among the maids, pale but composed. Her hands were clasped tightly, but her spine remained straight. She met Leo's gaze directly, offering a small, dignified nod.

The girl has steel in her spine, even if she doesn't know she's about to need every ounce of it.

Grundy stepped forward, producing a ring of keys that jangled with quiet menace. "Shall we begin with the newer staff quarters, my lord? They would have had the most recent opportunity."

His eyes swept over the group, lingering just long enough on Lyra to make his target clear.

And none of these noble idiots are paying attention.

"A logical approach," Father agreed, though I caught the tightness around his eyes. "Kaelen, you mentioned familiarity with the staff. Any observations to share?"

Careful now. Too much insight and they'll wonder where the village idiot learned to think.

I shuffled my feet and hunched my shoulders. "I... well... everyone seems nervous? But I suppose that's normal when there are accusations flying around."

"Indeed," Leo said, his tone suggesting my observation was disappointing. "Fear is a natural response to the presence of justice."

Justice. Right. Keep telling yourself that while the real criminal stands two feet away.

Grundy unlocked the first door, revealing a small but tidy room with two narrow beds. The kitchen maids trembled in the corridor as guards began their search.

The process was a quiet, brutal violation. A guard picked up a small wooden bird, turned it over, then tossed it back among the maid's meager belongings. The hollow clatter was louder than a scream.

I turned to see Lyra's defeated expression.

That's what she's afraid of. Not the accusation, but the violation. The moment they handle your few, precious things and remind you that nothing is truly yours.rs.