1.7 | 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... 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 a note of 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, his shoulders hunched. He kept wiping his palms on his trousers.

"Indeed, my lord. Though I confess, I'm somewhat concerned about involving young Master Kaelen in such a serious matter. The servants might feel... intimidated by his presence during the search."

"I... 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, his calculating gaze moving between Leo and myself. "Very well. Though I confess, I'm curious about this sudden... civic responsibility from the Leone family's youngest son."

I let my face crumple slightly, as if the comment had struck a nerve. "I... 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 fractionally. "Redemption begins with small steps," he said, and I could practically hear the inspirational music swelling in the background of 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."

"Of course, my lord. 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. Blackwood and Father led, their steps echoing with authority. Behind them, Leo and Lucius murmured to each other, a low conspiracy of the privileged. Lady Vivienne followed. I brought up the rear, perfecting my role as the family's stray dog.

Grundy moved ahead to "prepare" the areas we'd be searching.

More like making sure everything is in place for the grand reveal.

The transition to the servants' wing was jarring. The corridors narrowed, the tapestries vanished, replaced by bare stone. The air itself changed, growing thick with the caustic smell of lye soap, the watery scent of boiled cabbage, and the faint, ever-present odor of human sweat.

I caught sight of Lyra near the kitchen entrance and gave her a slight smile.

Grundy appeared from around a corner, slightly out of breath and carrying a copper tray laden with cleaning supplies.

Perfect timing. Almost like he was making sure everything was in place.

"The quarters are prepared for inspection, my lord," he announced, setting the tray on a nearby table. "I've asked the staff to remain available should you need to question anyone."

I positioned myself near the tray, close enough to seem helpful but not so close as to draw attention. The bottle of cleaning fluid was within easy reach, its cork slightly loose from recent handling.

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

Thomas Hartwell chose that moment to round the corner, his arms full of freshly laundered linens. He was a young man with ambitions beyond his station, the kind who noticed everything and forgot nothing. More importantly, he was the kind who harbored quiet resentments about being passed over for promotion.

Perfect. The exact weapon I need.

As Thomas rounded the corner, my internal clock started its countdown. Three steps... two... one... now. I turned, my motion a carefully engineered caricature of a startled fool. My elbow caught the bottle just right, sending it tumbling to the stone floor with a sharp crack. The pungent smell of cleaning fluid filled the air as the liquid spread across the stones.

"Oh! Oh no!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees and fumbling uselessly with the broken glass. "I'm so sorry! I'm such a clumsy fool!"

Thomas immediately knelt to help, his trained servant's instincts overriding any personal feelings about assisting the family's least favorite son.

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

The words tumbled out in a perfect imitation of an entitled brat's thoughtless complaint. But I watched Thomas's hands still fractionally as he processed what I'd said. His eyes flicked toward Grundy, then back to the mess, and I saw the exact moment the seed took root in his mind.

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

"Here, let me help with that," Lyra's voice came from behind me.

"Thank you," I mumbled, scrambling to my feet and backing away from the mess. "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 for just a moment too long, and I saw the footman notice that look. The seed was planted, watered, and already beginning to sprout.

===

Twenty minutes later, I positioned myself near the servants' common area, close enough to observe but far enough to appear disinterested. Thomas had vanished from the group shortly after our little cleaning incident, and I'd been tracking his movements through peripheral vision and the soft sounds of footsteps on stone.

The ambitious footman reappeared from the direction of the administrative offices, his face carrying that particular look of someone who'd just confirmed their worst suspicions. His usually impeccable posture had been subtly reformed. His shoulders were squared, his chin lifted by a fraction, and his pace had the self-important rhythm of a man who suddenly believes he holds the key to the entire castle.

Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

Thomas approached the group of staff members clustered near the kitchen entrance, his movements deliberate. I watched him exchange meaningful glances with several of the older servants, the kind of silent communication that developed among people who lived their entire lives reading the moods and secrets of their betters.

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

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

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

I turned my attention back to the main group as they approached the servants' quarters. During the pause, the hierarchy had reshuffled itself. Lord Blackwood now walked a half-step ahead of Father, a subtle shift in position that was as loud as a shouted command. Leo maintained his place at Father's right shoulder, radiating that insufferable confidence that came from never doubting your own righteousness for even a heartbeat.

"The search will be conducted methodically," Blackwood announced to the assembled servants, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, each syllable polished by generations of noble entitlement. "We understand this is an unusual situation, but rest assured that the innocent have nothing to fear."

Leo nodded approvingly at this pronouncement, as if Blackwood had just quoted from some sacred text of nobility. "Truth always rises to the surface," he added, his sapphire eyes scanning the group of servants like a benevolent deity surveying his mortal flock. "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. What's next, 'The sword of truth is heaviest in the hands of the just'?

Here was the kingdom's golden boy, spouting empty platitudes about justice while standing three feet away from a man orchestrating the execution of an innocent servant.

Lyra stood among the other maids, her face pale as fresh parchment but remarkably composed. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles white with tension that betrayed her inner turmoil, but her spine remained ramrod straight. She met Leo's gaze directly when he looked her way, offering a small, dignified nod of acknowledgment that spoke to either remarkable courage or complete innocence.

Probably both. The girl has steel in her spine, even if she doesn't know she's about to need every ounce of it. The script doesn't give her character enough credit.

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

The suggestion sounded perfectly reasonable to anyone who wasn't aware of the careful choreography behind it—the subtle theater of false justice being enacted. Grundy's pale, calculating eyes swept over the group of servants like a predator selecting its prey, lingering just long enough on Lyra to make his target unmistakably clear to anyone paying even the slightest attention.

And of course, none of these noble idiots are paying attention. Too busy admiring Leo's inspiring leadership.

"A logical approach," Father agreed, though I caught the slight tightness around his eyes that suggested he was less than thrilled about having his servants treated like criminals. "Kaelen, you mentioned familiarity with the staff. Do you have any observations to share?"

The question caught me off guard, though I managed to keep my expression appropriately vacant. Father rarely addressed me directly during formal proceedings, preferring to pretend I didn't exist rather than acknowledge the family embarrassment.

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

I shuffled my feet and hunched my shoulders, letting my voice take on that wheedling, uncertain quality that made people want to look away. "I... well... everyone seems nervous? But I suppose that's normal when there are accusations flying around."

"Indeed," Leo said, his tone suggesting he found my observation both obvious and slightly 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, probably calculating how much gold he can steal before anyone notices the ledgers are missing.

Grundy unlocked the first door, revealing a small but tidy room containing two narrow beds and a shared wardrobe. The space belonged to two of the newer kitchen maids, both of whom stood trembling in the corridor as Blackwood's guards began their search.

The process was a quiet, brutal violation. I watched as a guard picked up a small, crudely carved wooden bird from one maid's bedside table. He turned it over in his gauntleted hands before tossing it back among the pile of her other meager belongings. The sound made a soft, hollow clatter that was louder than a scream in the silent corridor.

I turned to see the defeated expression on Lyra's face.

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, not even your own small history, is truly yours.