6. The Reversal Opening Ceremony (14)
6. The Reversal Opening Ceremony (14)
Hall 1 of the Rose Windmill Cabaret seethed with furious voices.
Barely half an hour ago, these same people had been pressed shoulder to shoulder, dancing and singing together. Now they jabbed fingers at one another, shouting, faces flushed, hurling obscene gestures.
The police raid had blindsided not only the manager, Bwallet, but also the owner, Marquis Mustang.
By principle, law enforcement required prior consent to enter any building owned by a nobleman.
Even in a genuine emergency where advance notice was impossible, the barest courtesy demanded at least a word of warning immediately before entry.
The police had not even observed that line. They had stormed in like a pack of bandits, smashing guest-room doors and swinging their batons.
Once Marquis Mustang grasped the situation, shame turned his face so red it looked nearly black.
Insolent police underlings, dragging off his invited guests on their own authority.
He could imagine no greater disgrace for a nobleman.
His enraged eyes swept across the partygoers. He ignored the peacocking young pup from the Mounted Police, who was plainly relishing the attention fixed upon him.
An operation like this could never be orchestrated by a mere deputy officer. A high-ranking noble had to be pulling strings from behind the scenes.
And indeed, in a corner of the hall, a cluster of figures huddled together, stealing glances this way and whispering. Several averted their eyes when his gaze met theirs; a few stared back squarely, flashing smug, self-satisfied smiles. The Marquis studied each face in turn.
The anti-mayor faction, eager to erode the incumbent's achievements in hosting the Circus Grand Prix.
The proprietors of rival theaters, envious that the Rose Windmill had become Charlotia's flagship venue.
Shareholders of trading companies locked in competition with the Bergson Trading Company.
And the high-ranking Rouge officials patronized by all of the above.
This affair was their joint production.
Marquis Mustang ground his teeth. Ever since his youth, he had endured endless mockery for running a brothel despite being a high noble.
Perhaps because of that chip on his shoulder, he was fiercely sensitive about his honor. He detested any whisper behind his back, and these people had gone and made a fool of him in spectacular fashion.
A chill undercurrent passed between the Marquis and the clique that had engineered the raid.
The assembled nobles and society figures were quicker than anyone at reading such currents. Those who caught on to how the wind was blowing wasted no time picking a side.
Some condemned the operation, some defended it, and some stayed neutral.
"In our day, we never stooped to cowardly ambushes like this! I should say not! There were courtesies among nobles!"
"Cowardly? The suspect is dangerous! I happen to think the police did their job well."
"With foreign guests present, you contrive something like this? Have you no shame?"
"I'd argue the theater's habit of sweeping such crimes under the rug is the greater shame."
"A mere deputy officer arresting a titled noble—!"
"The one arrested is a vagabond magician. The Viscountess is merely accompanying him as a witness. Perfectly within regulations."
The neutrals were either foreign dignitaries or people with amicable ties to both camps. They kept their words to a minimum and watched how things developed.
Amid that crucible of chaos, Marquis Mustang approached Viscountess Bergson.
The two had scarcely crossed paths before. Their territories were far apart, their spheres of activity different.
But tonight they were in the same boat. Their opponents had banded together; they had to cooperate.
"Viscountess Bergson, as the establishment's owner, I must apologize for failing to prevent this."
"The regret is more ours. To cause such an ugly disturbance at what should have been a celebration—I am deeply sorry."
Marquis Mustang found her composure pleasing.
She was renowned in the business world as a woman of intelligence, but for all that, she was still a young woman barely twenty years old. He had worried she might be on the verge of panic, yet her gaze, her voice, her whole manner carried a soldier's discipline—steady, controlled, as if she were readying for battle.
"Do you have any notion of what's behind this?"
"I've been told little myself. Except for one thing: I am certain that man is innocent."
Marquis Mustang caught the fleeting softness that touched her eyes as she looked toward the blond young man standing among the officers.
So. Something really was going on between them, just as the rumors said.
The Marquis had long been a patron of the performing arts. He understood perfectly well how hearts could pass between a patron and an artist.
The problem was that it did nothing whatsoever to resolve the present situation. A rash defense would only inflame the scandal.
"Do not act hastily. Nothing will come of tonight. Retain a skilled lawyer and gather favorable testimony; you can win this in court."
At the Marquis's counsel, Anais paused, then nodded.
She knew it too. The wisest choice here was to step back, observe calmly, and formulate a strategy.
Running over to him right now and proclaiming his innocence would gain nothing. That was conduct utterly unbecoming the chairwoman of a major trading company. Displaying a loss of control would only cement people's conviction in the rumors.
Stay cold. Think. You are a noblewoman, angry and irritated by this situation. You are a merchant, standing apart from the nuisance and weighing profit and loss.
Do not worry about that man. Do not let your face show it, either.
Anais repeated it to herself. Right now she could not afford to be a woman in love. She had to be the Iron Mask.
Nothing would happen. All she had to do was wait for a trial.
The troupe leader of a circus sponsored by her trading company, accused of murder. The company's honor was at stake, too; the board of directors would be more than willing to lend the full support of a legal team.
Restraint was the correct answer here. If she waited, things would work out.
But their enemies were far more vicious than she anticipated.
***
I felt relieved seeing Anais distance herself from me with a chilly expression.
Good. It seemed she had assessed the situation with equal detachment. For her to approach me now would have been a losing move for both of us.
*Sub Quest: Trial
: You have been indicted on charges of being the Ghost of the Cabaret. Clear your name and restore the circus troupe's honor.
Success Conditions
: Prove innocence before the Circus Troupe's Fame reaches 0. (Current Circus Troupe Fame: 21)
Success Reward
: [Circus Troupe Fame +50]
Failure Penalty
: [Temporary suspension of all Circus Grand Prix activities]
I had been dumbfounded when Sabo identified me as the Ghost of the Cabaret.
Just as I was flabbergasted and about to retort, the quest window materialized. After reading its contents, the situation clicked into place.
Me, mistaken for the Ghost of the Cabaret. I have no idea where things started going sideways.
The failure penalty was equally troubling. Temporary suspension of all Circus Grand Prix activities meant what? That I'd have to stay locked up until my innocence was proven?
With no immediate alternative, I followed the officers' orders and descended to the first floor.
[Circus Troupe Fame has decreased by 1.]
[Circus Troupe Fame has decreased by 2.]
[Circus Troupe Fame has decreased by 2.]
The moment I stepped into the hall, my Fame began to plummet. The cabaret guests were murmuring about me. Word that I had been arrested as a murderer had clearly already spread. My troupe's Fame dropped by five in an instant.
At this rate, hitting zero wouldn't take long.
I dearly hoped Anais wouldn't try to spring to my defense here. If the chairwoman of a major trading company openly shielded me in front of this crowd, the rumor that I was manipulating her would only spread further. Fortunately, she stayed quiet as I'd wanted.
Of course, that only bought me a little extra time on the quest clock.
'Prove innocence before the Circus Troupe's Fame reaches 0.'
The quest was labeled "Trial," but this was a game, same as any other. In this one, Circus Troupe Fame was essentially my HP. If it hit zero, the quest was a failure.
I had to prove my innocence before that happened. The problem was time.
The police had currently blocked all exits from the hall. The guests would be allowed out in two hours.
If I couldn't prove my "complete innocence" by then, the quest was a failure anyway. A verdict of "doesn't seem guilty" or "uncertain" would not do. Even that much suspicion would be enough to plaster my name across every newspaper and magazine there was.
That would be the end of my Fame. It would plummet straight to zero.
Two-hour time limit. If Fame hit zero within that window, I failed. And even if I somehow defended my Fame, if I didn't prove my innocence, it was guaranteed to crash to zero afterward.
Sure, if this went to a formal trial, I wasn't the culprit—I'd be released for lack of evidence. Trouble was, that could take months, even years.
The Main Quest would almost certainly fail, too.
"It'll be all right. I'll hire the best legal team available."
Anais approached me with a deliberately irritated expression and murmured warm words under her breath. To onlookers, it would look like she was dressing me down for ruining everything.
"You will absolutely be acquitted. So please, trust me and be patient."
I appreciated the effort, but it wasn't especially reassuring.
What good was an acquittal later? By then the Main Quest would be as good as dead.
Just then, Baron Dosville sauntered over, wearing an insufferably smug grin.
"My, my, Lady Viscountess. Comforting your paramour, are we?"
Anais's expression froze over.
"I had wondered why you were acting strangely tonight. So you had a hand in this too, Baron Dosville."
"I do happen to know a great many things, as you're aware. To the high and mighty, a landless baron is a convenient tool—easy to use without a second thought. Thanks to which, I've been appointed prosecutor for this trial."
She gave a derisive laugh.
"Hmph. Do you imagine your paltry store of knowledge can defeat our company's legal team?"
"Legal team? My, my—I don't see one."
"I mean at the formal trial, obviously."
At that, Baron Dosville looked startled.
"Formal trial? What formal trial? A summary trial is being convened right here tonight."
"What do you—?"
A dignified old man strode out from behind the Baron. Balding, with a white beard descending to his chest, he proved, from the murmurs around us, to be the presiding judge over the Rouge district.
"The Baron is correct, Lady Viscountess. A summary trial will be held here."
"That's absurd! Isn't that only permitted for soldiers under wartime conditions?"
Baron Dosville wagged a finger and clicked his tongue.
"<Ordinance on Gypsies and Vagabonds>, Article 13. For any heinous crime committed by a Gypsy or vagabond, a summary trial may be convened upon indictment by a noble."
"What...?"
"Shall I add one more? , Article 4. A verdict in a summary trial is final and conclusive. Article 14 of the same act: summary execution is likewise permissible in a summary trial."
"That...."
Anais turned to face me. Her eyes brimmed with fear and worry.
I, on the other hand, smiled. It was not because of the Smiling Man.
"Lady Viscountess, no matter what happens, do not intervene."
The System would never hand me a quest with no win condition. There was a way out.
"Wh-what do you mean, Troupe Leader?"
She stared at me, frightened. The onlookers saw her expression and began buzzing again.
[Circus Troupe Fame has decreased by 1.]
See? When she showed that kind of concern for me, people got the wrong idea.
"For both our sakes. Sir Porshu, look after the Viscountess."
Sir Porshu regarded me with an uncharacteristically grave expression, then nodded. Anais, pale as a sheet, let him support her and withdrew.
I shelved my concern for her for the moment. The trial about to unfold was what mattered now. The architects of this surprise performance clearly had no intention of waiting for a formal court.
But to me, that was an opportunity. A chance for a turnabout.