7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (22)
7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (22)
Ella went looking for the red tailcoat she always wore.
It had been soaked through in yesterday's early-morning rain, yes, but she knew the hotel's laundry service would have it fresh and dry in half a day.
She needed it—just in case she had to step in as emcee instead of Wonderstein.
She'd promised the doctor she'd stay off the stage, but if a situation called for it, she was fully prepared to go up there anyway.
Her plan was immediately thwarted.
"After the laundry was done, I noticed quite a few loose threads on the Deputy Leader's uniform. I sent it to a skilled tailor for repairs. It may take a while."
"How long?"
"He said to pick it up Saturday afternoon."
Even a fool could see the old man was lying.
Fixing a few threads didn't take days.
And Saturday afternoon, at that. He wasn't even trying to be subtle.
At the very least, it meant she was not to set foot on a stage for this competition.
He must have called the laundry the instant she was allowed to step outside and had the clothes removed.
It stung, how thoroughly he'd been outmaneuvering her since yesterday.
But there wasn't much she could do about it.
For her age, she was sharp and quick on the uptake—yet she was no match for the seasoned instincts of a butler who had held a noble household together for decades.
The butler, Bartel, had left Bergson Manor on Anais's orders and arrived in Rouge the previous afternoon.
He had been sent to provide support behind the scenes so the circus could focus entirely on the trials this week.
Wonderstein, glad for the timing, had entrusted Ella to him.
After all, the hotel staff couldn't exactly put their foot down with her.
The old steward saw straight through Ella's usual tactics.
A young lady in fragile health who never spared herself when there was work to be done—that was a type he knew all too well.
He had anticipated that she'd try to slip out to the venue last night and had waited beneath her window. In his youth he'd been a first-rate mercenary, and his agility was no less than Ella's acrobat-honed reflexes. If she'd been in good health she might have managed, but ill as she was, she couldn't wriggle out of his grasp.
On top of that, he'd spotted her palming a sedative under her tongue and spitting it out later. He simply replaced it by slipping the medicine into her evening meal. Thanks to that, Ella slept deeply all day, and her plan to watch the performances using Inspira fell apart as well.
When she woke to find the day nearly gone, her heart sank. That was why she'd insisted they hurry to the venue.
And now, on top of everything else, her uniform had been confiscated.
Having her tricks thwarted time after time was maddening—but more than that, it was mortifying.
It was the same humiliation she used to feel when she sparred with her old master. It had been a long time.
Inside the carriage, she propped her chin in her hand and stared sullenly out the window. The butler watched her with a contented smile.
Ella shot him a sidelong glare.
"Tch. Is it fun, winning against a kid?"
"Ha ha, you misunderstand my smile. Not at all. You just reminded me of Lady Anais when she was young. Please, stay calm. I won't stop you from watching the show."
"I'm just worried."
"Do you not trust Troupe Leader Wonderstein?"
At that, she flinched.
Not trust him?
The words crowded up in her throat. Wasn't that obvious? She had someone else she trusted.
But she couldn't bring herself to say it.
Love him or hate him, he was the leader of the circus she belonged to.
She didn't want to give an outsider the impression that the troupe was at war with itself.
"Ah, no... that's not..."
"Then why are you so anxious?"
"I just... if I'm not the one doing it, I can't help worrying..."
The butler nodded as if he understood.
"I know you're clever and capable, Miss Ella. But try trusting and leaning on the people around you a little more. Our mistress, too, when she first became chairwoman, tried to handle everything on her own. But thanks to Mister Pierre..."
He stopped mid-sentence and closed his mouth.
That had been a poor example.
The person she'd trusted and leaned on had turned out to be a traitor, after all.
"At any rate, knowing when to delegate and stay put is one of the virtues of leading a company."
"Fine. I'll sit tight like a good child. Happy?"
With that, she leaned back in her seat.
The old butler was right.
There were two more years ahead—worse situations than this were bound to arise.
She couldn't personally handle every single one of them. Knowing when to wait mattered, too.
"That aside, is the viscountess not coming?"
"She said she might be able to make time for the final day."
"She's terribly busy, then."
"Truth be told, she'd simply been idle all this while."
Anais was the owner of a major trading company.
With Pierre—who'd handled all the practical work—gone, and the trading company in chaos, it had been absurd for Anais to be drifting along on a cruise ship or lounging around at a hotel.
No wonder the rumors that a magician had bewitched the viscountess had gained traction both inside and outside the company.
When she arrived at the cabaret, Ella hurried straight to Hall 3.
The performance must have just ended; the audience was streaming out.
She stopped in her tracks.
A cold sweat broke out down her back.
She was afraid she'd catch a glimpse of disappointment, anger, or mockery on someone's face.
To her relief, the faces looked merely tired—not hostile.
Besides, the fact that they'd watched the show to the end without walking out was proof enough that the performance had succeeded.
Snatches of passing conversation reached her ears.
"Incredible."
"The acting was great, too."
"Acting? You mean it was all fake?"
"Were we even watching the same show? The actors are real. The eating people and tearing them apart—that was the acting."
"Didn't you see them all come out for the curtain call at the end?"
The corners of Ella's lips twitched.
The crowd's reaction wasn't bad.
And people who looked to be from other troupes were also speaking well of it.
"Gives me chills."
"The Monster Circus... you can't look down on them."
"I thought it was just a human exhibition."
"They elevated it brilliantly—made it real entertainment."
That put a spring in Ella's step as she headed toward the step seats.
Rose Windmill staff members who recognized her offered greetings, but she returned them absently.
Right now, no one else registered.
Her troupe.
She wanted to see them.
The butler followed quietly behind her.
Soon the two of them reached the practice room for Hall 3.
The first to spot them as they opened the door was Ratmen, stretched out near the entrance.
"Deputy?"
"Deputy! She's here!"
At Ratmen's squeaking, the other members turned around.
"What?"
"Ella came?"
The butler recoiled a step in surprise.
They were all still wearing their monstrous stage makeup.
"Hey, Ella."
"What're you doing here?"
"Are you fully better?"
Ella glanced around at the members who were worried about her and signaled that she was fine.
"Never mind me—how did you all do? Did the performance go well?"
She sank onto a sofa and let them surround her as she listened to their stories.
They took turns chattering about each other's acting and how the audience had reacted.
Listening quietly, Ella let out a sigh of relief.
It sounded like everyone had done just as they'd rehearsed.
Wonderstein, who'd served as emcee, had exceeded expectations, too.
Clown makeup.
She never would have thought of that.
Then she noticed someone was missing.
Wonderstein.
He wasn't there.
"Where'd he go?"
"He? Oh, the troupe leader. He's in the back lounge by himself."
"Why?"
Umon scratched the back of his head, looking awkward.
"Well... he said if he's here, the rest of us can't relax."
"Ah..."
Ella's expression hardened.
The butler nodded at those words.
When a superior sat among subordinates, discomfort was inevitable.
But Ella knew Wonderstein hadn't meant it that way.
He'd always been someone the troupe avoided.
This time, the special nature of the event had put him on stage, but normally he left things to Ella and kept his distance from the members.
On an ordinary day, she would have accepted that behavior as perfectly natural.
But seeing him do it even on a day like this left her strangely unsettled.
Once the clamor subsided a little, Maya, who'd been crouched in a corner clutching her sketchbook, approached her.
"Deputy."
"Oh, Maya! How did it go? No slip-ups with the illusions? And that merchandise you planned—how did it do? Did it sell well? What did people think?"
Maya endured Ella's grip on her shoulders as Ella shook her, her expression blank.
The irritation made her want to slap Ella's hands away, but she couldn't be harsh with someone who was unwell.
"Everything went fine. The merchandise sold well, too. Better than we expected."
"Oh, really? That's a relief!"
As Ella's face showed her relief, Maya spoke in a dissatisfied voice.
"Worry about your own health, you idiot."
She left those words behind, spun around, and sat back down, returning her attention to the sketchbook and whatever she'd been working on.
Ella scratched her cheek sheepishly.
Beneath Maya's flat tone, the concern was real.
"Now, now, since Miss Ella's here—let's raise a toast!"
At the dwarf Yobel's words, everyone rose.
"Sounds good."
"Our first show, after all."
"There's another performance tomorrow, so just one glass each."
The butler stopped the members who were heading toward the kitchen.
Handling things like this was exactly why he'd come to Rouge.
"Everyone, please rest. I'll prepare some simple refreshments to go with the drinks."
Once he'd left, the practice room grew even rowdier.
That included Sven's impression of Yurakne.
"Ohohoho, how delightful to meet you. All you delicious-looking humans."
A burst of laughter erupted.
Even Maya, sketching alone in the corner, felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward.
Only the victim, Yurakne, buried her bright-red face in her hands.
"Ugh, p-please stop..."
"Heh heh, I wanted the Deputy Leader to see it, too. What was the next line..."
"I said, st-stop it!"
"Ahaha, what's the matter, Yura? It means your performance really landed."
"Yeah, yeah. Those 'merchandise' items of yours probably sold best today, right?"
As the members laughed and chattered noisily, Ella sat quietly on the sofa, gazing at an empty space.
The largest and most ornate chair in the practice room.
That was Wonderstein's seat—the troupe leader's.
It stood empty.
Even on a day like this, he'd excused himself.
Worried he might make the others uncomfortable.
The truth was, even now that they could face him directly, except for Maya, no one in the troupe truly felt at ease around him.
Yurakne overcame it with affection, Sven with jokes, Ella with resentment—but he still wasn't someone they could simply relax around.
Approaching him too comfortably was impossible, given everything he'd done up to now. And his opaque motives and inner thoughts only added to it...
Honestly, the atmosphere was better without him.
Ella agreed with that.
But...
this wasn't right.
They'd just shared a stage, put on a show together, and he'd even filled in for an ailing colleague—and now he was being shut out.
No matter how she looked at it, this wasn't right.
"Ah... um, excuse me a moment..."
She quietly slipped away from the group.
The direction she headed was the lounge where Wonderstein was.