7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (26)
7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (26)
Ella stood there in a daze, not even thinking to wipe the tomato dripping down right in front of her eyes.
She'd been hit by a tomato while on stage.
For someone as proud of the circus as she was, it was like being slapped in public.
She barely held back the tears of shame.
Never show your feelings on stage.
That was the bare minimum of a performer's pride.
She glared toward where the tomato had come from.
A man was grinning at her.
She knew who he was.
Baron Dosville.
The man who had indicted Wonderstein at the opening ceremony.
She didn't know the people beside him, but they were looking her way and snickering as if they were all in it together.
Her shame melted away at the sight.
Rage surged up in its place.
Ella had never lost a fight, even back in school.
She'd flattened boys a head or two taller than her into the dirt.
She never backed down, even when she got cut and bled.
The most important thing in a fight was refusing to be scared.
She was about to step forward when she stopped in her tracks.
Baron Dosville's eyes were gleaming like a predator sizing up its quarry.
His crew's expressions reeked of acting.
Then it hit her.
They weren't just being spiteful.
There was intent behind it.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Wonderstein was walking toward her from the other side of the stage.
His face was coated in white powder, and red lipstick traced a smile across his lips.
A chill ran through her at the sight of that smile.
His show had been interrupted.
The thought crossed her mind: who knew what he might do to them?
He probably wouldn't kill them in front of such a crowd, but maiming a part of someone's body was nothing to him.
That would send things past the point of no return.
Disqualification from the competition was the least of it — their entire image would crater.
-Guess a monster circus really is a monster circus!
-Figures. Those rootless vagabonds can't control themselves.
-Aren't those monster performers dangerous? He can't even handle himself, how's he supposed to lead?
That couldn't happen.
They couldn't throw away two months of hard work.
She couldn't let her mistake drag everyone else down.
Ella faced Baron Dosville.
It stung her pride, but she needed to bow her head.
Fighting back was exactly what they wanted.
Just as she started to bend at the waist to apologize, an intangible force held her body in place.
"What are you doing, you idiot?"
A cold voice.
Ella turned toward the side of the stage.
Behind the curtain, hidden from the audience, a white-haired girl in a reddish-brown beret was staring at her.
Maya had used her telekinesis to bind Ella's body.
"What the hell? Let me go."
"Don't bow your head to people like that. You're our circus's Deputy Leader."
"You think I want to bow? The tomato hit me because I—"
"You didn't get hit. I blocked it for you."
"...What?"
Ella blinked.
Something was off, now that she thought about it.
The crushed tomato was definitely smeared right in front of her eyes, and she could smell its juice, yet she felt nothing on her skin.
The tomato was sliding down an invisible wall just inches from her face, as if blocked by glass.
"The Troupe Leader asked me to. He said you might collapse again. Told me to stay ready to deploy telekinesis around you at any time."
"Ah..."
A gentle hand settled on her shoulder.
She raised her head to look up at its owner.
Her partner, the Jester, was smiling.
"Quite a scare, wasn't it? Don't worry. I'll take it from here."
The words "I'll take it" did not reassure Ella. They unsettled her even more.
"Don't interfere. This was my mistake."
"Isn't it the leader's job to take responsibility for their subordinates' mistakes?"
Wonderstein flashed a grin. He didn't look angry, contrary to her expectations.
That didn't put Ella at ease.
Wasn't this the man who always wore that exact face while doing horrific things?
"What are you planning?"
"I'll cut off their arms and legs, then sew their mouths shut."
"You—!"
"Heh heh, just kidding! I'll handle it without incident, so step back."
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Ella, as if conceding defeat, spoke first.
"Really?"
"Didn't we agree to trust each other on stage? Try trusting your friend the Jester, Clown Girl."
On stage...
Ella pressed her lips together and nodded.
"...Fine."
Maya flicked her fingers, and the force binding Ella released.
The crushed tomato dropped to the floor, but not a single fleck had touched her face or costume.
The gamblers who'd been laughing at her expense went rigid.
A flicker of dismay crossed Baron Dosville's smug, sneering face.
But he regained his composure in an instant.
The opponent had pulled a suspicious trick, but the situation remained within the bounds he'd anticipated.
Ever since the trial at the opening ceremony, all of his sponsorships and commissions had dried up.
His carriage — not even fully paid off — had been repossessed, and without money for rent he'd been couch-surfing at friends' houses just to eat and sleep.
This competition at the cabaret was the opportunity that had come his way.
He had a sharp mind for parsing rules and exploiting their loopholes.
He'd done it when word reached him that Maya had won the Escape King puzzle merchandise.
He sat on the information, waited, and flipped the board the moment the Silver Screen's victory was declared.
Thanks to that, he pocketed a hefty fee from the big players he'd tipped off in advance.
"As expected of you, Baron!"
"Heh heh, if you've got another scheme like this, come find us anytime."
During the second week's match, the Mango Troupe's sales had blown past Papael Circus from the very start, so there'd been no opening for him to step in.
The third week, though, was worth a shot.
Baron Dosville had prepared several scenarios for different eventualities.
Winning a Saturday ticket had been a stroke of luck.
It was the scenario he liked most — because it let him publicly humiliate Wonderstein, the man who had brought him defeat.
His mind raced as he watched Wonderstein approach.
Apology, rebuttal, dismissal, outrage.
Whatever excuse the man offered, Dosville was certain he could latch onto its tail and drag him into the mud.
"You just threw a tomato at our Deputy Leader on stage..."
"Oh, Troupe Leader! Simple entertainment! Entertainment! Don't acrobats at the circus do much the same thing to the audience all the time? Did anyone get hurt?"
Baron Dosville spread his arms wide.
The men around him responded with a burst of laughter.
Some of the patrons wore sour expressions.
They didn't like the gamblers either, that was true. But if the circus side got serious and escalated, the only ones who'd lose out were the people who'd come to enjoy a show.
Wonderstein smiled easily.
"Baron Dosville."
He picked up the chunk of tomato from the floor.
The eyes of everyone watching went wide.
The ruined tomato in his hand restored itself to pristine condition.
"You did sign the 'Wet Seat' clause, yes?"
Baron Dosville scowled.
He mentally reviewed the fine print on the back of his ticket.
<Wet Seat: Clothing may be soiled during the performance.>
He was a man with quick instincts.
He caught on to what Wonderstein was driving at.
"You can't possibly mean—?"
Wonderstein hurled the tomato in his hand with all his strength — the strength of a 3-to-1,000 ratio — directly at Baron Dosville's face.
Puck.
The tomato scattered red fragments in every direction on a scale utterly unlike before.
"Gahk! Gck! Gck!"
Baron Dosville choked out ragged breaths, some of the tomato apparently lodged in his airway.
Wonderstein beamed down at him and spread his arms wide toward the audience.
"That was entertainment, wasn't it?"
Silence fell over the hall.
A moment later, the crowd erupted with a roar.
Audiences didn't dislike a fight.
They just disliked watching ugly insults and squabbles when they'd come to unwind.
A satisfying comeuppance like this? Always welcome.
Watching Baron Dosville's crew, Wonderstein thought back to the insufferable trolls from his streaming days.
With people deliberately gunning for you, an apology was just another opening to exploit. Better to fire back with a grin.
Baron Dosville hacked tomato pulp out of his throat and ground his teeth.
He'd taken an unexpected shot, but he still believed the situation favored him.
If the other side wanted a fight, he'd answer with the same logic.
Turn the performance into a mess, just as planned.
"Hey! You there! A tomato! Give me a tomato!"
He urgently called over the ratman pushing a food cart on the far side.
Entertainment? Entertainment, was it?
Right. You're throwing my own words back at me?
Fine. Just you wait. I'll shower you with entertainment.
Baron Dosville shouted to get some tomatoes, now.
The ratman stared at him blankly, then held out a hand.
"Squeak-squeak! Tomato! Five zircoins each!"
"What nonsense is this! Fresh tomatoes are free!"
Charlotia had been plagued by a tomato surplus for years.
Even the cheapest restaurant stacked crates of them by the entrance for diners to help themselves as dessert.
This venue was no exception.
The Monster Circus handed out free fresh tomatoes inside the performance hall.
They had no intention of turning a profit off food anyway.
Like the strategy of exchanging costume cards for food at the concession stand, filling the audience's stomachs was enough to keep them from eating the Morning Star's cooking.
Now the ratman was demanding five zircoins for a single tomato.
At market rates outside, that was a gouge of several dozen times.
The ratman raised a finger and announced,
"Just now! Price changed!"
"What?"
Baron Dosville followed the ratman's pointed finger.
Maya had projected an illusion in midair: a notice that the free tomato supply had been suspended and new pricing was in effect.
Wonderstein had ordered it.
No matter how funny a joke was, there were always people who would spam the chat with it.
People who couldn't let something go.
The kind where you couldn't get serious without looking humorless, but letting it slide would choke the flow of the broadcast.
In those situations, he used to turn on a "donation" setting in the chat window.
You had to pay above a certain amount to talk.
In other words, he sold the right to disrupt the broadcast for cash.
Just like now.
"Why, Baron! Looking to purchase some tomatoes?"
Baron Dosville gritted his teeth at Wonderstein's mocking tone.
His goal was to poison the atmosphere as much as possible; hitting the man with a tomato wasn't the point.
Buying tomatoes to throw here would be idiotic.
It would just make him look like a clown himself.
People wouldn't be offended; they'd laugh at the show he and Wonderstein were putting on.
Baron Dosville glared at the still-smiling Wonderstein.
Making other people uncomfortable to steer a dispute in his favor was his specialty.
Yet this man had turned the whole situation cheerful with a handful of gestures and words.
It was no accident.
It was deliberate.
He was sure of it now.
The man across from him had lived in the same world of insults, snapping jaws, and mockery that he had.
Wonderstein felt relief when Baron Dosville slumped to the floor.
He'd stopped the incident from spiraling in an ugly direction.
Now all he had to do was settle the audience back into their seats and get on with the show.
But he overlooked one other lesson he'd learned in his streaming career.
No matter how many restrictions you set, you never knew which way the viewers would jump.