Chapter 151: Astrid Wants To Help [3]
Ulrich waited near the windows, one hand resting loosely at his side as he kept the masked musician in view.
Astrid was fourteen.
On Earth, sending a girl her age to test a possible assassin would have been madness. In Skargardia, it might be called cowardice instead. A nobleman was meant to place himself between danger and the people beneath his protection, not direct an inexperienced girl toward it.
Ulrich understood that.
He also knew that, at fourteen, Eurich had already taught him how to kill.
Not gracefully. Not mercifully. His father had begun with a wooden blade, then a real one, then opponents who did not restrain themselves because Ulrich’s mana core was broken. Eurich had taught him how to read a person’s posture, how to lie without changing his expression, how to make another person underestimate him until it became useful.
Astrid had not lived that life.
She had not been shaped into a weapon by a father who saw every weakness as a stain on the family name. She was a duke’s daughter, raised in comfort and protected by a house powerful enough to make most people cautious around her.
That did not mean she was helpless.
For all her immaturity, Astrid was intelligent. Ulrich did not trust the girl he had met tonight, not truly. He trusted the Astrid Van Gravenberg he remembered from the novel: sharp-tempered, proud, often reckless, yet clever when the moment required it. She had not survived the events of the original story by being merely loud.
And she proved that intelligence almost immediately.
She did not approach the musician.
At first, Ulrich could not see her anywhere.
He watched the masked man play beside the harpist, watched the dark violin case positioned behind the musician’s left foot, watched the other performers move through the piece with coordination. Astrid did not emerge from the crowd. She did not appear at the edge of the quartet. She did not make the obvious mistake of walking straight toward the man and demanding he show her his belongings.
For several seconds, Ulrich wondered whether she had ignored him and gone directly to a royal guard.
"Hey."
A young voice cut through the music.
Ulrich’s gaze snapped toward the dais.
A boy stood in front of the masked violinist.
He could not have been more than Esther’s age. His black formal coat was clearly expensive, tailored with silver thread at the cuffs and collar. He had one finger pointed directly at the masked musician.
"What kind of mask is that?"
The false violinist stopped playing.
For half a breath, the rest of the quartet faltered as well. The harpist’s fingers paused above the strings. One of the violinists looked toward the interruption with clear annoyance.
Then the first violinist continued the melody alone.
The other performers followed, recovering the rhythm without making the disturbance noticeable to most of the ballroom.
The masked man remained still.
He looked down at the boy.
"I asked you a question," the child repeated.
The words had the exact tone expected from a spoiled young noble. Loud enough to demand attention, but not loud enough to create a scene.
Ulrich’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Astrid had not come herself.
She had found someone who could.
The musician’s silence lasted only a moment. Then he smiled.
"My lord," he said, "I hope it does not make you uncomfortable."
His hand rose toward the black half-mask.
Ulrich watched closely.
The man removed it.
A diagonal scar ran from his forehead across his left eye and down his cheek. It had healed badly, leaving pale, uneven tissue against his skin. The eye beneath it remained open, though its color appeared faded compared to the other. It was an ugly scar. The sort of injury a man might reasonably prefer to hide at a royal celebration.
No horns.
No altered pupils.
No specific mark.
No artifact visible beneath the mask.
Ulrich’s eyes remained fixed on the man’s face.
The mask did not appear to be the source of his disguise. If it had been an artifact masking demonic traits, removing it should have changed something. Yet the musician’s features stayed wholly human.
That made the mask less important.
Or made the disguise more sophisticated than Ulrich had assumed. If he was an assassin, perhaps not wearing a mask at all would have been better for blending in than actually wearing a mask. Or did the mask have another use?
Ulrich put that thought aside.
"That is an ugly scar," the boy said bluntly.
The musician’s smile did not move.
"It is, my lord. That is why I hide it."
He replaced the mask, tying the silver cord behind his head.
The boy nodded as though he had received a satisfactory answer. Then his gaze dropped.
To the black violin case behind the musician.
"That is a large box," he said, taking a small step closer.
The musician moved.
He shifted one foot backward and placed himself between the boy and the case. His body remained angled toward the quartet, but his knee blocked the child’s path. His hand tightened around the violin’s neck. His voice, when he answered, rose just enough to override the music nearest them.
"A violin is an expensive instrument, my lord."
Ulrich’s expression did not change.
Inside, his suspicion hardened.
He had reacted too quickly.
A real performer might protect an instrument from a careless child. That alone meant nothing. Violins were delicate and expensive; a noble boy approaching one with sticky fingers and no sense of boundaries would make any musician nervous.
But this man had not protected the violin in his hands.
He had protected the case.
The case that should have been empty except for spare strings, cloth, sheet music, perhaps a second bow.
The boy looked up at him.
"I only wanted to see it."
"My lord," the musician said, this time allowing irritation to touch his voice, "I was paid to perform for the royal family. May I return to my work?"
The mention of the royal family had the intended effect.
The boy’s confidence shrank. He looked toward the dais, suddenly aware that he was interrupting a musician assigned to Princess Camellia’s celebration. His shoulders lowered.
"Oh," he said. "Yes."
He turned and walked away.
The masked musician did not resume playing immediately.
His gaze followed the boy’s back.
Ulrich watched the false violinist’s posture change by a fraction. The man’s shoulders had tightened. His eyes lingered on the child longer than necessary. He was deciding whether the interruption had been harmless. Whether the boy had been sent. Whether someone had noticed the case.
Good.
A little doubt was useful.
Not enough to make him act, but enough to make him reveal more when the time came.
Ulrich shifted his attention through the crowd.
The boy crossed the open section of the ballroom and returned to a small group of noble children gathered near a refreshment table. Three boys and two girls leaned together as he spoke. He pointed back at the masked musician with obvious childish satisfaction.
The others looked over.
One of them laughed.
Another covered her mouth with both hands, trying and failing to hide a grin.
The group began whispering among themselves, glancing between the musician’s half-mask and the boy who had confronted him.
A childish prank.
Nothing more.
The false violinist watched them for several seconds. At last, he gave a faint shake of his head and returned his violin beneath his chin.
His bow moved.
The quartet regained its full sound.
Every trace of suspicion appeared to fade from his posture.
Ulrich exhaled quietly.
Astrid had handled it well.
Better than he expected.
She had not approached the man herself. She had not exposed the connection between the noble children and her. She had chosen someone young enough to be dismissed as rude, curious, and careless, then ensured that he returned to his friends afterward so the musician would have a harmless explanation for the interruption.
It was not a flawless plan.
If the demon had known Astrid was watching, or if the boy had lingered around the case another moment, it could have gone poorly. But Astrid had produced a reaction without revealing why she wanted one.
"How was it?"
Ulrich had barely finished considering the false musician’s reaction when Astrid approached him from the side.
She wore a proud smile, her arms crossed over her chest as though she expected him to immediately acknowledge her success.
"I did everything you asked," she said. "I did not even need to lift a finger."
Ulrich looked at her.
"How did you make that boy obey you?"
Astrid’s smile weakened.
"What?"
"Did you threaten him or order him?"
Her expression soured immediately.
"I am a proud noble lady of Skargardia."
"You ordered him."
Astrid looked away.
"I—yes, but he is from a lower house. He had to listen to me." She folded her arms more tightly, as if that made the explanation stronger. "And it was for Her Highness. For the safety of this place."
Ulrich stared at her for a moment.
The answer was exactly what he expected.
Astrid had found a younger noble, someone unlikely to question a duke’s daughter, and sent him toward the musician with an excuse that would not attract attention. It had worked. The boy’s curiosity had been believable. The reaction from the masked man had been more believable still.
He had protected the case.
That did not prove what was inside it, but no ordinary performer would move so quickly to block a child from approaching a closed violin case. The false musician had treated the case as more valuable than the instrument in his hands.
It contained something.
"Good," Ulrich said.
Astrid’s eyes brightened.
The word had barely left his mouth before he added, "Now leave."
Her expression collapsed into disbelief.
"What?"
"Go back to Camellia."
"But what did you confirm?" Astrid hurried after him as he began moving through the ballroom. "He is an enemy, isn’t he? That box is hiding something. What are you going to do?"
Ulrich stopped.
Astrid nearly walked into him before halting in front of him. His dry, irritated stare made her straighten.
"I will handle it," he said. "Stop attracting attention."
Astrid clenched her fists.
For a moment, she looked ready to argue. Her eyes shifted toward the masked musician near the dais, then toward Camellia, who stood amid another group of young nobles. Concern won over her wounded pride, but not completely.
"If you know he is dangerous, you cannot expect me to simply—"
"If you want to be useful," Ulrich interrupted, "stay beside my wards."
Astrid frowned.
"Like what? A bodyguard?"
"No."
"Then what am I meant to do?"
"Act like the friend you claimed to be."
The answer left her briefly silent.
Ulrich resumed walking.
Astrid followed for several steps before his next words stopped her.
"I should not have trusted you to introduce them to the young nobles. Instead, they had been humiliated."
Her face turned red.
"I—I did not humiliate them—"
"You watched."
Astrid’s lips parted.
The reply she wanted did not come.
Ulrich did not slow. He passed through a group of laughing nobles, then moved beyond them toward the section of the ballroom where the servants entered with drinks and food. He had no time to waste standing around while Astrid tried to defend herself.
The musicians would be moved soon.
The speeches would begin.
Once the formal waltz started, Kaliantha would descend from the dais. The guards would shift around the royal family. The false musician would have his opening.
Ulrich needed to be close to the Queen before that happened, if possible
That was the problem.
Approaching Kaliantha directly would be difficult enough under normal circumstances. She was not merely Camellia’s mother. She was the Queen of Skargardia, surrounded by guards, attendants, nobles seeking favor, and a husband who had already shown that he did not particularly enjoy Ulrich’s presence.
Tonight, the difficulty was worse.
He needed a reason to be near Kaliantha that did not look like a warning.