Maxwell sat across from his mentor, Jeorge, in the servant’s common room, the young man animatedly speaking to the older.
“It’s the audacity that I can’t stand!”, said Maxwell, his layers of blonde hair shaking with agitation.
“I mean, If someone’s going to steal my paycheck, I’d rather they take the whole thing and not return the unused portion with a thank-you note!”
Jeorge laughed, causing the paunch he had been steadily accumulating in his sixties to jiggle. “Sounds like one of your friends is playing a joke on you, eh?”
“None of my friends are stupid enough to commit an actual crime for a prank. I got a copy of the check, and the signature was a perfect forgery! The bank teller even asked if my cold was better, because she remembered me cashing it. But of course it wasn’t me. Someone wearing one of our butler’s uniforms and a face mask signed it right there in front of her! They were pretending to be sick, probably to disguise their voice.”
Jeorge frowned in thought. No one among the butlers could forge documents and, as the one doing the hiring, he ought to know. Jeorge offered, “So someone who could pass for you, except for the face and voice?” Among the butlers Maxwell was quite tall and lanky, as well as one of the youngest.
“And then there’s the amount. Precisely $65.95 was stolen, which happens to be the exact cost of a new SP5 game, after tax.”
Jeorge blinked, not understanding the point.
“Why does it have to be a game?”
“Put all the pieces together. Someone who had access to the butler uniforms, who could pass for me with a mask and a blond wig and maybe even platform shoes. Someone who could access my check and knew when I would be occupied elsewhere. And most importantly, with the untouchable arrogance to leave a thank you note afterwards.”
Jeorge waited for Maxwell to continue, since he had clearly already made up his mind who the culprit was.
“Well… the young master has a taste for video games.”
“Stop right there,” Jeorge cut in, “you are a vassal of this family. No matter how much ‘free range parenting’ the lord may practice, that young man will one day be head of the family.”
“But sir, who else-”
“I won’t hear it, Maxwell. Think what you like, but keep it to yourself.”
But it was just his scruples as a senior butler speaking. He had served the family for many years and came to their defense as a reflex, evidence be damned. He knew better than anyone that the lord would only laugh and tell Maxwell to resolve the matter as he saw fit. The weight of the family name wouldn’t be used to protect the young master, even if the police got involved.
“The evidence is only circumstantial anyways….” said Jeorge, though he had to admit (to himself only) that he did not have trouble picturing the young master pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.
♦ ♦ ♦
The young master Markus Marcellinus strolled through the enormous grand foyer of the mansion, contemplating which TV to play his new game on. His black school uniform jacket was slung over his arm, and the tips of his ears poked through his messy dark hair. He had the striking crystal-blue eyes that were typical of the Marcellinus family and walked with the lazy swagger of a teenager. He looked like a normal high-schooler returning home after a day of classes, if you did not bother to look at the clock and see how early it was.
The TV in his own room was the obvious choice, but it was too close to the group of police in the grand foyer, who were now raising a clamor with the head financial planner, Juris. Juris was the loudest, shouting into a phone while the police inspectors leered at him.
“Look I just need you to get back here! I have a contractual obligation not to disclose these documents under any circumstances, and they have a court order requiring me to hand them over! I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, so it’s something you’ll have to deal with personally… What do you mean you’re busy?! …Where? Monaco?!”
This was one of those situations that was going to be long and dragged out. Markus reasoned it was better to find a room farther away from the noise.
“There’s a TV in the third floor study and another in the north loggia.” offered Alexia, Markus’s personal maid, who walked at his shoulder. She too wore the girl’s uniform of Markus’s school despite not being enrolled there. With her young face, long blonde hair and soft brown eyes, she did not look out of place in them.
“No, those are too public. I don’t want to be walked in on by the help.”
He thought for a moment, trying to ignore the shouting.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I know what to do. My uncle Alfred is in the East wing’s guest room right now. I’ll pay him a visit and see if I can borrow his TV.”
“Is your uncle still here? I hear he hasn’t been seen since he arrived three weeks ago.” asked Alexia, cocking her head to the side.
“Oh he’s here. His plastic surgeon botched his face pretty bad, so he’s not keen on being seen right now.”
Alexia raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Markus explained anyway, not even trying to hide his amusement:
“You see, he’s having what you might call an identity crisis. His old identity ‘Alfred’ is rather heavily indebted to some unsavory organizations. You know, the kind that make examples out of deadbeats- broken legs and other unfortunate accidents. He decided to ‘make a change’, so to speak. The surgeon didn’t do a very good job, so while he may be unrecognizable, he’s also, well, unpresentable. What can he do? It wasn’t an above-board procedure, so forget about a malpractice suit. He’s been holed up since, alternating between begging the surgeon for help and wallowing in self-pity. I’m sure some company will do him good.”
Alexia slowly nodded, already determined to forget everything she had just heard. Markus frowned at the double half-spiral staircase. Placed in the middle of the grand foyer, there were two curved flights leading up to the second floor, making a big slanted C shape, with landing halfway up each arm of the C. The problem was that the space in the middle of the C, which was the entrance to both flights, was blocked by the loitering police. Trying to elbow past irritable officers serving a warrant was asking for trouble. The solution was obvious.
“Alexia, give me a boost up to the landing.”
Without hesitation, Alexia knelt down at the landing halfway up the staircase and cupped her hands to form a foothold. Markus climbed over the handrail and reached back to pull Alexia up. Just as they were about to escape up to the second floor, a young woman officer detached herself from the group and came running up the stairs.
“Stop right there you two! Why are you sneaking up the stairs like that?”
The other officers, uninterested in the antics of two teenage students, stayed where they were. Markus’s blue eyes sparkled as he displayed his new game with a flourish.
“This just came out just today and I’m going to play it! Pretty Maid Dress-up 2! They’ve added hundreds of new outfits and the graphics have gotten an upgrade!”
As soon as he pulled the game out, Alexia cast her head forward, trying to hide behind her long bangs and blend into the background. It had a similar effect on the police officer, her suspicion passing into surprise and then confusion before settling on a mixture of disgust and second-hand embarrassment. The box art left little to the imagination, and no doubt as to the nature of this ‘dress-up’ game. The titular maid character wore an outfit that would make a bikini look conservative, the majority of the material having been spent on a pair of cat ears poking from her hair.
The officer turned her attention to Alexia, trying to divert her gaze from the game that was being waved at her.
"And who are you?"
Markus answered for her:
"Oh, she's just a classmate of mine. She was skeptical about how good this game is, so I just had to show her in person."
He thrust the case back in the officer's face, obscuring Alexia. Alexia tried to speak up, "Oh, no, I mean–" but no one seemed to hear her. As a servant, she felt unable to contradict her master in front of a third party. However, agreeing that she wanted to see the game for herself was also unthinkable. She was relieved to be ignored.
Markus was on the verge of launching into an even more detailed explanation of why the game was so awesome when the officer decided that she had more important things to do. Muttering "You may go," she hurried down the stairs to rejoin the group. Markus looked positively disappointed, but he rallied and continued up the stairs, Alexia following behind him.
“She wasn’t a very good policewoman. She didn’t even notice I was carrying an age-restricted game. I covered the warning label with my fingers, but still... shouldn't the police be more attentive to that sort of thing? It makes you wonder about the state of law and order in the world.”
“What? Did you want to get caught?” Alexia teased, but then she had a thought- “Oh, I see. You wanted to be handcuffed and manhandled by a policewoman?”
Her inner skeptic, the voice responsible for saying ‘that could never happen’ was disturbingly quiet on this point.
“Oh, please, If I wanted to be handled I could find a cuter officer… maybe in one of those adorable meter-maid uniforms… hmmm…”
Markus trailed off, lost in thought, staring at the cover of his game. Alexia regretted saying anything.
As was her daily habit, she wondered if she should even regret working for the young master. No, she told herself, ANYTHING is better than the streets. She scolded herself for going soft. She had been working for over a year now and had grown too accustomed to the level of comfort that came with employment.
When he first picked her up, she had expected to be nothing more than a toy for him to play with and had resigned herself to it, thinking ‘Better some rich latch-key kid than a pimp’. But things hadn’t turned out that way. Whatever other disgraceful, deplorable or degenerate things he may or may not have done, he hadn’t laid his hands on her. For that alone, she felt she owed him a modicum of loyalty.
He had taken her in like a dirty stray cat he found in a cardboard box under a bridge. Her filthy street clothes were replaced by a maid’s uniform. Coincidentally, another maid of similar build to herself complained about a missing uniform the next day, but he assured her it was unrelated. After all, her uniform had this cute red ribbon clumsily tied at the throat. He began ordering double servings at all meals, eating half and saying, “Finish that for me, would you? It won’t do to waste food.” After three days the cooking staff took the hint and started bringing her a separate plate. One day he exclaimed, “Oh you dropped this.” and placed an ID card in her hand with her picture and the name ‘Alexia Trevesta’ printed on it. “That’s not my name,” she had protested, but he waved away the objection and said, “Of course it is, you silly goose. Your mother will cry if you forget the name she gave you.” But the biggest shock came four weeks later, when a paycheck made out to ‘Alexia Trevesta’ had arrived, on Marcellinus family letterhead no less.
Alexia had learned to take these things in stride, and thus strode after her young master towards his uncle Alfred’s room.