~.~.~
Title: Maoh, A Day Late
Summary: Yuri arrives in the other world late, and the race for the Boxes has already begun.
Notes: Hube is a good guy. Also, stupid reckless move count: 4.
~.~.~
Part II, Chapter 7
What is strength (II)
~.~.~
Throwing open the ornate double doors, Heathcrife strode into the large audience chamber. He ignored the hired guards who moved to block the doorway behind him.
"Vuillon!" Heathcrife yelled. "Vuillon, where are you?!"
"There's no need to shout," a voice called from the other end of the chamber. The gaudy lights of Hildyard's pleasure district, filtering in through the tall windows, barely illuminated the man's obese figure.
Standing next to him was another man, his face concealed by a mask. One of his hands rested on the sword at his waist. The other was firmly gripping the shoulder of a young girl.
"Papa!" the girl cried, trying to run toward Heathcrife, only to be held back.
"Beatrice!" Heathcrife said, torn between relief at his daughter's unharmed state and worry for her position. "It'll be okay, dear. Just be brave!" He only hoped he wasn't lying. This was like that disastrous trip, when they were attacked by pirates. But this time, he couldn't expect a Big Cimaron vessel to swoop in to save them.
"Yes, little girl, everything will just fine, as long as your daddy cooperates," Vuillon agreed, sneering at Heathcrife. "You see, he's been causing me quite a bit of trouble, kicking up all kinds of a fuss about some fools who were too weak to hold on to their own holdings and are now trying to cry foul. It's bad for business. I would like all of that to stop, then we can all go home happy and... healthy."
"You swindled them! Half those bets were rigged! The other half, you blackmailed," Heathcrife shot back, his usually calm face twisting in growing anger.
"Yes," Vuillon agreed without a hint of shame, "just like I'm blackmailing you now. Or do you not care for your daughter's life?"
He shot a meaningful look at the man holding the little girl in place. But the man didn't react. What could be seen of his expression was pensive as he looked down at Beatrice.
"Why don't you give him a little demonstration?" Vuillon snapped, gesturing agitatedly with one beefy hand. His meaning was clear.
"No! Let her go!" Heathcrife yelled, taking a step forward. He wasn't a fighter, but he would fight to the death for his little girl, if it came to that.
But to his surprise, Beatrice matched him, stumbling a step toward her father as the masked man pushed her forward. For a moment, everyone froze.
Then, Beatrice was running toward her father, and he toward her. Heathcrife dropped to his knees to sweep her up in a tight embrace, smoothing back her hair and kissing her forehead.
"What are you doing?!" Vuillon demanded, finding his voice again. "What are you doing, you dog?!"
Instead of replying, the masked man dashed forward and drew his sword. It sang through the air, passing over Heathcrife's head to strike down the guards that had rushed to their master's aid. Despite outnumbering the lone swordsman, they collapsed in moments.
"Even I haven't fallen so low," the masked man growled. His grip on his sword tightened as he quickly moved toward the doors. "Let's go!" he barked to Heathcrife.
The merchant didn't hesitate in scooping up his daughter and running after the swordsman. Even as Vuillon yelled for more guards behind them, the masked man was cutting down the reinforcements that stood in their way.
Their flight out of the mansion was a confused jumbled, where all Heathclife could do was keep running, holding Beatrice close, while the masked man carved a path through Vuillon's legions of guards. They burst outside, but kept on running, ducking into one alley after another in an attempt to lose their pursuers.
"Over here! Hube, over here!" a young high-pitched voice called out among the chaos. Heathcrife's eyes finally found the speaker - a little girl, dressed in tattered clothes. She was waving to them from an open cellar door.
The masked man's single eye widened as he stopped short. He hesitated, but only for a moment before heading toward her, Heathcrife following.
"I told you to get away and hide," he told the girl, his voice failing to carry the harsh disapproval he intended.
"I did!" the girl protested, even as she stood aside to let him jump into the cellar. Heathcrife followed, ducking into the darkness, and the girl hastily shut doors behind them. Outside, troops of guards thundered past. Heathcrife scarcely dared to breathe, only praying silently and rubbing Beatrice's back in steady soothing motions.
Finally, the shouting and footsteps faded away.
Moving slowly, the girl uncovered a lantern and in the flickering light examined the mask man. Now that they were no longer running, Heathcrife could see that he was worse for wear from his many battles.
"Are you okay, Hube?" the girl asked, reaching out tentatively. "You're bleeding..."
"It's fine," the man, Hube, said quietly. "Don't concern yourself with me. I can't fall to such lowly opponents."
"Papa? Are we safe now?" Beatrice asked quietly, pulling away from his embrace. Her eyes flickered over to Hube and the other girl, who smiled at her.
"See, I told you Hube's a good guy," the other girl said, making Beatrice smile in return.
Noticing her father's confusion, Beatrice explained, "Greta was there at the mansion too. She said I'd be okay because her friend would help us. He's a good guy." Beatrice nodded to herself, wiping away her drying tears. Greta beamed at her words.
"You're wrong," Hube said quietly. "I'm not a good man at all. I just haven't fallen that far."
"You seem like a fine man to me," Heathcrife told him. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If there is anything I can do to repay you, just name it."
Hube's single eye met his, glinting in the flickering light of the lantern. "Take care of Greta," he said. "I'll cover for you, so just take the children and go. Look after her, that's all I ask."
"No, Hube!" Greta protested, turning back to him. "You can't leave me! Please! We'll all get away together. This place has another way out!"
She gestured with her lantern deeper into the cellar, and indeed Heathcrife caught a glimpse of another open trapdoor. It would have normally been concealed, but she must have left it open. 'A smuggling tunnel,' Heathcrife realized. 'So that's why she hid here.'
"The young lady is right," Heathcrife agreed, making his way over to the kneeling man. Just as Greta had said, he was bleeding, a sight that made Heathcrife faintly nauseous. He only hoped the wound wasn't too serious. Crouching, he slung Hube's arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. "Come along now. We should make haste."
Greta smiled brightly, dashing away the tears that had begun to gather in her eyes. Her hand closed around Beatrice's, and the two girls hurried ahead to light the way.
"Just leave me," Hube hissed. His expression was still mostly hidden by his mask, but now Heathcrife could see something very raw and very pained in the man.
"Nonsense," he said, hauling him along toward the smuggling tunnel. "I've been looking for a good bodyguard. The world has become a very dangerous place, and I can't bear the thought of my little girl in danger ever again. You're a good man. I can trust you to with her."
"I'm not," Hube repeated, shaking his head.
"You can be," Heathcrife told him. "You didn't let her down."
Greta looked back over her shoulder, waving to them. They descended into the dark tunnel, following the two girls and the lantern they held.
~.~.~
"Hm," Murata drew out thoughtfully. "Well, I doubt he guessed that you're the Demon King, but he probably figure out everything else."
"What does that mean?" Yuri asked, his expression twisting in confusion. After a great deal of wandering, he had finally found Murata and relayed the entire story of his confusing encounter to him. Murata had looked annoyingly amused throughout.
"He's after the Box, and he was trying to find out if you were too," Murata explained. He seemed to have figured out what was going on with almost insulting ease. "Most people don't even know about the Boxes, so the fact that you clearly do and were very obviously fishing for information about them shows that you're not just some ordinary guy."
"I wasn't very obviously fishing," Yuri protested.
"You really were," Murata assured him, smirking. "Anyway, he probably also guessed that you don't actually work for Fanberlain. He probably assumed that you're representing some other country or at least some partner of Fanberlain's, to whom he plans to pass the Box after getting it out of Francia."
"I see," Yuri said. "But, does that mean we can trust him to help? I mean, he wants the same thing."
"Obviously not!" Wolfram declared, having made his way over to them. "We can't let any of the Boxes remain in human hands. They won't hesitate to use them on the Demon Kingdom!"
"I think he's a good person," Yuri said, thinking back on Heathcrife's smile and his genuine sadness.
"You've got absolutely no basis for thinking that," Wolfram countered testily. Yuri could only shrug.
A voice hailed them, and the three Demon Tribesmen turned to see Fanberlain approaching them. He smile hadn't changed since he had left them, and Yuri couldn't even begin to guess whether he had been successful or not.
"Good, you're all here," Fanberlain said, his eyes passing over the three boys in a quick headcount. "Let's get going."
"To see the king?" Yuri asked, brightening.
Fanberlain chuckled lightly. "Goodness, no! It's the end of the day, and the palace is being locked down. We need to leave and head to our lodgings for the night."
Yuri stared at him in surprise. "We're just... giving up?"
"No, we'll be back later," Fanberlain explained with a patient smile. "But the best thing we can do now is get a good meal and a full night's sleep. You're all growing boys, and dear Celi would be quite upset with me if I didn't take care of you properly."
At the mention of food, Yuri's long-neglected stomach growled loudly. He glanced at the other two boys in search of support, but both seemed accepting of Fanberlain's reasoning, no matter how grudgingly, in Wolfram's case.
Seeing Yuri slump in surrender, Fanderlain clapped his hands together and began to herd them toward the exit, almost like a team manager. Yuri couldn't help but feel a bit looked down upon.
~.~.~
Having gorged himself on Francia's exotic (to him) cuisine, Yuri took to sulking by the window of their specious but modest inn room.
The three Demon Tribesmen had been placed in the same room, for both protection and keeping a low profile. Wolfram had grumbled something about commoners, but after a meaningful look from Murata and a strange glance toward Yuri, had gone along with it. Now, he had taken to brooding in the corner opposite the door.
For his part, Murata had managed to beg a book off some other inn patron and lounged around reading without a care. Yuri uncharitably decided that the book must be a romance novel, of the sort he had occasionally caught Murata eying on the train. He felt rather annoyed by the amusement Murata was clearly deriving from his and Wolfram's foul moods.
Turning away with a huff, Yuri looked back out the window. Night was falling across the city, and the twilight streets were quickly emptying. There didn't seem to be much in the way of nightlife. If anything, no one seemed to want to linger out after dark.
Below, someone stepped out of the inn and began to carefully make their way down the street. Yuri's brow furrowed as he watched the figure's receding back. "Isn't that... Mister Fanfan?" he wondered. The man had changed out of his finely embroidered coat into something more inconspicuous, but Yuri recognized his blonde ponytail and his profile when he glanced behind him.
"Hey Murata," Yuri began, still watching the merchant make his way from the inn, "did Mister Fanfan say anything about going out tonight?"
Wolfram glanced at him sharply and quickly moved to stand next to Yuri by the window. His expression darkened.
"Not really," Murata said, not looking away from his book. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he was hard at work meeting with his contacts and stuff like that. He's definitely determined to get the Box."
"Yeah, but why wouldn't he say anything to us? We should have come too," Yuri muttered.
"Just calm down, Shibuya. Let him work," Murata said, finally glancing at his friend. "Or do you not trust him?"
"Of course he can't be trusted!" Wolfram cut in, turning away from the window agitatedly. "He's hiding something from us! He wants the Box for himself!"
"I wouldn't go that far. There could be plenty of other reasons," Murata said, sighing and shutting his book. He sat up and pushed up his glasses. "I agree he probably didn't tell us because he doesn't want us around for whatever meeting he's going to. But that's not strange, really. Let's be honest here, Shibuya's not exactly subtle or discreet."
"Hey, why are you singling me out?" Yuri protested.
"And besides that, Fanberlain has a connection and reputation with these people," Murata continued, ignoring Yuri's complaints. "They'll be more willing to help him, a man they know, a merchant without a national affiliation and a human besides."
"Wait, what does that have to do with anything?" Yuri wondered.
"Not many people would be willing to openly help the Demon Tribe," Murata said flatly.
"Which make this man all the more suspicious," Wolfram decided. "We can't trust him, especially when he clearly doesn't trust us. He's purposefully cutting us out! What guarantee do we have that he'll give the Box over to us after he acquires it?"
"I think we can trust him," Yuri contradicted, "but... I'm not sure we have time do do it his way. We have to do something."
"Like what?" Murata inquired with false helpfulness.
"Like break in and just take the Box!" Wolfram exclaimed. Murata stared at him in disbelief.
Yuri thought about and nodded. "Okay, we can try that," he agreed. Murata put a hand to his forehead and groaned quietly.
"We don't even know if the Box is in the palace," he tried to reason.
"Where else would it be?" Wolfram snorted.
"If it's not at the palace, then at least we'll know that much," Yuri said, in that horribly reasonable way. "That'll be a start. Maybe there isn't really a Box in this country at all, and everyone is mistaken. If we can find that out, it'll be a real plus. And as long as we don't get caught, Mister Fan-fan can keep doing his thing too."
"Yes, as long as we don't get caught," Murata said, trying to shame Yuri with his eyes and completely failing.
"It's not like they have much in the way of security," Wolfram said. "I watched as they locked up the place as we were leaving. It'll be child's play."
"Francia's a nice, peaceful place," Yuri agreed. "We have to make sure no one gets hurt because of the Box. Now, should we go downstairs... or out the window?"
~.~.~
I remembered way, way late that Heathcrife has actually used a sword enough to have definite callouses, which Conrart notes when they first meet him. Something about him just seems to non-action-y. So... uh, sorry.