Chapter 11

"Hey, Edgar."

"Shh."

"This is what you meant by changing the plan?"

"Shh!!"

"Sneaking out?"

"We are not sneaking!"

Edgar snapped as he peered through the crack in the door, watching the hallway.

Edwin wasn't fazed in the least.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just tell Uncle?"

"I told you, we can't!"

Edwin tugged at Edgar's clothes to get his attention. When that turned out to be annoying, Edgar reached behind him and swatted without even looking.

Edwin, apparently taking it for a game, giggled and yanked at Edgar's clothes harder.

"But I don't think Uncle would refuse to listen."

"Who's going to believe I came back from the future, besides you?"

"That's not what I meant."

Confirming the hallway was empty, Edgar slipped carefully out of the room.

Edwin watched him with a worried face, sighed softly, and followed.

"Didn't you see how Uncle was hesitating when you said you didn't want to go down to the country? If you tell him going there makes you think of Mom, he'll totally fold."

Edgar, who'd been checking the next hallway for servants, finally turned around. When their eyes met, Edwin flashed a bright grin.

"It's not that I don't want to go."

"Weren't you the one saying we can't go?"

"Uncle can't go."

Edgar poked his lips out and started walking again. He slipped through empty hallways without hesitation.

He'd been in and out of the Archibald estate his whole life, so he knew the layout well. Avoiding the servants wasn't hard either.

The garden was another matter, though. Men in city watch uniforms stood near the door. It wasn't that Count Archibald used the city watch as his private army. There was a reason.

"Want to go back to the room?"

"No."

The Archibald estate was, at the moment, sheltering two young children who might well be caught up in a criminal case.

Edgar glared at the watchmen a moment, then turned toward a corner of the garden. It was winter and there were no flowers, but the snow-covered bushes were enough to hide a small child.

"Edgaaar. Come on, let's just tell Uncle. Yeah? If we use Adrien as the excuse..."

"They'll dismiss it as some little kid talking!"

"You don't know that."

"They did last time!"

Edgar made his way to the wall on the Bertholdt estate side.

The Bertholdt estate would be guarded by the city watch too, so this was the right way in. Edgar dug through his memory, running his eyes along the wall.

"Last time was last time and this time is this time — that's what you said."

"Shh! Not so loud."

"Your voice is louder."

Edwin grumbled, but did as Edgar asked and dropped his voice.

"If we use Adrien as the excuse, everyone'll take it from there."

"I still want it to be certain."

"Who did you get this stubborn from, anyway?"

"I don't want to hear that from you."

Edgar shot back sharply. But at that very moment, his sulky face brightened. Forgetting to be prickly, Edgar waved Edwin over.

"Here it is."

"A gap in the wall?"

"Uncle said he broke it when he was a kid."

A hole just big enough for one child to squeeze through was hidden behind vines along the wall. Through it, the Bertholdt estate was visible.

Before Edwin could stop him, Edgar wriggled his way into the hole.

"Ugh... Uncle's going to be mad."

"This is all for Uncle's sake."

"That's what Mary always says right before she gives you medicine when you have a cold."

Edgar didn't answer.

Edwin muttered as he followed his brother through the hole.

"My knees hurt. My hands are dirty. Edgar, don't overthink this, just go to Uncle and —"

"You're not going to help me?"

"That's not what I said!"

Edgar took Edwin's hand and pulled him up.

The Bertholdt estate garden was still. The watchmen on guard didn't come inside the wall.

Edgar walked into the house without pausing. Whatever else was true, this was home. Somewhere he knew well enough to walk through with his eyes closed.

"Uncle can't go to the country estate."

"If you cry and beg him not to go, he'll listen —"

"If Uncle goes to the country estate, he'll die."

---

"...What's going on?"

What greeted Harold when he came back to the Archibald estate from Mattheus's office wasn't anything he'd been prepared for.

Not just the Archibald servants but the watchmen Anne had brought over were all running around.

"Aah!"

"...?"

A watchman caught sight of Harold stepping down from the carriage and startled as though the breath had gone out of him.

The sight of the man's face gone pale put Harold on edge for no reason at all. Like someone had told him he was about to be eaten alive.

"L-Lord Bertholdt!"

For all his terrified look, the watchman came scrambling over. He swallowed hard and blurted out —

"Your nephews —!"

"My nephews? Edgar and Edwin? What about them?"

"Th-they're gone!!"

"What?"

Harold's first reaction was to deny it.

Those boys — gone? Was that even possible?

But he pulled himself together fast.

"Any trace of someone coming or going?"

"None that we've found."

"When was the last time anyone saw them?"

"At lunch, apparently!"

Denying it didn't change the fact that the boys were missing.

The watch wasn't staffed entirely with fools, and there was no reason for them to lie about missing children who were actually there. The servants were combing the house too, all with grim faces.

What had happened had happened. Cursing the city watch or the Archibald estate for their incompetence was just wasted time.

Harold wasn't naive. He'd seen more than once how human malice could make the impossible possible. If someone had set their mind to snatching the children, all the watchmen in the world wouldn't have made it hard.

"You've checked the whole house?"

"Going over it again in case the servants missed anything."

This kind of thing was a race against time.

Anger would only get in the way of finding the boys.

"Count Archibald?"

"Someone's been sent. She'll come as soon as she gets word."

"No sign of an intruder, you said..."

Harold stopped mid-sentence.

"Lord Bertholdt?"

The Bertholdt estate had caught the edge of his vision.

Every window was curtained. Even while the watch had been checking the house, it had stayed that way. He'd been told a crime scene had to be preserved as much as possible. You never knew where something would turn up.

Honestly, he wasn't sure closed curtains counted for much in preserving a scene, but Anne had said so, so Harold had agreed. Once things settled, he was planning to have the estate cleared out anyway.

"Lord Bertholdt? What is it?"

Which was why, over the few days he'd been staying at the Archibald estate, he'd grown used to the sight of that gloomy old house, unrecognizable from what he remembered.

"...The curtain."

"Sir?"

One of the Bertholdt estate's windows had its curtain drawn back.

Which part of the house did that window belong to?

Not his brother's bedroom or the study. But it was on the family's side of the house. Harold's own room, still in the estate, was in that area too.

But if it looked out over the garden, it wasn't his room —

"Lord Bertholdt!"

Harold moved without thinking further.

That was where the children's room was. Not the playroom where Adrien Renard had locked the boys up, but their actual bedroom.

He caught it only for a moment, but a shadow had shifted at the window. Someone was inside. How they'd slipped past the watchmen at the front and back gates, he didn't know, but for someone to be sneaking into the estate at exactly the moment the boys had gone missing —

It couldn't be a coincidence.

Harold crossed the garden in a single stretch and made for the house. The watchmen scrambled after him.

Once he was inside, the odd sense of someone else in the house grew stronger. Harold gritted his teeth and ran up the stairs. Voices, faint. More than one.

Was it them? The ones on the list in his brother's report?

Or Adrien Renard?

The man had had the gall to walk into Lily Manor and claim he'd come to view the Count's body — he might well be reckoning the Bertholdt estate an easy target.

The nerve.

The watchmen were still climbing the stairs — maybe Harold could throw the first punch and claim he'd been attacked?

First things first — take a look at the man's face.

Harold reared back to kick the door in —

"Edwin, quit messing around!"

"Why! I like this pajama shirt."

"You can take it out later, come on."

Harold yanked his leg back mid-swing and only just caught his balance, hopping on the other foot. His eyes went wide.

"Dad put the thing he gave me in here somewhere..."

"Oh! Haven't seen this in a while. Edgar, do you remember this?"

"Edwin, help me look, would you!"

"I don't really remember either."

In the short stretch between hearing the news at the carriage and reaching this door, what hadn't gone through Harold's head?

The boys, oblivious to their uncle's state of mind, were chatting away.

At least it wasn't the worst Harold had been bracing himself for. Why they were here was another question, but still.

"Dad had that thing he told me to look at later, remember? Back when —"

"Edgar, shh."

"Hm?"

The rustling in the room stopped abruptly.

The watchmen, seeing Harold halted at the door, approached carefully — but the sharp-eared boy inside had clearly caught their footsteps.

Harold waved a hand to signal it was fine. The watchmen, who hadn't heard the children's voices, looked baffled, but seeing Harold ease off, they relaxed a little.

"Ahem."

Harold cleared his throat.

"Edgar. Edwin."

"..."

"It's your uncle. I know you're in there. Can Uncle open the door?"

The watchmen's eyes went round.

Harold waited quietly. There was more rustling, then the door cracked open.

A pair of anxious blue eyes met his.

"Edwin?"

"It's Edgar."

"...Sorry, Edgar."

"Actually, it's Edwin."

Edwin opened the door.

The room was a mess. If it hadn't been for the children, Harold would have taken it for the same crew that had wrecked the study and bedroom. The pillows that should have been arranged on the bed were on the floor, and every book had been dragged off the shelves.

The rest was no different. The moment Harold stepped inside, a stuffed bear went skidding out from under his foot. He picked it up. Edgar's name was embroidered on its belly.

"Edgar?"

"..."

Edgar, holding what looked like a heavy encyclopedia, startled at the sound of his name and looked away.

Harold took the book — too heavy for a child — out of his hands and set the bear in them instead. At the touch of the soft fur, Edgar hugged the bear reflexively.

"You can't just take off without telling anyone. Everyone was worried."

"..."

"Was there something at home you wanted? If you'd told Uncle, I'd have brought it for you."

Edgar hung his head, apparently thinking he was about to be scolded. Harold had no such intention.

The children's conversation had mentioned their father.

If these poor boys had wanted to fetch something their father had given them — and if they'd felt they couldn't ask their uncle for it — that was Harold's fault.

"Edgar. Uncle's not scolding you."

"..."

"I was worried, that's all. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Edgar's shoulders shook. Harold stopped the hand he'd been reaching out.

"...Sniff."

There was wetness in the sound.

Harold looked around, thrown. The watchmen at the doorway looked away.

"Sniff."

It was clearer this time.

Edgar rubbed at his eyes hard with the back of his hand.