Chapter 12

Harold had never in his life seen anything more terrifying.

His vision went white.

He hadn't been this thrown since the news of his brother's death had reached him. And even then, he'd known exactly what to do.

But now?

"..."

Edgar said nothing, only buried his face in the stuffed bear.

There was nowhere to run, and no running from this.

Harold's eyes darted around for help, but there was only Edwin, looking crestfallen, and a watchman working desperately to avoid his gaze.

Cold sweat streamed down him.

"Ed — Edgar?"

Before he knew it, Harold had dropped to his knees.

"Uncle's sorry."

What he'd done wrong, what exactly he was apologizing for — even as he said it, he didn't know.

But how to soothe a crying child was something Harold had never once had to figure out in his life.

Send him across the continent and back and he'd do it. Ask him to write two years' worth of northern base reports and he'd do that too.

"...Sniff."

Oblivious to his uncle's state of mind, Edgar just clutched the bear tightly and kept sniffling.

Harold barely dared to breathe as he watched him, seized by the absurd fear that even the sound of his own breathing might scare the boy.

"Edgar."

Finally Edwin, unable to watch any longer, stepped in.

Edwin wrapped his arms around his brother. The presence of his twin must have reassured him — Edgar's shoulders eased.

Just seeing those small shoulders so stiff had been agony.

"Let's tell Uncle. Yeah?"

"..."

"Don't cry... Uncle's not going to be mad. Right?"

Harold, half-dazed, only belatedly caught Edwin's pointed look.

"Uncle?"

"Huh? Oh — right. Of course, Edgar. Uncle's not mad. I was just worried."

"See, Edgar."

"...But."

Buried in the bear and his brother, Edgar finally spoke.

Being held by Edwin must have settled him — his voice had steadied considerably.

"Edgar, we won't know unless you say."

"..."

"That's what Dad always said."

"He was saying it to you."

If he was grumbling back at his brother, he'd clearly recovered. Only then did Harold let out the breath he'd been holding.

Edgar scrubbed hard at his eyes. Harold worried the rough motion might scratch the delicate skin, but he didn't want to startle a child who'd only just calmed down, so his fingers only twitched.

"Come on, Edgar. Tell him."

"..."

His mood had lifted, but not enough to talk yet — Edgar shook his head with his face still down.

In the end Edwin spoke for him.

"So, Uncle."

"Y-yes?"

"Edgar doesn't want to go down to the country estate."

The very subject he'd been discussing with Mattheus.

Was that why they'd slipped out of the Archibald estate? Because Edgar didn't want to go, and was afraid his uncle would drag him along anyway?

Harold couldn't tell where to even start setting this right.

"Edgar. If you don't want to go, you don't have to."

"..."

"Well — I mean, it is our estate, so... at some point we will have to go, but —"

Harold stumbled on and then bit his tongue. It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't the moment to say it.

"What Uncle means is, you don't have to live there... Uncle grew up here too, you know?"

"...It's not that I don't like the country estate."

Muffled by the bear's fur, the voice was hard to hear.

But Edgar had spoken.

The boy who couldn't even say he didn't want to go, who'd flinched at the sight of his uncle and burst into tears.

Harold strained every nerve so as not to miss a word.

"But..."

Harold held his breath again. Any sound he made now might scare the boy quiet.

"...This is my home."

What Edgar said next wasn't what he'd expected.

These boys had gone beyond what Harold expected from them, right from the start. From the moment they'd rushed into the arms of an uncle they couldn't possibly remember.

"I... don't want to leave home. Because Dad and I lived here."

"..."

"Even if hard things happen... I want to stay in the house where Dad was."

Locked away by a butler who was supposed to be the most trustworthy person to them, and still Edgar had held out beyond anything you could ask of an eight-year-old.

Was it because he was Albrecht's son?

Or because he was his sister-in-law's son?

"Edgar."

"...I'm sorry for worrying you, Uncle."

The words it's all right wouldn't come out.

"I'm sorry too, Uncle."

The thought crossed his mind that he had no business being an uncle at all, but he pulled himself together. The parenting books he'd hastily scrounged up had said so — sometimes you had to be firm.

They'd been lucky today, but there were still men out there roaming the streets with intentions he didn't understand. At the very least, he had to make sure the boys stopped disappearing without a word.

The moment he'd spotted an unfamiliar shadow in the Bertholdt estate, every worst case he could imagine had gone through his head.

He never wanted to feel that again.

"...If there's ever somewhere you want to go, tell Uncle. Promise?"

"Yes."

"And Uncle also —"

Harold clenched his fist tight and opened it again.

He hadn't imagined Edgar would take it this way — his idea that, after all this, they'd retreat somewhere peaceful, somewhere with no connection to any of it.

Or maybe it was only natural.

These children might not even have accepted yet that their father was dead.

The funeral hadn't been held.

"Uncle's sorry too, for deciding without asking you."

"You haven't done anything wrong, Uncle..."

Even so, his nephew was still a sweet child.

Neither his brother nor his sister-in-law could have been called gentle even out of politeness. How the two of them had produced children this kind was a mystery. A miracle.

"Even so, there are things... that need sorting out, so we won't be able to stay at home for a while."

"We'll keep staying at Count Archibald's?"

Edwin's eyes went wide. Harold shook his head.

"No. I'm going to find another place. I'm actually already looking."

"In the capital?"

"Yeah. In the capital. Close enough that you can come home anytime you want."

Edgar's grip on the bear tightened.

Harold carefully took hold of his hand.

"And once everything is sorted out, we'll come back home."

"..."

"Uncle promises."

Still holding the bear, Edgar nodded.

Whether he was still crying, Harold couldn't tell. But Edgar didn't pull his hand away. If anything, he gripped Harold's tighter.

The desperation in that small grip — more than any child's ought to be — made Harold's chest ache.

He couldn't bring himself to let go, so he stood up and held out his other hand to Edwin. Edwin, as always, gave a bright smile and took his uncle's hand without hesitation.

Holding both his nephews' hands, Harold stood and looked to the doorway. The watchmen had been watching uncle and nephews with moved expressions; they came back to themselves with a start.

"We — we'll go let everyone know your nephews have been found!"

The watchmen practically fled.

He hadn't even given them a look. What was that about? Harold started to shrug and then, feeling the weight in each hand, gave a small smile instead.

At least he seemed to be getting somewhere.

The only thing his brother — a man who'd never once complained or asked for anything — had ever asked him to do. Not that Harold wouldn't have kept the promise anyway.

"For now, let's head back to the Archibalds' —"

Harold looked around the wrecked bedroom.

"...Did you find what you came for?"

"Yes."

"If there's anything else you want to take, go ahead. Uncle will carry it."

"No, we're fine."

Edwin answered gravely, on behalf of Edgar, who was still holding the bear.

"If we think of anything later, we'll tell you."

"..."

"Uncle?"

"Right. Yeah. Just tell me and Uncle will bring it."

Buoyed by the fact that his nephews trusted him, Harold let Edwin lead him back to the Archibald estate.

Shortening his stride to match the boys' gave his big frame a comically hunched shuffle, but even that was a pleasure.

Which was why Harold didn't see it.

That when Edgar quietly lifted his face, there wasn't a trace of wetness at his eyes.

Nor could he see Edwin, watching his brother, mouthing without sound:

See? I told you.

The bright grin on Edwin's face must have gotten under Edgar's skin — Edgar gave his brother a light punch on the shoulder.

"Edgar?"

"N-no, it's nothing, Uncle. Sniff."

His nephew was still sniffling a little, apparently the aftermath of crying. Harold's face pinched with worry.

Edwin, evidently finding it hilarious that his brother's face was clear but he was still sniffling, clapped a hand over his mouth. Edgar, going red in the face, tugged at his uncle's hand.

"Come on, Uncle, let's go back. I'm cold."

"What? Cold? A cold! Your fever! What about the cough?"

Harold belatedly noticed the red spreading over Edgar's face.

"Oh no!"

Harold scooped both nephews up in his arms and took off.

"A doctor! Get a doctor!!"

"Uncle, my cold's all better!"

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Harold decided the cold air had brought back Edgar's just-cured cold, and he called urgently for the doctor.

"He's got no fever, though..."

"..."

Enduring the doctor's hands, Edgar ground his teeth internally. Edwin, who could read that thought right off his brother, was giggling behind the doctor.

While Harold, having been told all Edgar needed was warmth, good food, and plenty of rest, was busy asking whether there really wasn't any medicine to give him —

Edwin poked at Edgar's side and whispered:

"Well? Want to change the plan?"

---

"Edwin."

"Uncle?"

After settling Edgar, who was showing signs of another cold, into bed —

Harold took Edwin out with him, careful not to wake his twin.

Edwin wasn't fond of leaving Edgar's side, but he didn't turn his uncle down.

"Edwin —"

Harold hesitated before asking.

"Do you want to go down to the country estate?"

"Why?"

"No, it's just..."

Harold swallowed.

"You said earlier that Edgar didn't want to go. I was wondering if maybe you did."

"Hmm..."

Edwin tilted his head to one side.

"Not really."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think going to the country estate would be fun, but if Edgar doesn't want to, then no."

Edwin was smiling brightly, as usual.

"Anywhere Edgar and Uncle are is fine with me."

The innocent remark tugged at Harold's chest again.

But there was one more thing he needed to check.

"But Edwin. The Bertholdt estate — home — how did you get in? The men at the front gate said they didn't see you go past."

"Ah."

The bright smile faltered into an awkward one.

Edwin, glancing at his uncle's face, gave a shy little grin.

"There's a hole in the wall."

"...A hole?"

"Edgar and I found it a long time ago, playing in the garden..."

Edwin blinked, all innocence.

"You know the bushes behind the camellia tree?"

"...Yes?"

"Behind them there's a hole, like this."

Harold's mouth fell open dumbly.

He understood which hole Edwin was describing.

"Uncle couldn't fit through! But Edgar and I can."

"Uh — yeah... You went through there?"

"Yes!"

Edwin answered brightly, oblivious to what was going on inside Harold.

The dog hole he'd made as a child, to give Anne a scare — of all the ways for it to come back.

Harold groaned inwardly for a long while, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to explain the hole to Anne.