Chapter 124

"Oh, I hardly did anything worth mentioning."

The simple, honest-looking old farmer was flustered by Harold's greeting.

"Still, if the little young masters took a liking to him, that's a fine thing."

Having used the boys as his excuse, Harold couldn't very well skip coming to say hello.

The farmer chattered happily about how, some years back when the twins had visited the domain, he'd let them play with the sheepdog puppies. Hearing that the nephews had enjoyed themselves was fine on its own — but something about it was slightly off.

Edwin had clearly said the puppy he'd named had been raised by a shepherd called Nicola. He couldn't have been mistaken. That name was the one Edwin had given at the time — the one that had set the whole inquiry in motion.

Of course, Edwin had been four then. A child that young couldn't be trusted to remember rightly, and he might well have mixed up which shepherd had actually brought the puppy. He could have meant a different shepherd standing nearby, not this retired one.

"...By any chance."

Harold asked the old man, who was now dreamily going on about how clever and sweet the little young masters had been —

"Have the boys ever met any of the other shepherds?"

"Well... while they were out on their walks, every one of us went to pay our respects, since the little young masters had come all the way down from the capital, so I'd say yes. When someone of your standing visits, you go and pay respects, of course."

Harold gave an inward groan. Out here in the countryside, there were still folk who treated the lord like a king. This old man was one of them.

That was how the old man had lived his life. Harold didn't want to call it a bad thing, and he couldn't openly ask about Nicola Rowell either, so he clenched his teeth.

The shepherds were being gathered soon anyway. Whether the man himself would turn up was another matter.

"I know the boys haven't been down to the domain in a long time, but they remember the visit very fondly."

"They do! That's a relief, that's a relief."

"They've taken to horseback riding lately, too... They just seem to like animals, all of them."

"Children that age tend to. The little young masters are no exception, it seems!"

"One of the two of them will be lord one day, after all. I was thinking of properly introducing them to the shepherds the next time they come down."

The old man nodded heartily along.

"Ah! So that's why the count called the shepherds together. Aye, some of us are rough sorts, so yes, quite right."

"Th— I'm not actually the count."

"They're stubborn and thick-headed, but there's not a bad one among them."

"I'm just standing in for the count..."

"If any of them were the vicious sort, we'd have hauled them in ourselves before the count ever had to lift a finger!"

Harold tried a few more times to clarify that he was only standing in and wasn't the count himself, but there was no correcting the old man.

If anything, saying so seemed to leave the old man thinking Harold hadn't yet come to terms with the deaths in the family, and his eyes grew pitying.

"The count is all the little young masters have. It might not be my place to say so, but I do hope those young ones do well. At their age, they've been through more than grown men ought to bear."

Harold didn't need to prompt him. As he spoke, the emotion seemed to catch up with him, and the old man's eyes brimmed with tears.

"Nothing but good must come to the little young masters from here on out. It has to."

His wishing the boys well was kind — kind, really — but... hmm.

Harold weighed whether to cut him off. The shaking hands and the tears made it plain that the sincerity was real, but it was also a lot to sit through.

He wished the man would circle back to shepherds. How could he steer the conversation there without making it obvious? Intelligence work really wasn't his line. Slipping into a place unseen, making a man disappear — those he could manage. But drawing information out of a target without their catching on was another matter altogether.

Grisha hadn't officially made the offer yet, but if Harold were ever asked to take the directorship at Intelligence, he'd politely turn it down. It wasn't a post you filled on personal trust alone.

"The little young masters take after the old count so much. If only the lady had lived to see them. They looked just like the elder young master last I saw — is that still the way of it?"

Harold couldn't quite work out whom the old man meant, but from context he guessed roughly that he was speaking of the parents and his brother, and gave an awkward smile.

"Still, thank goodness the count came. Our domain doesn't see much trouble as it is, but there's a world of difference between the count being here and not being here!"

Since none of it amounted to anything, Harold just nodded along and watched for a chance to break in.

Edwin's words had stuck with him — he'd thought it might be worth having this conversation after all.

It seemed he'd put too much weight on what a child too young to remember properly had said. Not every child was like his brother. His nephews were bright, sure, but so were plenty of other children.

Of course, Harold would love his nephews whatever sort of children they turned out to be. Still, he wasn't sure he had it in him to raise a miniature Albrecht Bertholdt......

"The little young masters, too. Yes — you were saying they like animals?"

While Harold had been lost in thought, the old farmer had gone on talking. It was a real talent, keeping up so relentlessly without saying anything of substance.

Harold blinked. Only belatedly did he realize the old man was waiting for a reply.

Here was his chance.

"They do. And sheep are our domain's main industry, after all. It's only right the boys take an interest."

"Aye, aye."

Before the old man could launch into another aimless tangent, Harold pressed on.

"So — have all the current shepherds met my nephews?"

"Er... probably not all of them, no."

"You know how it is, the boys are... there've been things in the family. So I want to introduce them, carefully, you understand."

Harold gave a small wave of his hand. Fortunately, the old man understood.

"Shepherd folk are all a bit rough. But there are gentler ones among them, so no cause for worry."

"There hasn't been any trouble among the shepherds, has there? I haven't been down to the domain in a while."

"The count kept a firm hand on that sort of thing."

But not without hesitation.

Harold didn't push, and simply held the old man's gaze steadily. Where before he'd been chattering without pause, the man now swallowed and glanced around uneasily.

"So there was trouble?"

"Nothing serious, mind you..."

"You know I've called the shepherds together. If there's a problem, tell me. I'd rather head off any trouble."

"Well, um."

The old man hesitated, but spoke.

"There was a bit of a fight."

"A fight?"

"You know I worked at the count's ranch, don't you?"

"Mm."

Like most nobles who held domains, the Bertholdt family also ran business ventures — the way the Reichnek family ran a merchant company.

The Bertholdt family's business was hardly on the scale of Reichnek's, of course. There'd been a horse ranch in the old days, one that supplied warhorses to the military, but these days sheep were the whole of it. This retired shepherd, Miles, had worked at the Bertholdt sheep ranch.

"When I was leaving, there was a bit of a squabble over who'd take my place..."

Harold raised an eyebrow.

Working for the Bertholdt family was steady, sure. But even at a modest scale it was a noble family's business, so unlike other shepherding jobs there was paperwork to deal with and a fair share of restrictions on top. And for all that trouble, the pay wasn't especially high.

It wasn't a particularly desirable post. If there'd been a squabble over it, the only reason Harold could imagine was that nobody wanted the job.

"See, there was a fellow already meant to take it, but there was this one who wanted the post something awful, insisting he had to be the one..."

"That post? Isn't it the kind of thing no one wants to be saddled with?"

Miles gave an awkward laugh. Even if it was the truth, hearing it straight from a superior was apparently another thing entirely.

Seeing that Harold didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact, the farmer went on cautiously.

"But the whole thing was already settled... The young fellow was awful stubborn about it, though. Wasn't going to happen either way, seeing as it was decided. And so."

"So there was a fight."

"Well, yes......"

The sour set of his face made it plain the mood had turned quite ugly.

Not an attractive post. Especially not, considering the shepherds the Bertholdt family typically hired tended to be infirm or elderly.

But a young shepherd had gone after that post.

"What's this fellow's name?"

"Sorry?"

"The shepherd who wanted to work at our ranch."

Somehow, Harold had a guess about what the name would be.

"Nicola."

Perhaps he ought to be grateful his guess hadn't been off.

---

That afternoon, the shepherds gathered.

By this point Harold felt a bit worked up, even. The thought that he might finally get to meet 'this' Nicola Rowell had settled in.

He had gone to the shepherd's house the moment he'd arrived in the domain, of course. After the wasted trip to Katelburg, though, his hopes hadn't been high. He'd only watched from a distance. In any case, with Intelligence infiltrated, Nicola would have gotten word just before Harold's arrival in the Bertholdt domain.

Even the woman who claimed to be his relative — Harold had only barely caught the back of her, chatting with a neighbor. Seen from that far off, she looked so thoroughly like a plain country wife that it was all the more disappointing. It was only in feeling that disappointment that Harold realized he'd been expecting something at all.

As for Nicola Rowell himself, out with the flock in the pastures — Harold hadn't so much as glimpsed him. The disappointment soon shifted to anticipation. That was after he'd caught the driver. The man hadn't run when his cover was blown; he'd attacked. Whether he could actually have pulled it off was one question — but wasn't it also as good as saying he wouldn't mind killing them in the process?

So how would the shepherd, thought to be from Barun, come at him?

"Is this everyone?"

"Apologies, young master. One of the shepherds caught a cold and couldn't make it."

"A cold?"

The shepherd who had taken over the ranch post after Miles was the one who spoke. In front of Harold he was clearly holding back, but he couldn't entirely hide his irritation.

The shepherd tapped the side of his right knee. Not bad enough to need crutches, but the trouble with his leg was plain.

"Yes... one of the lambs fell in the river, they said, and he went into the water to get it out."

"......"

"Says he's feeling too poorly to come out."

The shepherd bit off the words.

His eyes narrowed. It wasn't Harold he was displeased with — it was the shepherd he was talking about.

Harold looked over the dozen or so shepherds who had gathered on his summons. Since he hadn't told them why they were being called, they were all watching him nervously.

Harold nodded.

"The young one's a slippery sort... I've no idea if it's really a cold."

The added remark didn't disguise the malice behind it at all. He hadn't been told the name, but he could guess who it was.

Harold kept his expression steady. The man had tried to take an all-but-promised post from a shepherd with a bad leg, so a bit of an earful was only to be expected.

"Who didn't come?"

"That one they call Nicola."

This brazen about it? What sort of interesting stunt was he trying to pull?

Harold laughed, delighted.