Chapter 13

"We got the one who slipped away at the tavern."

Harold looked up from the morning paper.

"Took you longer than I thought."

"We had a bead on him for a while. Waited for him to make contact with the others."

"Anything to show for it?"

"Yes."

Anne wore a sly grin that didn't match her crisp uniform at all.

"Since you dropped in on them, Intelligence has been more forthcoming. I can't share yet, but we're not stuck either."

"You'll dangle that in front of me but not tell me?"

"If you're curious, join the investigation."

Anne smirked.

Harold snorted, folded the paper, and set it on the table.

"If you need my help, ask me straight. Stop going in circles."

"Mm, not yet."

Anne didn't flatly refuse. Harold raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

His refusal to join the investigation still stood. The Anne Archibald he knew wasn't the type to fish like this.

Did that mean the men she was after were that dangerous?

"Weren't you the one saying people would complain?"

"You're still you, though."

Anne said it shamelessly.

"And you said you're still attached to the northern base, right?"

"Mm."

"Then a bit of paperwork and we're fine. No telling how things'll shake out — better to have it ready in advance, right?"

So that was her angle.

Harold looked at her a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

She wasn't wrong. He had two nephews to look after — he couldn't work as recklessly as he used to. The moment Harold gave the nod, Anne broke into a delighted grin and started leafing through the paper he'd set down.

"So what's got you reading the paper, anyway?"

"I read the paper."

"Please."

Anne pulled a bland face and made a flat little sound.

"Nothing in there you'd find interesting..."

She must have already been through it once — she didn't bother really looking and pushed it aside.

"Oh, I heard Edgar and Edwin are getting bored. How's that going?"

Anne had come running to the estate later, once she'd heard about the boys' disappearance. When Harold had confessed about the old dog hole, the look on her face had been hard to describe. If he hadn't been her senior from the academy, she'd have decked him for sure.

Grown-up Anne hadn't thrown a punch, at least. She'd only let out a long sigh.

"The weather's like this, I can't even take them anywhere."

Harold gestured at the window.

Compared to when he'd first arrived in the capital, it had warmed up somewhat, but winter was still fickle.

The sky had been dark since morning, and now snow was coming down.

"You have somewhere you'd take them?"

"Depends how well the watch does its job."

"Oof — we do our job just fine, thank you."

"And smooth cooperation with Intelligence?"

"..."

Harold laughed.

"I'm waiting on a few things. Once those come through, the boys should be able to relax a little more."

"You were going to go down to the country estate, weren't you?"

"Mm..."

The boys wanted to stay in the capital, so he wasn't planning to head down anytime soon.

"I feel bad imposing on your house. I'll let you know once things are settled."

"Sure, Senior. So, um."

"Hm?"

Anne hesitated a moment, then asked carefully.

"...The magic side of things?"

The snow-covered garden was calm. Not a single footprint, and the bare trees had a blanket of snow piled on their gaunt branches.

"Soon."

Harold's face was as still as the snowfield outside.

"They'll be here soon."

---

Harold had sent three letters.

One to the country estate, one to the western magic institute. And one carrying a personal request.

There was no way to rank which was most urgent. He'd handle them in the order the answers, or the people carrying them, arrived.

But Harold had a feeling the reply to the letter Mattheus had delivered would come first. That address was inside the capital.

By the same logic, he'd assumed the country estate's caretaker would be the last to arrive. Physically, the country estate was farthest.

"It's been a long time, sir."

But Harold's prediction turned out wrong.

"Günter?"

"I hurried up here as soon as I got word from Mr. Mattheus."

Günter Bleiss, butler of the old Bertholdt manor in the southern Bertholdt domain, appeared with snow piled thick on his head and shoulders.

Compared to when Harold had seen him last, the middle-aged butler's face carried lines Harold didn't recognize. But the hair swept neatly back from his forehead was black, without a single strand of gray.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Günter bowed the moment he saw Harold.

"Günter."

"The Count spent so much time in the capital that we grew complacent. I should have at least gone up in person to check on the young masters..."

"..."

"If I had, the young masters wouldn't have gone through what they did. I'm sorry, sir."

Was that really true?

Blame was easy when there was a target for it.

The cold, dim room. The heavy lock on the bedroom door.

Ever since the day he'd first held his nephews in his arms, Harold had asked himself the same thing dozens of times a day.

If I'd come sooner.

There were excuses, of course.

But even knowing the road had been blocked by snow, even knowing he'd raced desperately for the capital the moment he heard, it didn't make him feel any better.

The one who deserved the blame wasn't Harold.

Nor Günter. Nor Anne. Wasn't it obvious who was at fault?

"Being fooled by someone who set out to fool you isn't a crime, Günter."

Harold took Günter by the shoulders.

"He was far more thorough than we thought. Even Mattheus was being run around without any way to fight back."

"I'm sorry, Lord Bertholdt."

"I'm not blaming you. If I'd been in the capital I'd have been taken in just the same. I was outside the capital and still ended up taken in."

Harold let out a hollow laugh.

"I wish it hadn't happened, but it did, so what we can do now is limit the damage. And catch that bastard as quickly as possible."

He wasn't just trying to console an old acquaintance. That was the truth.

The Countess had done the hiring herself, and she wouldn't have brought in some nobody.

Which meant the man had fooled his sister-in-law too. How much his brother had picked up on was another question, but the fact that he'd kept the man on meant that, at the start at least, he'd judged him all right.

Anyone who could fool the Count and Countess Bertholdt themselves — no wonder everyone else had been sitting ducks. That wasn't an excuse.

But that was exactly what made the motive impossible to guess at. If someone had gone to that much effort, there had to be an aim. Yet even with the watch and Intelligence both on it, no one had pinned down when the butler had started, or what he'd been after.

"I heard he hasn't been caught yet..."

"Looks like he's not an ordinary man."

A month since Count Bertholdt's death. The only new lead was the three foreign names found on the body.

Nor was there any known link between those three names and Adrien Renard. Anne had said she had something to show for it, but nothing tangible had come of it yet.

"So we need everything on Adrien Renard — anything he said that seemed off... no, anything he said at all. My brother wasn't going down to the country estate much, but he'd have been in contact, right?"

"Yes. I brought it all with me."

"You brought it?"

Günter gestured to the large bag by the door. For a butler's personal luggage, it loomed far too large.

"Business correspondence and documents exchanged with Renard."

Harold blinked.

"More precisely, the papers that went back and forth between the capital and the country estate. Only what came down to us, but there are also some things the Count sent to the country estate for safekeeping."

Günter explained with a look of pride Harold couldn't parse.

He had no idea what there was to feel proud about. But it sounded useful, so Harold nodded, dazed.

"Everything from right after Renard was hired."

"...All of that?"

"Yes."

Günter opened the bag.

Bundles of letters tied with paper string and documents wrapped in thin paper were packed in tightly.

"That's... all still on hand?"

"The Count instructed that all business records be kept for ten years."

"...Sounds exactly like something my brother would say."

"Not all of it. This is only what I judged important and brought myself. I don't know much about investigations, but I know time matters."

Harold looked at the papers in the bag with a face gone pale, while Mattheus, eyes shining, was already pulling letters out and laying them on the floor. Günter began helping him.

"The less important papers will be sent up to the capital in stages. That's how it looks to me — but you'd have to go through them yourself to know for sure."

"...I see."

The pile of documents kept coming. Harold couldn't understand how so much paper had fit in that bag.

He looked, unsettled, from Mattheus to Günter to the papers on the floor.

"..."

He understood the necessity.

The main reason he'd summoned the caretaker to the capital was to go over Adrien Renard's activities.

"...Now?"

"Even starting now, we're short on time."

Mattheus and Günter set to work sorting the documents without exchanging a word.

Harold stood uncertainly between them, and Günter handed him a bundle of letters. Letters signed by Albrecht.

"...Me too?"

"Who else could look through the Count's letters?"

He had a feeling he was going to be stuck here reading letters and nothing else. Harold made a token protest.

"You'll also get a sense of how the country estate is currently being run. Didn't you say you'd be coming down with the young masters?"

"Ah — the boys want to stay in the capital. Being told forcing a change of environment isn't good, I'm planning to see how things go until the funeral."

"Even so, if you're going to teach the young masters about the country estate, you need to know it yourself."

"..."

Harold gave in and opened the first letter.

The papers had been stored chronologically — where he'd been expecting his brother's name, he found his sister-in-law's instead. The letter was about seeking recommendations from acquaintances to fill the position left vacant by the retiring butler.

"...Um, wouldn't you need more people for this?"

He knew it was work that had to be done, but did it have to be him doing it?

Günter set another bundle of letters down in front of Harold.

"They're too sensitive."

"They're just letters."

"Lord Bertholdt, Mr. Bleiss means that to an outsider's eyes, much of it is private family business."

"..."

Then why not just say so?

That thought must have shown on his face — for the first time since arriving at Mattheus's office, Günter broke into a laugh.

"You haven't changed a bit, sir."

"Ahem. People don't change that easily."

Harold cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Günter watched as Harold finally gave in and started reading. What exactly he'd been looking to see in Harold's face was hard to say, but after a long while, he murmured softly.

"Somehow, seeing you, I feel like everything's going to work out."