Chapter 15

Edwin had picked up a strange new habit.

"Here."

Edgar scrunched up his face at the fur filling his nose and mouth. But it was so soft that his arms moved on their own, and he ended up hugging the bear.

Edwin gave a smug smile.

"Carry it everywhere."

"That's what little kids do."

"You are a little kid."

"Even when I was actually eight, I didn't carry a stuffed animal around."

"Well, you're going to from now on."

Edgar made a face like he couldn't believe this, but he didn't throw the bear aside.

It was too soft for that. Just the right size to tuck against him, too. Before he knew it he was stroking it absently. On and on...

"Good. Now all we have to do is practice crying."

Edgar snapped back to himself.

"I'm not going to cry."

"It's okay. That's what the bear is for."

Edwin said it shamelessly.

"Just do like last time — bury your face in the bear and sniffle. Uncle will take care of the rest. You don't even need to explain anything. The grown-ups will fill in the blanks themselves."

Edgar wanted to argue but couldn't come up with anything to argue with.

He glared at his brother, seething. Edwin didn't even pretend to flinch.

"I keep telling you."

If anything, his smile turned haughty.

"Until Adrien gets caught, we can use him as our excuse for everything. It's the magic word."

"A magic word that lame is not much use."

"Ugh. You have no sense of romance."

Edwin let out an exaggerated sigh. Edgar felt his mood sour for no clear reason and swallowed the retort.

He kept forgetting the twin in front of him was eight. You couldn't stoop to fight an eight-year-old on their level. His body might have gone back to eight, but whatever the outside said, inside he was an adult.

He was the one who had to be the grown-up here.

Oblivious to whatever was going on in Edgar's head, Edwin sprawled out on the child-sized sofa reading. The cover was full of bright, colorful illustrations. A picture book Anne had given him.

Watching him, Edgar felt the fight go out of him.

Maybe Edwin had a point. Inside or not, Edgar right now really was an eight-year-old kid.

He couldn't stay up late like an adult. He couldn't reach the books on the top shelf. His uncle scooped him up whenever he pleased.

Their uncle could scoop up both nephews with less effort than it took Edgar to hold the bear.

Ever since they'd slipped out to the Bertholdt estate, security had tightened even further. Moving around directly, the way Edgar had originally planned, was close to impossible now. Doing what Edwin said — clutching the bear and pretending to cry — really might be faster.

Actually, it had been faster. Back at the estate, when his uncle had cornered him and he'd been short on answers, faking tears had smoothed everything over.

Was it really this easy?

Not seeing through it and letting it slide, but actually falling for it?

But watching Harold flounder the whole time since they'd been back at the Archibald estate, Edgar had to accept this was really how things were.

"You overthink everything."

Edwin said as he flipped through the picture book.

"Dad said so too. That Uncle's a little slow but you can count on him."

"...Dad said that?"

Edwin lowered the book a little and looked at Edgar. His blue eyes blinked, then smiled.

"For you it's been such a long time you don't remember, huh. But he did. He said Uncle was a good man, and if anything ever happened we should stay by his side."

Edgar hugged the bear, his face falling.

"I wish I'd remembered."

"It's all Adrien's fault."

"..."

"Adrien's the one who did wrong. Edgar, you didn't do anything wrong."

Edgar knew this was true, but coming right after being told that blaming Adrien fixed everything, it left him with a strange feeling.

Even so, he didn't want to pass his gloom on to his younger brother, and Edgar changed the subject.

"When are they going to catch Adrien?"

"Who knows... but seeing how busy Uncle's been lately, don't you think they've figured something out? Günter came, too."

Right. Günter Bleiss.

The old manor's caretaker coming up to the capital had been unexpected even for Edgar. Last time around, he hadn't left the country estate.

Edgar had no trouble guessing why.

"It's probably because we said we didn't want to go to the country estate."

After Albrecht Bertholdt's death, there'd have been gaps in the running of the country estate. With his uncle and them not going down, someone couldn't just leave it as it was, so it made sense for Günter to come up.

Remembering the day he'd met Günter, Edgar glared at Edwin again. He'd told him and told him to just sit still, and Edwin hadn't helped once! Just chattered about puppies!

He'd thought he was finally going to get some useful information out of it, whatever it took.

"Why are you glaring at me now?"

Edwin caught Edgar's look and pouted, grumbling.

"I said we were going to feel him out about how the other stuff was going. And you just went on about that stupid puppy."

"Nabi is important."

Edwin's face went serious.

Seeing that face again drained Edgar's energy. The brother in front of him was eight. He reminded himself, again.

"Puppies are the best."

"..."

"Nabi's cute. Edgar, let's go tell Uncle to bring Nabi. If you hug the bear and sniffle, he'll bring Nabi right over."

"Don't tell me to do it, you do it!"

"Nah. I can cry just fine without a bear."

Edwin stuck his tongue out annoyingly.

Well, he couldn't hit him.

Instead of glaring, Edgar edged closer to Edwin. Without a word, Edwin shifted to make room. Edgar lay down beside him.

The children's sofa wasn't large. But if you squeezed in together, there was just enough room to lie down.

Resting his head on Edwin's shoulder, Edgar looked at the picture book Edwin was reading.

He had no idea how old Anne thought they were. There wasn't much text in the picture book. Mostly pictures.

Edgar's hair must have tickled Edwin's nose — Edwin scrunched it up before turning the page.

"You're reading it again? Aren't you sick of it?"

"The pictures are pretty."

"Are you reading, or looking at the pictures..."

"I can do both."

Edwin giggled and flipped to the next page. Edgar kneaded the bear in his arms. Several pins were stuck into the back of its neck.

"Dad..."

Edgar bit his lip. For Edgar it had been over ten years ago, but for Edwin it had only been a month and change.

Was it still too soon to speak of their father's death? When Edgar had really been eight, he and Edwin hadn't been able to accept their father's death easily. For a long time after the funeral, they'd had nightmares.

The country estate... going down to the country estate might have helped. Being far from the capital, away from the things their father had left behind.

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

To Edgar, the Bertholdt domain was the land that had killed his uncle.

But maybe it was different for Edwin. Maybe he wanted to get away from the land where their father had died. What if his younger brother had held back only because Edgar had said he didn't want to go?

"Mm. No."

But Edwin answered calmly, still looking at the picture book.

"Anywhere is fine as long as I've got you, Edgar."

"But..."

"Really? Isn't this your home?"

"What?"

"But look here. Mom and Dad and big sister and little brother. They're all here. Your favorite toy is here, and the sweet cookies Mom baked."

Edwin recited the story without turning the page.

Familiar lines.

Edgar could recite them, too. It was the picture book Edwin was reading.

The story of a daisy in a flowerpot telling stories to a child who couldn't settle into their new house.

"This is our home."

Edwin skipped straight to the last page. There was a picture of the child laughing with the family in their new home.

"Isn't it, Edgar?"

"...As long as I've got you, Edwin, I'm fine."

"What about Uncle?"

"Uncle too..."

Edwin smiled brightly.

When Edgar said nothing more and only held the bear, Edwin went back to the first page.

Flip, flip. The sound of the paper turning.

"Why is this book important, I wonder?"

Edgar, who'd been staring blankly at the pictures, murmured it.

Edwin's hand stopped mid-turn.

"Dad wouldn't just leave a book behind for no reason."

Edgar felt around the back of the bear's neck.

His fingers dug into the stitching where head met body. It was already unpicked; it wasn't hard. The pins in the bear were there to keep the fabric from splitting open further.

Edgar pulled a small, tightly rolled piece of paper from among the stuffing.

They'd taken it when he and Edwin had snuck into the Bertholdt estate. Their uncle had come back later and brought over things they'd asked for, but this one Edgar had gone straight for and pocketed first. Hiding it in the bear had been Edwin's idea.

Edgar unrolled the paper. The familiar hand that had still been all over the estate fifteen years later was there on the paper. Albrecht Bertholdt's handwriting, the kind more like a drawing than writing, that Edgar had never once managed to imitate no matter how hard he tried.

"You didn't see it last time, Edgar?"

Edgar nodded at Edwin's question.

"Back then... I'd forgotten. Dad had said to look at it later."

By the time he'd remembered those words, it was already too late. He'd torn the playroom apart, but he couldn't find his father's note.

The note his father had given him two days before he died.

Which was maybe why Edgar had been hoping the note would say something incredible.

Albrecht Bertholdt's death had been ruled an accident. The rumors around it were a mystery to Edgar too, unsolved. Whether it had really been an accident, he didn't know.

So he'd hoped that at the very least it would say something related to that, or if not, something important.

No, actually — an ordinary message would have been fine too. I love you would have been fine, or even sleep well. He'd only wanted to know what his father had said to him last.

"But I don't understand what it means."

"They're titles of books, aren't they?"

"That's what I mean!"

However many times he looked, the writing on the paper didn't change.

At the very top was the picture book Anne had given them. Actually, it was the book Edwin had wheedled out of Anne, complaining he was bored. So Edgar had guessed the rest were book titles too.

Fairy tales. Novels. An old book Edgar had barely managed to remember. Half the titles were in foreign languages Edgar couldn't even read.

"...If we ask Uncle, will he buy them?"

Edwin's expression turned odd.

"You'd have to learn a foreign language first to read them."

"Translations?"

Edwin chuckled and took the paper out of Edgar's hand, rolling it up.

"If a translation would have done, Dad wouldn't have written it in a foreign language on purpose."

"I guess not..."

Edwin pushed the paper back into the bear. He tucked the stuffing so it wouldn't poke out and slipped the pins back in.

Edgar sighed.

"Hey, Edwin."

"Yeah?"

"Dad..."

Edgar broke off at the sound of footsteps down the hallway. They were coming closer.

Edwin was smothering a laugh again.

The excited footsteps stopped in front of the door. After a moment they heard a voice trying carefully to soften itself.

"Edgar, Edwin. Are you two in there?"

"Yes, Uncle!"

Edwin answered loudly.

Harold came in. When he saw the two nephews tangled together on the sofa like a pair of kittens, the muscles in his face went soft.

Something about the look flustered Edgar, and he shot upright.

"What is it, Uncle?"

"Ah, um. Boys, we — uh..."

Harold bent his knees and lowered himself.

It was a new habit their uncle had developed. Edgar wondered if he even realized it.

Even with his knees on the floor, Harold was still taller than Edgar. He tipped forward naturally to bring their eyes level and gave a gentle smile.

"How about we move into a new house?"