Chapter 17

The people from the western magic institute arrived when preparations for the move were in full swing.

It was the last reply Harold had been waiting for.

To dodge the two boys tearing energetically around the Archibald estate, Harold received the researchers at Mattheus's office.

"Victoria Hill. This is my student, Benito Vogel."

For Harold, who'd been expecting a delicate-looking, studious researcher, the choice was unexpected.

Victoria Hill's neatly pinned-up brown hair was near white. Her gold-framed glasses did nothing to soften her sharp eyes, nor did the stubborn set of her mouth.

Her student, Benito Vogel, on the other hand, was a young man who gave the impression of a petal drifting on a spring day. It might have been the slight curl at the corners of his mouth. Or it might have been the well-tailored suit that fit him neatly, unlike his teacher's dark grey dress buttoned to the throat.

Either way, they were nothing like the magic researchers Harold had met before.

Most had frail-looking builds, like they'd topple over at a nudge. From bending over old books at a desk out of the sun, their faces were always pale, too.

"Pleased to meet you. Harold Bertholdt."

Unexpected didn't mean bad.

Given the letter from the western institute, he probably should have anticipated it.

"As you know, I'm currently acting in the vacant Count Bertholdt title."

"We heard about Count Albrecht. Our condolences."

Victoria said it flatly.

Her face was hardly different from when she'd introduced herself. Whether she meant it or was only being polite, Harold couldn't tell — but at least she had the decency not to bring up funding the moment they sat down.

The conversation paused briefly.

Harold looked at the two of them. Master and student were such opposites that it made them harder to read, if anything.

But what Harold wanted from them was clear, and what they wanted from Harold was just as clear.

"As I wrote in the letter, the magic on my brother needs to be released."

"We've come prepared."

"When can you start?"

"If necessary, we can begin at once."

Victoria answered without moving.

It felt less like sitting across from a researcher than from a seasoned old knight. The opposite of the impression the letter had given. Then again, the letter had arrived in the name of the western magic institute, not Victoria Hill.

Well, this was easier for Harold to deal with than the sort who padded things out with jargon and talked in circles when a plain answer would do.

"Does it take long?"

"No. It varies with conditions, but at most it won't take more than an hour."

"..."

While waiting for the researchers to arrive, Harold hadn't been idle.

He'd secured a trustworthy examiner, arranged the date, and kept in touch with both Anne and Gauss Manfred.

They could start whenever.

But Harold was still seated on Mattheus's old sofa, facing the researchers.

There were things he needed to check.

"Did my brother tell you why he arranged that magic on himself?"

Harold didn't know the specifics of the magic.

But his brother had noted in the will that he'd arranged things so only Harold could confirm. Anne had said even she couldn't approach. He'd heard that moving his brother's body to Lily Manor had been quite the ordeal.

A month since the accident, nearly two months now, and his brother's body showed no sign of decay. Even given the weather.

That was the magic his brother had asked for. As if he'd expected to be murdered.

The will was the same. It carried too much weight to be a will drawn up against ordinary accidents.

Benito glanced sidelong at his teacher. Without so much as looking at her student, Victoria answered evenly.

"We aren't privy to the details either. But I remember the Count saying it was best to prepare for every possibility."

"...And the one who cast it?"

"Yes. Myself and my student."

Harold thought.

There was what Anne had told him, and Mattheus's office still had every record of his brother's funding of the institute.

As the arrangement was a funding one, the western institute sent regular reports. Harold's brother might have made sense of them, but Harold hadn't understood half of what was in them.

The other half he had. His brother had asked for magic built to specific requirements, cost be damned. Magic that no one could approach unless they met a condition. Magic that kept a thing from spoiling.

The reports didn't say why, but the fact that the magic had been cast on his brother meant his brother hadn't hidden his purpose.

Why had his brother prepared so thoroughly for his own death?

Why had the Director of Intelligence, of all people, expected he wouldn't be able to prevent his own death?

"What kind of magic, exactly?"

Victoria narrowed her eyes slightly. Harold's lips twisted a little.

He'd found the first impression unexpected, but underneath it, she wasn't so different from the other magic researchers Harold had dealt with.

He was the one holding the knife by the handle, though.

"Our institute researches time magic in the first place."

"..."

"...Have you heard of the preservation magic sometimes used at investigation scenes?"

"I've heard of it."

"That's the magic our institute owns."

Harold looked at Victoria. No further explanation came.

Harold spoke slowly.

"And how is it different from the magic our family owns?"

"The difference is that the target is a space or an object."

"..."

"..."

If Harold didn't ask or react, no words came back.

He couldn't read people and steer them the way his brother had. But Harold had his own knack for taking someone's measure, and he wasn't dense enough to miss this subtle bit of posturing.

What was so special about magic. Whatever people felt about a long-dead field was just respect for old things. He didn't want to belittle the people who studied it, but on his end, a family member's death was on the line.

He didn't want to stoop to petty tactics, but he couldn't back down either.

"..."

Harold looked at the papers on the table. Victoria and Benito, who'd been watching him from across the sofa, naturally followed his eyes.

The papers were the record of Albrecht's funding of the western magic institute.

Mattheus had deliberately laid them out when he'd heard the researchers had arrived.

Harold had wondered if it was necessary, but there was no beating experience. The moment the words funding record on the cover came into view, he saw Victoria's hand tremble slightly.

Nothing had changed. Harold still held what they desperately wanted.

Whether she'd picked up on Harold's mood or not, Victoria showed her first sign of unease. Benito glanced at his teacher's face and stepped in for her. The desperation of not being able to lose their top backer came through plainly.

"O — originally it works only within a defined space. Think of a room no one has used for a long time. If no one goes in or out, the room stays as it was, doesn't it?"

Harold accepted the surrender gladly.

"That's right."

"The closest way to put it would be 'freezing' that state in place. Not even letting dust settle."

Benito carried on carefully.

"But if someone goes in and moves things, it does change."

"You mean it stops them from moving things?"

"It doesn't have that kind of force to it. Our magic, at least."

Then wasn't it a fairly useless magic?

That thought must have shown on his face, because Benito smiled awkwardly and added,

"It can prevent changes from weather like rain or snow... and if anything changes inside the space after the magic takes effect, it can be traced!"

"...I can see how that wouldn't be useless at crime scenes. Is the magic on my brother the same?"

Harold had been able to look in on his brother without difficulty.

Victoria, who'd been listening to her student's explanation, nodded slowly and spoke.

"Fundamentally, yes. But what Count Bertholdt requested wasn't a single spell."

"You mean the no-access magic?"

"That included. The trickiest part of the Count's request was that the magic had to activate at the moment of death."

Not something he'd anticipated, but he wasn't surprised either.

Harold wanted to swear at the top of his lungs one moment and clutch his head and howl the next.

Whatever the cause of Albrecht Bertholdt's death had been, his brother had been preparing for it.

Harold's spinning thoughts came back to the journal in the safe. His brother's journal, packed with cipher.

If you were going to leave something behind, you should have left it in a form someone could read. You should have made it easier to follow. It would have been nice if you'd said clearly what needed to be done.

No. You shouldn't have died at all.

If you were prepared for death, you should have found some way to survive.

"...Lord Bertholdt?"

However blinded by money they were, they had to have known long before now that Albrecht's requests were suspicious. All the more so if he'd ended up dead.

Harold clenched his jaw.

"What about the no-access magic?"

"That one you're already familiar with, Lord Bertholdt."

The magic researchers' voices had quieted a good deal, as if it had finally hit them that the knight in front of them wasn't a new patron but the bereaved.

"It's the magic used on family safes. Not as ironclad as the older versions, but there won't be many who would harm the deceased."

Benito swallowed.

"...Unless the release procedure is followed, the magic can't be broken without damaging what's beneath it."

He wanted to gather the boys up and head down to the domain right now.

His brother wouldn't hold it against him.

But Harold had to know. Why his brother had died.

Only then could he keep what family remained safe.

Harold lowered his eyes. The funding record came into view again.

His brother's funding had gone on for several years, and the amounts were no small change.

"Which magic does the Bertholdt family own?"

"The magic that keeps a body from being damaged upon death."

"In exchange for the funding?"

"Yes."

Victoria affirmed it with a calm face, but her voice trembled a little.

Was she the type to disapprove of the funding coming with strings attached?

Harold didn't dwell on it. He hadn't yet decided whether to continue the funding.

There'd be time enough to think it over after his brother was properly laid to rest.

When had the funding started? Had his brother been preparing for death from that point on?

"How many years did it take to develop this magic?"

Harold leafed through the funding record. The date of the first payment was —

"About a year. Arranging the spells so they wouldn't interfere with each other took time..."

"A year? Then when did my brother — how do I put this? Have the magic cast?"

"The Count had it set to activate about six months ago. As soon as the magic was complete, we handled it from our end."

Six months ago?

If the magic itself had taken a year to develop, that was a year and a half.

Harold's eyes narrowed. The funding had begun long before that.

"So my brother didn't start the funding for that magic in the first place?"

"N — no. That wasn't it."

Benito waved his hands.

"If I remember right, the request for the magic came about a year in."

"...Then?"

"His son had taken an interest in magic..."