Chapter 25

"The boys? Are they all right?"

"They must have been badly shaken. Once the tension eased, they fell asleep."

The doctor had prescribed sedatives for both of them.

Even Edgar, who hated taking medicine, had swallowed his without complaint before dropping off. That alone showed how much the shock had cost him.

Only after watching the boys sleep for a long while did Harold come out to speak with Anne. The sight of Edgar sprawled on the floor, and the blood soaking Edwin's arm — both were still hovering in front of him.

Thankfully, however alarming it had looked, the wound wasn't deep. Only when the doctor said that with proper care no scar would remain did Harold breathe a little easier.

Even so, the anger hadn't gone.

Catching the dangerous look on Harold's face, Anne shook her head.

"I understand how you feel, but you could have gone a little easier on him."

"Any easier than that?"

"You call that easy?"

"He's still alive."

"Alive... right. That's you all over, Senior."

She said it, but Anne wasn't really reproaching him.

She shook her head again. Through the window behind her, the sky had gone completely dark. It had been a long day.

While Harold had been looking after the boys, Anne had handled the cleanup. Aware he'd shoved the most tedious part onto her, Harold made a passing show of an apology.

"..."

Judging by Anne's face, that consideration hadn't quite landed.

"Never mind... Thanks to you, the interrogation's been delayed. He has to come to before we can ask him anything."

Fair point.

Harold reflected.

"Keep that in mind going forward."

"I'll try."

"That's not... never mind. Anyway, it was a good thing I sent an official request up to the northern base for cooperation ahead of time. Otherwise you'd have been in real trouble too, Senior."

"Me?"

"I don't know how things worked at the northern base, but the capital's strict about this kind of thing."

Harold snorted.

"I've got no intention of letting go of the man who put his hands on my nephews."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Next time, just leave him able to talk."

"Next time?"

"Best if there isn't one."

Anne added quickly.

He had no urge to take his frustration out on Anne, so Harold leaned back against the sofa, exhausted.

He'd been through worse. But this was a different kind of exhaustion. One more incident like this and his heart wouldn't survive it.

"What Dustin Glenn was after... the safe?"

"Must have been."

Given that he'd gone to the trouble of crawling into the bedroom and drawing blood, that had to be it.

"The safe... you checked it, didn't you? Do you mind if I ask if there was anything in it they'd have been after?"

A family safe was a sensitive subject.

But Harold had been expecting Anne to ask, and he answered without hesitation.

"Just... the usual things. Land deeds, securities, that kind of thing. It would've been simpler if there'd been a secret report like the one Viscount Manfred found."

"Even if they'd stolen something like that, they wouldn't have been able to turn it into cash."

"If money were the point, they'd have taken jewelry or artwork."

And if that had been the case, the investigation would have been far simpler.

Harold almost wished money had been the point. At least then the headaches would have been fewer.

"That's fair. Which means the Count was holding on to something worth all this trouble."

"..."

"Hmm. For now, all we can do is focus the investigation around the report Viscount Manfred turned up..."

Anne murmured, her face grave.

Harold dragged a dry hand down his face. He didn't want to deceive Anne, but he had his reasons.

If Harold had been able to read his brother's journal, he wouldn't be agonizing over this. But he couldn't read it — and because he couldn't read it, he was sure it mattered.

Telling Anne or Gauss about it, though, was another matter.

Harold knew he'd never crack his brother's cipher — not if he lived to be a hundred. To read the journal, he'd need someone else's help.

But... but still.

It wasn't that he was worried about the safety of anyone who'd get pulled in to decode it. Well — he was worried about that, but it wasn't why he'd hidden the journal.

He couldn't say anything because he didn't know what was in it.

What if, as they'd said, it was about corruption in the city watch? What if the target was Intelligence?

Suspecting people was a bad habit. Harold generally tried to think well of people. The one in his life who'd looked at the world sideways had been his own brother.

But that careful, meticulous brother was dead. Harold had young family to protect, and with someone already dead, what was the harm in being cautious?

If that journal held someone's — or something's — dirty secret, someone out there would move heaven and earth to destroy it. Someone bold enough, say, to try to kidnap his nephews right under his nose.

"Senior?"

"..."

"Senior. Are you okay?"

Until Harold found a way, he couldn't let it out.

"...Sorry. Just tired."

Anne nodded, understanding.

"Get some rest, Senior. I can handle the rest."

"That's my brother's line — telling me I'm no help sticking around."

"Hmm, I don't know. Albrecht would have said it more bluntly."

Perhaps thinking Harold's mood had rallied enough for a passing joke, Anne's voice grew a little lighter as well.

Teasing aside, it was true there was nothing left for him to help with, so Harold gave Anne a rough wave and got to his feet.

"I'll be in the boys' room. If anything comes up you need me for, call."

Harold returned to the room where the boys were sleeping.

They were exactly as he'd left them. Curled tight together in one bed, the two of them were adorable and pitiful at the same time.

The two of them had been so grown-up during the doctor's visit, but when it came time for bed they couldn't bear to be apart. Harold had no intention of separating them, so he'd laid them down in the same bed.

Edgar was clutching the stuffed bear he'd let drop earlier as though his life depended on it. Edwin, bandaged arm and all, had a grip on Edgar as he slept. Harold thought about shifting them into more comfortable positions, but he was afraid they'd wake, and let them be.

Instead he drew the fallen blanket carefully back up over them and sat down in the armchair with a clear view of the bed.

He'd told Anne he'd rest, but he had no intention of sleeping.

The moment he took his eyes off them, it felt as though the boys would vanish. He knew that wasn't true, but he couldn't help it.

Still, Harold had something to do.

How long had he sat there watching them? The busy footsteps in the manor began to fade.

The servants had gone to bed, and the watchmen Anne had left behind patrolled the estate, all on edge. Anne, chasing her men to the very last as though she still didn't quite trust them, finally sighed, got into a carriage, and set off somewhere.

Then he waited a while longer.

"..."

Harold stood up.

Creak. The window swung open smoothly.

The boys kept up their even breathing; they didn't stir. Harold glanced back at Edgar and Edwin, hesitated, then swung a leg over the sill and jumped.

Not quite. He caught the ornamental molding on the outside wall and, hanging there, carefully drew the open window shut. In case the cold air made the boys cough.

Once he'd confirmed the two of them were still asleep, Harold climbed the wall to the roof. He avoided the windows where lights still burned and checked, now and then through the hallway windows, for watchmen.

No one noticed him.

Reaching the roof, Harold set off toward the Bertholdt estate. The tiled roof should have creaked under the weight of a large grown man with every step, but strangely there was no sound, no give. He crossed the roof and went down the way he'd come up, gripping the wall's molding, moving fast.

Passing the second floor, he kicked off the wall, changed direction in midair, and caught hold of a long branch of a garden tree stretching over toward the Archibald estate. The branch swayed, and the leaves that had held on despite the cold rustled against one another.

"Hm?"

"What is it?"

"Nothing — a branch moved."

Two watchmen crossing the garden had looked up.

"Wind like this, of course it's moving. Come on, let's head in. It's finally the changing of the guard."

"Just when I thought it was warming up, it went back to winter..."

Harold didn't move again until the watchmen were out of earshot.

Coming down from the tree and clearing the wall was easy.

Security had tightened at the Archibald estate — and even more at the Bertholdt — but slipping past it wasn't hard. He could sketch the Bertholdt estate's layout with his eyes closed. As a boy he'd slipped in and out more times than he could count, dodging his parents.

There was a guard posted outside the bedroom in question too.

It would've been a real problem if the guard had been posted inside, Harold thought, clicking his tongue as he worked the window's latch loose with a thin sliver of metal. Once this business was settled and he moved back into the house, he decided, the first thing he'd do was replace all these worn-out locks.

The reason Harold had come back to his brother's bedroom was simple. Ignoring the fresh red stain on the carpet, he took the dagger he'd brought and cut his own palm.

The blood that fell to the floor faded, as if scattering in water.

In place of the vanished droplets, an old, battered antique safe appeared.

The safe's magic wasn't easily broken. But there was no guarantee people who'd try to use the boys the way they had this time wouldn't come again.

Of course, Harold would do everything he could to keep that from happening... but he wasn't all-powerful, and it didn't hurt to plan ahead. As his brother would have said.

Inside, the safe was exactly as he'd left it. Beneath the paper stamped with the family crest, he took out the journal. The beautiful, artful handwriting was still impossible for him to read — cruelly so.

Harold tucked the journal away and hid the safe again. If anyone ever tried to snatch the boys behind his back, well — the boys could just open the safe and wait for their uncle.

Because Harold would come running for them, whenever.

As silently as he'd entered his brother's bedroom, he made his way back to the boys' side.

"Mmn..."

Even asleep, the way he furrowed his brow and fussed was just like his father.

Harold smiled and, with his brother's journal held against him, sat back down in the chair where he'd been sitting all night.

Sleep didn't come.

---

The kidnapping had put Harold's trip down to the domain completely off the table.

It made no sense to drag the injured boys down to a domain they hadn't wanted to visit in the first place, and he didn't want to leave their side either.

In the end, Harold decided to send the person he trusted most right now. Mattheus.

Intelligence had agreed to provide an escort. Dustin Glenn was being treated under heavy watch, but there was no telling what other tricks might still be waiting in the Bertholdt domain.

"Lord Bertholdt."

"Mattheus?"

Mattheus, due to catch the train down to the Bertholdt domain that afternoon, had come to the Archibald estate in a hurry that morning.

"Grandpa Mattheus!"

"Hello, young masters."

"Grandpa, when you go down to the domain, could you check that Nabi's doing all right?"

"Of course, of course."

Mattheus visibly relaxed at the sight of the boys on their feet again.

But there was no chance Harold would miss the strange tension on his face.

"What is it?"

Harold asked once the boys had gone back to playing.

Mattheus lowered his voice and drew a bundle from his bag, tightly bound with paper twine.

"A package Mr. Bleiss sent has arrived."