Chapter 37

"Uncle, I'll be back."

"Now, young masters. You have to say goodbye."

"...See you later."

"Uncle, when you come back, bring me— cough — some sweets!"

Harold smiled and waved.

Edgar hesitated and gave a small, prim little wave, while Edwin grinned and waved his whole arm hard enough to make the air whoosh.

The difference in temperament couldn't have been more obvious.

Both boys still eyed Linda with suspicion. Or — watching Edwin tug at her skirt and chatter on about what he wanted for a snack and what he wanted for dinner — it was more accurate to say only Edgar did.

For her part, Linda was delighted by the boys' wariness. From where Harold stood, she looked to be egging it on, if anything — saying of course Albrecht's sons ought to be like this.

That alone said Grisha and his brother really had been friends. And Grisha hadn't denied it, either.

Even if Harold didn't know what had made Grisha feel the need for it.

"Lord Bertholdt."

"Mm."

Harold dismounted the horse the royal guard had lent him.

He didn't plan to bring any more people into the manor, but keeping at least one horse might not be a bad idea. He couldn't borrow one from the patrolling royal guard every time, and if the boys got sick or hurt, he might need to move fast.

The tedious side of it — feed, care — he could hand off to the stables at the royal guard's quarters.

With Grisha in the picture, no complaint from the guard was going to reach him. And on top of that—

"Academy graduate?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The guardsman went rigid. Harold clapped him on the shoulder.

"Your face looks familiar. Were we there at the same time?"

"Y-yes, sir! Two years below you!"

"That explains it. I'll be relying on you for a while."

"Take care, sir!"

To join the royal guard or the household guard, you had to graduate from the academy. Any guardsman young enough to be posted to the King's Woods was going to be a junior of his.

If he'd been a wandering knight it might have been different, but Harold was posted to the northern base. They might grumble among themselves behind his back, but they couldn't complain openly.

Once out of the King's Woods, Harold was headed for the 5th District.

The Central Bank's main branch was there.

---

The capital was lively.

Especially the 5th District, where the Central Bank and the head offices of countless companies were clustered — the foot traffic there was staggering.

Carriages moved at practically walking pace, and it was a common enough sight for a passenger to lose patience, press money into the driver's hand, climb down, and walk the rest of the way.

In the mornings newsboys darted through the crowd; at noon, restaurant staff came out smiling to draw office workers to their tables. Come evening, tired workers would spill into the streets and tip back a glass to shake off the day.

Rising over the tangle of streets stood a single tall building.

Before the area had been folded into the capital, this had been the residence of the city's lord. After centuries of renovation upon renovation, it had become a piece of the 5th District's history itself. The Kingdom of Alharn's Central Bank main branch.

For all that it was called a bank, the Central Bank — and its main branch in the capital in particular — handled things beyond ordinary banking. Matters tied to the inheritance of titles, among them. There was a reason his brother's letter — his will, really — had been kept at the bank.

The historical reasons for that were tangled up in countless interests and justifications, but Albrecht had once put it cynically.

Always remember, Harold. However unconnected it might look, if there's money in it, someone will be after it.

There was a great deal of money tied up in the succession of titles.

Just because you have no interest doesn't mean no one does.

In a private room at the back of the bank, Harold listened, half in a fog, to what felt like an endless explanation from the banker.

Still, he forced himself to keep his eyes on the papers.

This was the last legal step tied to his brother's funeral. He couldn't afford to breeze through it.

"The other sections are all in order."

The banker went through the papers one page at a time as he spoke.

At last, the final page.

"Since you're family, Lord Bertholdt, the procedure isn't complicated. You won't need to trouble yourself coming to the main branch after this."

"Mm."

"If you've confirmed everything, please sign here."

Despite what the banker said, Harold made a show of finishing his read-through and slid the pages sideways. Mattheus took what Harold had barely looked at and worked through every page thoroughly.

While Mattheus checked, Harold turned to genuine bank business this time.

"Accounts?"

"I was going to cover that next. As I said, the late Count Bertholdt prepared everything meticulously."

The late Count Bertholdt.

Now that the funeral was over, Albrecht would no longer be called Count Bertholdt.

Until his two nephews came of age, the title of Count Bertholdt would sit empty. Harold might have taken up the role as proxy, but he couldn't exercise a count's rights.

The papers Mattheus was checking dealt with exactly that.

"Each of your nephews has a trust in his name. They can be drawn on once they come of age. The Count said his personal account was to be left to you, Lord Bertholdt, and the Bertholdt family account, of course, can only be accessed by the next Count Bertholdt. Ah — and for the children's monthly upkeep..."

"I don't need it. In the family account— no, open new accounts and put half in each."

"Understood. For your nephews?"

"When they come of— no, when they enroll at the academy."

"The late Count Bertholdt had already made arrangements for their academy enrollment as well."

Harold's hand twitched.

"It's money that isn't needed. Please do it the way I've said."

"Yes, Lord Bertholdt."

"Lord Bertholdt. The documents are all in order."

"I sign here?"

"Here, here, and here — three places in total."

Harold signed where the banker pointed.

He'd come prepared for it, so there was no hesitation. He couldn't spend the rest of his life shaking over his brother's death.

Below Harold's signature, the lawyer Mattheus signed in turn, and the banker pressed the official seal to it.

The original would stay at the bank, but the copies made alongside it went one each to the court, the Bertholdt family, and the family's designated lawyer.

"And, Lord Bertholdt."

The banker finished collecting the papers, then turned to Harold, hesitant.

Only one matter was left.

"Regarding your nephews."

Unlike the count's title, the boys' guardianship had long since been settled.

There were no other living Bertholdts.

Harold wasn't a distant relative but their uncle — of course he became the boys' guardian.

Even so, Harold nodded to Mattheus. Mattheus produced a set of papers he'd prepared in advance and held them out to the banker.

"Lord Bertholdt's will."

This time, the banker checked the documents himself.

"...Is this sufficient for the guardian designation?"

"Yes. If anything happens to me, Grisha Lambert — Marquis Roys — will become guardian to my nephews."

"My apologies, but since there's no familial relation, we'll need to go through a confirmation process with the Marquis."

"I know."

"Any other relatives? The Barbosa family...?"

His sister-in-law's family.

Harold shook his head.

"That family, as things stand — no close relatives either. My sister-in-law's— Countess Bertholdt's parents passed away long ago, and as I understand it, the Barbosa family itself is now headed by the Countess's cousin."

Harold cast back through what he remembered.

Some of it he had known already; some, Mattheus had filled in for him.

The Barbosa family had no domain of its own and had lived off trade. Their base wasn't in Alharn but overseas. Ten-odd years ago, a trading ship had gone down and dealt them a heavy loss; since then, the family's only source of income had been its overseas investments.

Cecilia — his sister-in-law — hadn't been on bad terms with the cousin who'd taken over the family. But with relatives living overseas, contact naturally thinned out. And after his sister-in-law's disappearance, there had been no personal reason left to keep in touch.

"Edgar and Edwin have never even met anyone from that side."

"Understood. Then once we've confirmed with Marquis Roys, we'll seal the will as it stands."

Harold watched as the banker carried his own will away.

Naturally, Harold had no intention of dying. Nor any wish to leave those small children behind.

But then, his brother hadn't meant to die either.

You never knew what could happen. Once it did, it was too late. That was why his brother had prepared for after his own death, too.

The Bertholdt family had no relatives left. This was an age when even close relatives cheated one another. People who'd prey on children with no kin at all — you could find them without half trying.

No need to look far. There was already someone who'd done it. Adrien Renard.

Harold had to prepare for the worst himself. He couldn't throw the boys out into the world with no protection at all.

As things stood, Grisha was the best option.

I should introduce Grisha to the boys properly.

At the very least, it would help if they got used to his face.

Having an adult they could turn to in a pinch would put Harold's mind at ease too.

"Please carry on at your leisure."

The banker gathered up the documents, bowed politely, and left the room.

Only once he could no longer sense the banker did Harold let the tension out of his shoulders. Outside the King's Woods, it was hard to find a room this soundproof and secure.

"When did you say you were leaving for the domain?"

"In three days."

Harold tilted his head back.

Doing work he wasn't used to had left his neck stiff.

"Viscount Manfred said he'd send someone with you again this time, so be careful, Mattheus."

"Don't worry, Lord Bertholdt."

"Günter's successor..."

"Mr. Bleiss was getting on in years, so he'd been training someone with retirement in mind. There wasn't enough time last visit because of the funeral..."

Mattheus cleared his throat and went on.

"I plan to interview him during this trip."

"..."

Harold's eyes narrowed.

He had no plans to leave the capital just yet, but...

"If you look at him and see no problems, bring him up to the capital."

"Would you like to see him yourself, Lord Bertholdt?"

"I ought to see his face at least."

The people at the domain were suspect, too.

He didn't imagine that seeing the man himself would be enough to tell whether he was suspicious or not, but even so, there was a real difference between seeing someone in person and not.

"And the... person who killed Mr. Bleiss?"

"...All I'll say is that the investigation is ongoing."

Whatever Mattheus had read in Harold's expression, he gave an awkward smile and nodded.

"Ahem. Now that the Count's funeral is over, I think we can afford to pay a little more attention to the domain. We might be able to find out why Mr. Bleiss was trying to go to Marberg."

"Don't push yourself. Ah."

Harold looked at Mattheus.

"The paper my sister-in-law was working on right before she disappeared — where is that kept?"

"The Countess's?"

"Yes. I don't think my brother would have packed it away... but I couldn't see it at the estate."

Harold gave a wry smile.

"I thought there might come a time I'd want to show it to the boys."

Mattheus's face turned bitter. The young masters didn't have many things left with which to remember their parents.

"The Count looked after the Countess's things himself, but if it isn't at the estate, I'd expect it would be at the academy. Shall I check?"

"No, no. You'll have enough on your plate with the domain. I'll pay the academy a visit myself — it's been a while."

Harold thought over whether there was anything more he needed to discuss with Mattheus, then gave a sheepish smile.

"Mattheus?"

"Yes."

"Are there any snacks in fashion in the capital lately? Something the boys might like?"