Chapter 40

Before heading down to the domain, Mattheus had submitted the paperwork needed for Harold's visit to the academy. Without Mattheus, Harold wouldn't even have known such paperwork existed.

Then again, the Bertholdt family was among the academy's biggest donors. Paperwork or no paperwork, they weren't going to turn Harold away at the door.

Of course, the reason his brother had donated so much to the academy wasn't out of any genuine wish to advance culture and the arts. Albrecht hadn't neglected scholarship. But instead of the academy, where donations could quietly disappear without a trace, he'd preferred to fund vetted individuals or groups directly.

Even so, there was a clear reason Albrecht Bertholdt had funded the Royal Academy of Higher Culture and the Arts.

"It's this one."

The academy's research wing.

Firmly locked, the door of the lab bore a nameplate reading Cecilia Barbosa.

"I think, um, Count Bertholdt probably has the key too..."

"Does he? Sorry, but I don't have the time to go looking for it and come back."

"Which is why I've brought a key. It's a spare... spare key. We haven't opened the lab ourselves."

How much money did it cost to keep the office of a researcher missing for over four years exactly as she'd left it?

You could find out by looking at Albrecht Bertholdt's donation records for the past four years.

"When you're done, um, my— my lab is at the end of the corridor over there. If you could return it there, I'd appreciate it..."

"Understood."

Dietrich handed Harold the key and fled.

He had to know about his brother's death, and if the younger brother had come to check on the lab of the missing countess, he'd probably decided this wasn't something to interrupt.

The young man might have fled, but on the walk over Harold had felt plenty of curious eyes on him. Even now, the whispers hadn't quite died away.

Harold ignored the noise and turned the key.

"..."

Click.

For all the layers of security his brother had wrapped his own body in, his sister-in-law's lab opened with nothing but a single key.

He'd come hoping there might be some clue here, and somehow the whole thing fell flat. Given that his brother had built a hidden compartment for the report, if there had been anything important here, he'd have put in some serious security.

Or rather — however much money had smoothed things over, his brother wouldn't have left evidence sitting in a lab with strangers wandering past.

Still, having come this far, turning around now would be absurd.

The lab was where his sister-in-law had spent the most time. Even if there was nothing to help with the case, there might be something in here that would interest Edgar and Edwin.

"Cough."

The moment Harold stepped into the lab, he broke into a small cough.

Even the slight motion of opening and closing the door raised dust. Dietrich's claim that no one had opened the lab was believable. If anyone had been in and out, dust wouldn't be flying up like this. For all the money his brother had put into keeping the lab going, it seemed he hadn't actually visited.

Harold drew the curtains back. Dust piled on the fabric came showering down. Once the blackout curtains were open, sunlight poured in. And in that light, the state of the lab was revealed.

Harold remembered this lab.

He wasn't much for research himself, but as family he'd visited a few times. His sister-in-law hadn't been as tidy by nature as his brother, but at least whatever was within reach she'd kept clean.

Since he hadn't come often, the difference jumped out at him right away.

"...My brother's been here."

Harold revised his thinking.

His brother hadn't stayed away. He'd already come and turned everything over. From the desk his sister-in-law had used to the shelves of reference materials.

He'd combed through the lab, checked, and checked again.

The state of the lab was proof of it.

Harold could almost feel his brother's desperation in it — a man who wouldn't let go of hope until the very end. Even while searching his wife's lab for any scrap of a clue, he'd refused to disturb a space her hands had touched.

But in the end he must have left the lab still unwilling to accept that there was nothing here. Books stacked on the floor rather than properly shelved bore witness to his brother's hesitation.

His brother had kept this lab going to the end.

He'd felt no need to come back here again, and he had never recovered from his wife's disappearance enough to visit.

"..."

Harold started with the papers on the desk. The rushed handwriting wasn't the sort meant for anyone else to read. Requests for additional funding, staff hires...

It felt as though time had simply stopped.

Harold went through them carefully, one at a time.

Honestly, no clue in here was going to be simple enough for him to pick out just by looking at it.

He'd come on the off chance, but if he actually wanted to find something here... well. At the very least he'd need Mattheus and Anne. The most promising eye would be Gauss, who'd remembered the Kunakshe from a single signature.

Even if Harold could recognize something, there was too much material in the lab. Even as he leafed through the papers, his eyes rested on his sister-in-law's desk with something like fatigue.

He knew he needed to. That was why he was here in the first place. But on his own, Harold wasn't sure he could get through all of this even if he went a full week without sleep.

Harold opened a drawer. There was a lock on it, but thankfully it opened easily.

The date in the diary inside the drawer had also stopped four years ago. He'd wondered if it was a journal of some kind, but it was closer to a scratchpad of research ideas scribbled down like doodles.

His eyes narrowed on their own. He flipped through the diary, but nothing looked connected to the Kingdom of Barun. Then again, however close the ties between the Kunakshe and Barun, the Kunakshe were fundamentally a nomadic people. The land the kingdom had annexed was only a small fraction of where the Kunakshe roamed.

"...?"

Even so, one line did catch Harold's eye.

Harold traced his sister-in-law's handwriting. The hurried script was hard to make out, but—

Similarities between Kunakshe funerary customs and primitive magic.

Harold recalled the date his brother had begun funding the magic institute. It made more sense that Cecilia's research had been the reason than that Albrecht had funded them just because Edwin had shown an interest.

He'd been planning to speak with the researchers again anyway; he'd ask them then. Harold pocketed his sister-in-law's diary and looked into the drawer again. Beneath the diary lay several letters.

The reason he hadn't brought Anne or Gauss along from the start was, as with the safe, the possibility of something turning up that others shouldn't see.

Harold went through the letters.

Utility bills for the lab, research funding applications...

"This is..."

A letter from the Barbosa family. Antonio Barbosa.

If he remembered right, that was the current head of the Barbosa family. His sister-in-law's cousin.

Cecilia, I hope you're well.

The letter opened with the usual pleasantries. But Harold's face soon twisted.

As you know, we've decided to close the Leibran branch office this time. Most of the staff have agreed to relocate to Bayarid with us, but a few have decided to return to their hometowns.

Since we're closing the branch for our own reasons, and since these are people we've worked with for a long time, I intend to write recommendations for them. I've enclosed a CV; if you're willing, I'd be grateful if you could help find him a position.

He's someone you know, in fact. He helped you during your visit to Leibran for that academic conference some years ago. Adrien Renard — do you remember?

Without finishing the letter, Harold turned straight to the pages behind it. There was a portrait of a red-haired man and a CV. Along with Antonio's letter of recommendation.

He looked up at the ceiling.

The dust drifting through the air seemed to be laughing at him.

Letters really were something to be steered clear of.

---

"So when will it sprout?"

"Let's see. About a week? Growing something isn't a thing to rush. You have to be patient enough to wait."

"Hmm... When it sprouts, do we move it outside?"

"You can plant it out in the garden, or you can move it to a bigger pot and keep it inside."

Linda answered each of the Bertholdt twins' questions calmly, one by one, as they peered into the flowerpot.

She hadn't yet been looking after Count Bertholdt's young sons on Master Grisha's request for a full week. But Linda already had a rough measure of the two of them.

She had meant it when she'd nodded that of course this was how Albrecht Bertholdt's children ought to be. The offhand skill with which they fished for information about her whenever Harold stepped away was quite something.

"Have you grown things at home too?"

Edwin looked up at Linda with innocent eyes.

He was more mercurial than he seemed. Harold seemed to think of Edwin as the easier one compared to Edgar, but to Linda, who'd raised any number of small children in her time, Edwin was much the harder of the two.

The boy who'd smiled sweetly but looked bored through her explanation of planting the seeds was now, having found something that pleased him, thoroughly enjoying himself.

What was going on inside that small head?

Linda met Edwin's eyes and smiled.

"Of course."

"At the ducal house?"

"That would follow, yes. But I'm originally from House Reichnek. Young Master Edwin, have you heard of the Reichnek domain?"

Edwin's eyes narrowed.

But only for a moment. Edwin broke into a grin.

"I know it's to the east."

"Yes. The Reichnek domain has orchards. So this Linda knows fruit very well indeed."

An entertaining young master.

"Really? But doesn't the Reichnek domain grow grapes?"

"That's true now. The Marquis said they were too much work and cleared them out."

"Our domain has pastures!"

"So I've heard."

Even without the memories tied to the Bertholdt brothers, taking Master Grisha up on his request had been the right call.

But it wasn't only about interest or amusement. From Albrecht's death to Harold's return to the capital was a month. The butler meant to be looking after the children had abused them instead.

Grisha had said the children had held up better than expected, but they were children all the same. She didn't think Harold would neglect them, but if she could help, she genuinely wanted to.

Then again, it had been twenty years since Linda first met Harold. The boy who used to yawn with a bored look on his face except when he had a sword in his hand, now raising his nephews.

That was what time did to you.

"Now then, off to wash your hands. It's time for lunch."

Linda spoke, checking the time. It wasn't only the young masters who were caked in dirt.

The hem of Linda's own skirt was a mess. The children hadn't even been horsing around; she couldn't quite see how it had happened.

"Yes! What are we having today?"

"Is there something you'd like?"

"Hmm..."

Edwin tilted his head to think, then looked over at Edgar.

"Edgar, is there anything you— Edgar?"

Edwin's voice picked up a note of worry. Linda turned to look. Edgar, who'd been engaged with the potting earlier, was now sitting with a deflated face, clutching the bear tightly.

"Young Master Edgar?"

"..."

"Edgar, do you feel sick?"

"..."

Edgar kept his mouth shut and shook his head.

Edwin let out a big sigh, took Edgar's face in his hands, and made him look at him. Edgar lifted his head with a show of reluctance.

"Missing Uncle?"

"..."

After a long hesitation, Edgar nodded.

Because Edwin was always smiling and flinging himself into people's arms without a second thought, it would be easy to think of him as the more clingy one. But after just these few days of watching them, Linda had concluded the clingier one was actually Edgar.

Whether you could really call it clinging was another question. Both of them were remarkably grown-up for their age.

But they were still small. Still very small. Even Grisha, who was reasonably smooth these days, at that age had ducked behind the Duchess's skirt and thrown a tantrum whenever he couldn't get the sweet he wanted.

"Uncle promised he'd be back by evening."

"But..."

"But?"

Edgar bit his lip and his voice cracked.

"...Dad said he was coming too, and he didn't."