Chapter 52

"...Hey, Edgar."

Edgar looked up.

"Doesn't Uncle seem a little off today?"

"..."

"A little... a little off."

Unusually for him, Edwin was hesitating.

Any other day Edgar would have snapped at him for it, but today was different. Edgar knew exactly what Edwin meant.

"Edgar..."

When Edwin started whining, Edgar finally set his book down beside him. It had only been open in his lap — he hadn't actually been reading.

Taking the cue, Edwin brightened, ran over, and plopped down next to him.

"There's something off with Uncle, right? It's not just me?"

"..."

"You think so too, don't you!"

Edgar looked away. Linda had said the sunshine was nice and had shooed the twins out into the garden. Little kids needed sun to grow properly, or something like that.

Telling her that people weren't plants got him nowhere. Still, once he'd settled onto the garden bench with a book, his mood lifted despite himself, and while Edwin ran off to the swing, he opened it up.

Not that a single word registered — something at the edge of his vision was pulling too hard at his attention.

"..."

Was sending them out to the garden Linda's silent nudge to deal with that?

It was a lot to ask of a kid. But given how Uncle had been lately, he could see why. Honestly, part of Edgar believed that if he took a fall in front of Uncle, Uncle would snap out of it.

Not that he actually planned to. Given the fuss Uncle had made when Edwin fell...

"Edgaaaar."

Edwin drew out the syllables.

Edgar looked toward the front door. From the garden bench where he and Edwin were sitting, you could just barely see him — Uncle, on the front steps, glaring at the empty air.

"...I've never seen Uncle like that either."

Uncle was...

He couldn't tell.

He looked angry, sort of. He looked sad, too. And also like he'd just sunk deep into his own head...

Since he couldn't figure out why Uncle was like that, he couldn't guess what Uncle was thinking either.

"You've never seen it before either?"

It hadn't been long since he'd started living with Uncle.

Even counting the time Edwin didn't remember — in his last life, Edgar had only spent four years with Uncle.

In that short stretch, Uncle's face had always been kind. Not once had Edgar seen it this shut down.

"Why is he so angry?"

"Angry?"

"Isn't that angry?"

Edwin tilted his head.

Edgar looked at Uncle. Angry was... probably the closest word.

"Remember the day the weird guy dragged us off? Uncle had the same air about him then."

"..."

So much had happened that day, Edgar didn't really remember what Uncle had looked like. Just that Edwin had been hurt, and that his own back had ached.

If he said any of that out loud, Edwin would fuss again. Edgar just nodded.

"...If we asked him what he's angry about, do you think he'd tell us?"

If Uncle really was angry, whatever it was wasn't ordinary.

The frustration of being stuck in a child's body hit Edgar again. On top of that, being cooped up in these woods — his access to information was badly limited. Even when he pretended to read the paper like Uncle did, Uncle and Linda screened it first! Too soon for young children!

"I don't think so."

"What if I fake-cried?"

Edwin poked Edgar in the ribs.

"Thinking crying solves everything is a bad habit, Edgar."

"You told me to cry last time."

"But Edgar's grown up enough to read hard books now."

Edwin grinned and pointed at the book Edgar had set down. One of their father's philosophy books, which he'd brought back from the estate. It was also one of the titles on the note their father had hidden inside the teddy bear.

For an eight-year-old it was a difficult read; for a young Count Bertholdt fifteen years older, it was manageable enough.

"It's not even that hard."

Still, Edwin seemed to find it funny that Edgar was lugging a thick book around, and teased him for it whenever he got the chance. He'd definitely picked that up from the way Uncle and Linda carried on.

"Is it fun?"

"It's not that kind of book, Edwin..."

When Edgar and Edwin had woken up that morning, Uncle was already hunched on the front steps. He hadn't had breakfast. Linda had said nothing.

When Linda had suggested reading out in the garden, Edgar had deliberately grabbed this thick book and gone out the front door instead of through the back kitchen. He'd been sure Uncle would say something — reading something that hard already?

But Uncle hadn't noticed him walk past, let alone the book.

Aware he was being childish, Edgar shoved the book further away in a show of sulking. Edwin poked his cheek and said,

"Uncle wouldn't say anything even if you cried."

"You haven't tried it."

"You wanted to cry that much?"

"That's not what I mean!"

Edgar was fuming, but he pointed at the stable instead. Edwin was little. Don't take it out on a little kid.

The grey mare was resting quietly in the stable.

"Auntie Anne came by the other day."

"Right."

"And Uncle definitely went out at dawn. Look at what he's wearing. It's something to do with the watch."

"The watch?"

Edwin stretched his neck to look at Uncle. Black — hardly spring wear.

"The watch wears black clothes like that."

"Watch uniforms aren't that color though."

"They... wear it sometimes."

Not sure how to explain what they wore when they weren't supposed to be seen, Edgar glossed over it.

Luckily Edwin didn't press.

"Something probably... didn't go the way he wanted. That's why he's this upset... I think."

"Hmmmmm."

Edwin crossed his arms with the exaggerated gravity only a small child can pull off.

Even if Uncle told them the reason, Edgar couldn't fix it. Edgar had come to terms with being a small child again, and had started facing the reality of it.

His mind could handle a dense philosophy book without trouble, but his body was another matter. His stamina was nowhere near what it had been as an adult, and neither was his concentration. Even Edwin looked too young to him — which meant that to the adults, Edgar looked every bit as young as Edwin.

"..."

Edgar furrowed his brow, unhappy.

He'd thought that if Uncle stayed out of the domain, everything would work out. But there was nothing he could actually do.

"Edgar?"

Edgar grabbed the teddy bear and hopped off the bench.

"Where are you going?"

"To Uncle."

"Uncle? Why?"

"If Uncle keeps sitting there like that, it's distracting. I can't read like this."

An excuse — and Edgar knew it. So did Edwin.

"You're not actually going to try crying, are you?"

Edwin hurried after him.

"Edgar, you can't pester Uncle! Uncle needs time to himself too."

"Then he shouldn't do it right where we can see him."

"Where's Uncle supposed to go in this tiny house? Leave him alone and just read your book here."

Since when had Edwin turned into the mature one, holding Edgar back. This was the kid who'd once sworn crying into a stuffed toy solved everything — the nerve was staggering.

Edgar shook off Edwin's hand.

"Fine. I've got my own plan."

"Crying is not a plan!"

"You said crying would work!"

"Yeah, but that was different—"

"And I'm not planning to cry."

The little body was frustrating. So was being treated like a kid by everyone around him.

But there was no help for it. Right now Edgar was a small child.

That was one thing even Edgar couldn't do anything about. It was the price of coming back. A price that would sort itself out with time. If anything, he was lucky the cost was only that.

"So what are you going to do? I told you to leave Uncle alone!"

"I've got it."

Once it was clear Edgar wouldn't listen, Edwin gave up trying to stop him. But he kept glancing over with anxious eyes, which stung Edgar's pride.

Being fretted over by an eight-year-old!

Even so, Edgar had learned a thing or two himself.

"...Just in case."

Before he ran over to Uncle, Edgar stopped and dug his fingers into the back of the bear's neck. He worked them through the split seam, pulled their father's note out, and handed it to Edwin.

Edwin looked at him, more worried than before.

"What's this for?"

"Just in case."

"'In case' what? What are you actually going to do?"

Edgar didn't answer and walked over to Uncle.

Normally Uncle would have picked up on the whole squabble with Edwin and clocked Edgar's approach long before this, but even at arm's length, Uncle showed no sign of noticing him.

Edgar drew in a big breath.

He knew Uncle had things going on of his own. The adults weren't telling the "little kids," but Count Archibald was making a point of coming by in person to hand over a sealed document — that alone wasn't nothing. Duke Lambert calling in the middle of the night. Uncle himself stepping out at all hours.

"Uncle."

He had his guesses. Adrien Renard still hadn't been caught. From what Edgar remembered, it would take a while. He was pretty sure they'd come up empty a few times last time around.

He couldn't say for sure whether it was Adrien that had Uncle like this... but he didn't want to see Uncle without a smile on his face.

"...Edgar?"

At the soft touch against his face, Harold said his nephew's name absently.

Brown fur was tickling the tip of his nose. Edgar, with a look far too resolute for a small child, said,

"Here!"

"Hm?"

"The bear."

"The bear?"

Edgar rubbed the bear against Harold's face again. Harold, at a loss, took it.

Edgar crossed his arms over his chest in a hug.

"...?"

"Come on, hug it like this! No, not me!"

Edgar pointed at the bear he'd just handed Harold.

"The bear!"

"The— the bear?"

"Hug the bear! Come on!"

"Uh — like this?"

"Harder! Tight!"

Apparently fed up with the way Harold was going about it, Edgar reached out and adjusted his arms himself.

Bewildered, letting himself be steered by his nephew, Harold finally got the hug to Edgar's satisfaction.

"I-is this it?"

"...It's a bit awkward, but I'll let it go."

"Th-thank you."

"Don't slack off!"

"Sorry..."

Harold sat there hugging Edgar's bear as instructed. In Edgar's arms it was just the right size; in Harold's, it was faintly ridiculous.

Even so, Edgar finally relaxed and smiled up at Harold. Then, before Harold could ask what any of this was for, Edgar rose up on tiptoe and flung his arms around Harold in a tight hug.

With every bit of a small child's strength.

"Edgar? Is something going on?"

"The something is you, Uncle."

"...Me?"

"You didn't seem happy."

"..."

A beat late, Harold felt a pang of guilt toward his nephew. Before he could so much as look for the other one, there was warmth against his back. Edwin.

Two small pairs of arms, however wide they stretched, still couldn't reach all the way around him. Even so, they clung with everything they had.

"It'll all be okay."

Edgar whispered it, like he was sharing a secret.

"You've got me and Edwin."

Feeling the hug returned, Edgar smiled, satisfied.

Sometimes acting like a little kid had its uses too.