Chapter 6

"Pretty much rounded up the ones whose names came out."

Anne was reporting to Harold.

"Missed one, but we know where he is — nothing to worry about."

"Adrien Renard?"

"Not yet."

Harold's brow furrowed, and Anne's face soured to match.

Anne dropped onto the study sofa opposite Harold. The medal pinned to her watchman's uniform swayed with the rough motion. She'd been awarded it right after bringing in the serial killer who'd terrorized the capital seven years before.

"Harold, listen.... You're really sure nothing's missing from the house?"

"I told you, I keep checking. Not as far as I can tell. The staff said everything's intact apart from the wrecked rooms."

"Which means only a few of the Count's personal effects were stolen..."

"You recovered those too, didn't you?"

"Yeah. We'll return them once the investigation's closed."

Anne hesitated before asking.

"...They were Cecilia's, weren't they?"

"They were."

Anne's mouth closed.

Harold's sister-in-law had been her senior at the academy. Anne's too, naturally. Their specialties had been different, so they hadn't crossed paths often, but the two of them had been as close as sisters.

"Lucky we caught them before they could turn it into cash."

After a long silence, Anne spoke.

But her face was troubled.

"Though..."

"Though?"

"The pieces don't fit. I really hate when they don't."

"Wasn't figuring that out the watch's whole job?"

"That doesn't mean I have to enjoy it!"

With no subordinates in the room, Anne's formality slipped along with it.

If the situation had been different, Harold would have played along. But better Anne sharing the picture openly than keeping things formal. From anyone else, he'd have gotten nothing but the polite line about how the investigation was going just fine.

"Anyway, we'll have to keep digging before anything's certain."

"Right."

"...You holding up?"

Harold shrugged.

"What can I do if I'm not? Can't slack off on that account either. I know their stories don't add up."

The problem was this.

Harold had caught the man peering into the estate without much trouble. Since there had been more than one intruder, naturally there were other accomplices.

The man, having recognized Mattheus, must have figured he had nowhere left to run, and promptly gave up his partners' names. He'd also said that a month ago he'd been approached with an offer to lift things from a noble's house. He was the one who'd taken Cecilia's belongings, too.

"Wh — what? The young masters? I don't know anything about that!"

But on the child-abuse charge, he'd jumped a mile.

He admitted to trashing the kitchen, but flatly denied anything to do with the bedroom.

"They — they said it was the servants' wing, so if we cleaned up right we wouldn't get caught!"

In the end Anne hadn't been able to help herself and snapped that they'd be caught either way. The watch wasn't staffed entirely with idiots.

In any case, the man said the only time he'd gone deeper into the estate had been when he'd grabbed jewels from the study.

"They told me nobody'd notice a few jewels missing..."

"Who did?"

"Adrien — that bastard! Adrien Renard! He forced me into it! I told him no!"

The wits he'd been missing while pocketing trinkets in the study had apparently come back the moment he was sitting across from a fearsome watch captain.

The man, evidently figuring this was his one chance to reduce his charges, talked eagerly about whatever came to mind. The ones arrested at the Song of Hemeril were the partners he'd given up.

The next day, the ones who'd sobered up apparently thought the same way and just as eagerly turned on their own crew. Touching, what loyalty.

All the testimony came down to a single name.

Adrien Renard.

"I don't think the ones we've got are lying."

"Yeah?"

Harold nodded.

"You'd know — you're the expert."

"Uh, well, appreciate the faith."

Anne stole a quick look at Harold's face as she said it.

"The way I see it, there are two groups."

"Two? Adrien Renard and the small-time thieves?"

"Right. The ones who were just after a quick score, and the ones who locked Edgar and Edwin up... I don't know what for, but with some other aim in mind."

Some other aim.

Harold's mind went naturally to his brother's journal, the one he'd left in the vault.

That mass of code he couldn't read a word of.

He'd considered mentioning it to Anne, but he couldn't, not without knowing what was inside. If it had been safe for outside eyes, it wouldn't have been written in that lunatic cipher, and it wouldn't have been in the family vault to begin with.

"There was one of them who gave me a bad feeling during questioning. I want to dig into him further."

Anne rifled through the papers on the table and held one out to Harold.

Jad Gauthier. 48. Male. Harbor laborer. Burn scar on forehead....

Brief personal details and a sketched portrait.

"Looks like they were planning to use the greedy ones as bait and slip away."

"Didn't slip very far, did they?"

"Maybe you arrived earlier than they were expecting?"

Spring was on its way and the snow was melting, but the road from the far north to the capital had been anything but easy.

Half out of his mind from the news of his brother's death, Harold had pushed through the snow on his own. Normally he wouldn't have been able to budge until the thaw had progressed further.

Usually traffic to and from the north didn't reopen for at least two more weeks.

"We've got eyes on the Song of Hemeril. Still looking for Adrien Renard."

"Right..."

"Hm. What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

Anne took the paper back from Harold.

"People are bound to grumble, but there aren't many who could stop you. It's my case, so I can pull strings that far at least."

It would be a lie to say the offer wasn't tempting.

The old Harold wouldn't have turned Anne down for a moment.

"...No. I'm good."

But Harold shook his head.

"I'm sitting this one out."

"...Really?"

Anne asked again, taken aback.

Anne had seen Harold's fury at the wreckage of the estate. The Harold Bertholdt she knew should have been out the door long before now, swearing to tear the man apart with his bare hands.

But soon enough Anne caught on. Harold had told her as much that day he came charging into the Archibald estate with the boys in his arms.

Right. The children.

"I need to be with the kids."

Anne's face softened.

"So I'm leaving it to you, Anne."

Harold didn't catch the shift in Anne's expression; he was turning over again that weight and warmth that had clung to him.

"You got it, Harold. I won't let you down."

---

The Archibald estate.

Second-floor guest room.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The two boys blinked. The identical faces moved in perfect, identical sync.

"Uh — um."

Harold cleared his throat.

He hadn't seen his nephews often, but it wasn't as though he'd had no experience with children. Traveling and during his postings at the northern base, he'd often spent time with village kids.

If there was one thing he remembered from those rare encounters, it was that telling twins apart mattered a great deal to the twins themselves.

Sure, some kids enjoyed pretending to be the other sibling to mess with people.... But the children in front of him were his nephews.

At the very least, he wanted to be able to tell them apart. It was an uncle's pride.

"So...."

"...."

"...."

Thanks to Anne, they were staying at the Archibald estate until Edgar's cold cleared.

That part was fine.

Things were unsettled because of the investigation, but he'd meant it when he said he didn't want to leave the boys' side.

So, taking Mattheus's advice that he should grow closer to them, he was trying to spend as much time with the boys as possible — except.

"...Edgar?"

"...."

"Edwin?"

"...."

Identical or not, the twins had different personalities.

Telling shy, quiet Edgar from ever-smiling Edwin shouldn't have been a hard thing to do.

"...Boys?"

It shouldn't have been hard.

"...."

"...."

But faced with the twins sitting side by side, faces blank, his confidence dropped sharply.

Forget telling them apart — he wasn't sure he could even get them to warm up to him.

Between Edwin, who beamed and clung to him, and Edgar, who was more reserved but smiled faintly every time their eyes met, he'd thought they'd get along quickly.

Of course they wouldn't like some uncle who'd never once visited suddenly acting like family. He should have gone home that time his brother had written and asked him to come!

"Ahaha!"

A child's laughter rang out.

Harold blinked. Edwin had clutched his stomach and burst into giggles. Edgar's face scrunched up.

"See! I told you Uncle couldn't tell us apart!"

"...."

"I was right, wasn't I?"

"...."

"Edgar. Are you sulking? Huh?"

Edwin poked Edgar mischievously, grinning. Edgar shot Harold a sulky sideways look.

Edwin jabbed Edgar in the cheek.

"Nobody but Dad could ever tell us apart."

"...He's our uncle, though."

"Even Mom got us mixed up!"

Slowly, Harold caught up with what was going on.

Seeing Edgar's slumped shoulders and disappointed face, guilt washed over him.

"I — I'm sorry."

Two identical faces tipped up to look at him, eyes wide.

"I'll, uh — I'll learn to tell you apart soon. Okay?"

This was the right thing to say, wasn't it?

Harold watched the two eight-year-olds carefully for a reaction.

It must have been the right answer — Edwin broke into a bright smile. Edgar's face eased a little too.

Harold breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Because of the month-long confinement, Mattheus was urgently looking into counselors. However all right the boys seemed, his argument went, you couldn't just let something like this go.

Harold agreed. The boys' health was nothing to be careless with.

Still, seeing them playing around like this....

Pride swelled in his chest at how well the boys were holding up.

"Um, Uncle."

"Hm?"

Edgar fidgeted with his hands for a moment before speaking.

"...What's happened to Adrien?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"But."

Harold gently took Edgar's hand, stopping the small fingers that had been digging nails into his own palm.

"Your uncle's going to keep you safe."

"...."

"You just focus on getting better. All right?"

Edgar nodded. Harold gave him a broad smile.

"Your uncle is going to be right here from now on. Always."

"...Yes, Uncle."

"You don't have to go back to that house."

"What?"

Remembering the lock on the bedroom door still made Harold's blood boil.

But in front of the boys, he kept smiling. What the children needed was a steady guardian. That much he knew.

...He probably needed professional advice on this.

"Once things wrap up here in the capital, we'll head down to the country estate. Have you been to the Bertholdt domain? You two were born there."

"No!"

"Edgar?"

"No — cough!"

Edgar broke into a sudden coughing fit.

"Cough, cough!"

Even when Harold tried to get him to drink some water, the coughing wouldn't ease. With Edgar's face flushed red from the struggle to breathe, Harold flung the door open and shouted.

"A doctor! Get a doctor!"