Chapter 60

Anne came by.

"I'm sorry, senior!"

He'd never seen Anne come to him this contrite before.

He hadn't been angry with her in the first place, and it only made him uncomfortable. But for Anne's sake — she'd surely felt more helpless and furious than he had that day — he just waved a hand.

"It's fine. Not something an apology fixes."

"I'm sorry..."

"No, I'm saying it isn't your fault..."

Harold hurriedly corrected himself.

"There's someone else to blame, and you don't have to apologize."

"Senior..."

"And, well. It'll work out somehow, won't it?"

Harold smiled. Anne looked startled by his laugh at first, then her eyes turned suspicious.

After studying Harold for a long moment, Anne groaned quietly.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You've decided to stay in the capital, haven't you?"

Harold didn't answer. Anne didn't seem to have expected one either, and just kept downing glass after glass of cold water on the table.

Sharp as ever, Anne would pick up the situation from that much alone. All the more so if she thought back on what they'd said to each other right before the raid.

"Why?"

He had no intention of walking it back anyway.

"Not happy with it?"

"If I said I wasn't, would you change your mind?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

Anne's eyes narrowed.

"You're not asking on Marquis Roys's orders, are you?"

"Would he put me up to something like that?"

"He wouldn't."

Anne answered without a pause. Harold wasn't sure whether to be offended.

"He wouldn't have to ask you, either — the mood at the watch right now is bad enough on its own."

Anne smiled bitterly.

"He was never exactly... a great guy to begin with, but up till now it was mostly about him covering up his own mistakes, you know?"

This wasn't the first time First Prince Carlisle had wriggled out of a gambling scene. The number of times they'd been called out to a bar fight and found the First Prince waving hello, brazen as anything — he'd run out of fingers to count on.

The 'friends' the prince demanded the watch escort were the nobles who ran around with him, and they were on the watch's blacklist too.

Even if they were arrested, they'd get off with a light fine. No one had ever been seriously hurt. The watch hated it, but for the prince and his friends it was a kind of hobby.

"But this time is different. The suspect alone... well, granted, this side has its own problems, but even if it had stopped there, it'd have just been another 'the First Prince being the First Prince' story."

"But Adrien Renard is a wanted man."

"A prince shielding a wanted fugitive is another matter. It gets more complicated when you factor in jurisdiction."

Anne set her jaw.

"The watch still doesn't want to provoke the prince. But there's a lot of feeling that we can't just sit on our hands after something like this either."

Harold hesitated at that.

"Not that people didn't already have plenty of complaints."

Anne said it steadily, not looking away from Harold.

It wasn't a role Grisha had asked him to play, and Harold had no intention of putting Anne on the spot, but at this point he had to ask.

"...We'd take someone with your ability at the northern base anytime."

"..."

"What? What did you want me to say?"

Whatever was still churning in her clearly hadn't settled — Anne downed another glass of cold water. She hadn't touched the tea Linda had gone to the trouble of bringing out.

Figuring she'd talk once she'd cooled down, Harold just drank his own water with a bored look.

Only then did he really register how gaunt Anne had gotten since he'd last seen her. It had been less than a fortnight. She'd either been eating herself up over the Carlisle business or been run off her feet — probably both.

The gambling den bust had made a big splash in the papers, too. The watch's numbers hadn't been great the last few years, and a case with a chain of nobles rolled up in it was good publicity.

"The watch's official line isn't changing."

Anne only opened her mouth again after the pitcher was empty.

"We'll be staying neutral."

"Right..."

"That's the public position, at least."

Anne's eyes were sharp and bright as she looked at Harold.

The last time he'd seen that look was seven years ago.

Seven years ago, when Harold had been in the capital to visit his nephews, he'd tracked a serial murderer alongside Anne. She'd had exactly those eyes then.

"The watch is going to keep chasing the fugitive. That's routine for us, isn't it?"

"It is."

"He may have gotten lucky and slipped away, but if we just let it drop, we wouldn't be the watch. We're not calling off the investigation."

Something odd struck him.

Was it the way she was looking at him? She was stating the obvious with unnerving conviction. Anne repeated it, slowly, deliberately.

"The watch does not give up."

He could tell Anne was trying to convey something.

Harold didn't look away. Her word choice was strange — pointed, but half-veiled. Committing it to memory and passing it on to Grisha would get him the answer key straight off.

But Anne was talking to him, not to Grisha. And with an apology tacked on for something that wasn't her fault.

Harold blinked.

"...I."

He caught what she was saying. Harold corrected himself.

"The northern base."

Anne's face brightened. Right answer.

Yes. From the watch's position, they couldn't be the ones to bring it up first. However bad things got, they couldn't be the ones to expose their own weakness.

But that day, when First Prince Carlisle protected a wanted fugitive.

There had been another organization with real authority on that scene besides the watch.

"The northern base doesn't view this as an error on the part of the capital watch."

Harold spoke firmly.

"But the fact remains that an unfortunate incident occurred, and in the course of it... there are aspects that raise doubts about the capital watch's intent. Not that we're questioning the watch's competence."

Harold picked his words carefully.

This wasn't a casual chat between a senior and a junior anymore. It was a formal complaint.

"To establish exactly what happened, the northern base will also be participating in the related investigation."

Anne broke into a wide smile. But even inside that smile her eyes glittered with fury and humiliation.

Not directed at Harold. Directed at whoever in the palace had made this necessary.

The watch stays neutral. The watch will investigate fairly. And if an outside body with doubts about that fairness offered to weigh in and sort things out, the watch — bound by its own principle of fairness — couldn't refuse.

"I'm sorry, senior."

Her face lighter now, Anne said it again.

"I told you it wasn't your fault."

And Harold's answer didn't change either.

"I'll be counting on you, Anne."

---

[Commander. This is Bertholdt.

While I've been in the capital a few things have come up. It wasn't my intention, but there's a situation where the northern base has to step in — would it be all right if I acted with some latitude? I'll be careful not to cause you any trouble.

If any issues come up you could just say I quit over the winte...]

Harold stopped writing. It wasn't a report, so it didn't need to be formal, but was it too casual? Then again, the commander would understand. He'd taken Harold on knowing what he was signing up for.

Still, he was the one asking, so maybe a little more decorum was in order...

Harold pulled out a fresh sheet and started the letter over.

[Greetings, Commander. It's Harold Bertholdt...]

But the letter didn't get any further.

Harold unhurriedly set the pen down, gathered up the papers — including the failed letter — and tucked them into a drawer.

Where the letter had been, a book from the desk now took its place. Harold looked at it and tilted his head. A history of magic. Edwin had been carrying it around for a few days before losing interest — how had it ended up in the study?

Since it was already in his hand, he flipped through the opening pages. Being history, it didn't have the difficult vocabulary of the philosophy books Edgar had been reading.

[Such was the conflict of the gods, and its impact on this land was profound. Fragments of gods, whose names no longer even remain, were scattered across the world. Humans found ways to make use of those fragments, and that is what magic is. The first emperor of the Eshan Empire used this very magic to...]

To Harold's eye it read less like history and more like a fairy tale — that kind of storybook. Magic actually existed, so it wasn't pure nonsense, but still.

Flipping the pages, Harold gave a faint smile and looked toward the door.

"Uncle!"

Edwin.

"It's lunchtime."

"So you came to fetch me?"

"Yes!"

For someone who'd come to fetch him, Edwin showed no sign of actually pulling Harold out. He darted straight into the study and climbed up onto Harold's lap.

"What are you reading? Magic? Are you into magic too, Uncle?"

"Well, not really, but..."

"Ah! That's my book!"

Edwin caught the cover and exclaimed.

"I was wondering where it went — you took it, Uncle?"

Wrongful accusation.

Harold laughed, exasperated, and tickled Edwin's side lightly.

"And who was it that left it here?"

"Ahaha, who could it have been, Uncle?"

"You little troublemaker."

Edwin didn't even try to escape, just laughed.

"There. Keep track of your book, don't lose it."

He stopped tickling and pressed the book back into Edwin's arms. Edwin only blinked.

"But I already finished it!"

"...Finished it?"

"Yes!"

Edwin looked up at Harold with clear eyes. An innocent face — but with something expectant in the look. Was he hoping for praise? Or something else?

Harold, who had been about to ruffle his hair and tell him how impressive that was as usual, thought this was as good a moment as any.

"Right, Edwin."

"...Yes?"

"You like magic, don't you?"

"Well... yeah! I like it."

"Edgar mentioned you'd been wanting to learn magic. Do you want to?"

Edwin blinked.

"Magic?"

"There are things you can't get from books alone. If you want to learn magic, I'll look into it."

He'd been meaning to talk to the people at the magic institute again anyway. What they'd make of being asked to teach a small child, he didn't know — but Harold's nephew wasn't an ordinary child.

A boy this bright might grow into a researcher who'd mark a whole new chapter in magical scholarship.

"...Will Edgar learn with me?"

He'd expected the boy to bounce around with excitement, but Edwin's first thought was his twin.

"If Edgar wants to. If he doesn't, he can learn something else he does want to."

"...Edgar said he wants to learn a foreign language."

"Did he? Then should I look into a foreign-language tutor? I know a bit myself, but... Ah! Linda could teach you Aranstish."

Edwin nodded, hugging the history of magic to his chest, and hopped down to the floor.

"Really? I want to tell Edgar!"

"No running!"

"I won't trip!"

Watching Edwin actually pelt off this time, buzzing with excitement, Harold shook his head.

More letters to write now. The one to the magic institute might be better handled through Mattheus. He needed to check on the funding arrangements once more too.

"Uncle!"

"Edwin? Did you forget something?"

Harold, about to finish the letter to the commander, was startled to see Edwin back at the door.

Edwin gave a sheepish smile and pulled at Harold's hand.

"I said it's lunchtime!"