Chapter 64

"I didn't know he was that kind of person."

Absently petting the dog, Edgar came back to himself.

"...What?"

"We saw him at the funeral."

Edwin sat on the bench their uncle had been on and swung his feet.

The dog, full, smacked his lips once and settled onto his belly. Even so, his ears twitched now and then toward the voices.

"Back then... was it the weather? He looked really depressed."

"..."

"Today he looked a little... Brighter, didn't he?"

"Well..."

Edgar had had a similar impression. Of course, the Grisha Lambert Edgar was picturing wasn't the one he'd seen at Albrecht's funeral, but the Grisha Lambert of a past — or a future — that no longer existed.

That Marquis Lambert had always looked tired. Despite his impeccable dress, his complexion was pale, and his eyes never held a shine, only shadow. His languid manner of speech might have suggested an arrogant old-guard aristocrat, but the exhausted look in his eyes made him seem more like a man who simply had no energy in him.

Overall, the man made as faint an impression as his pale hair. Not what you'd expect from a man who drew every eye in the room.

Which was why Edgar had been left dumbly staring earlier when Grisha had held out his hand with a smile. The Marquis Lambert Edgar knew had never once smiled like that.

"The impression a person gives really is a strange thing. Just a smile and it changes completely."

He hadn't originally met Marquis Lambert at this age.

His uncle might have. But he hadn't introduced him to Edgar and Edwin.

Edgar could easily guess why. Back then Edgar and Edwin hadn't been up to meeting new people. Edgar's memory picked up with his uncle half-forcing them onto a train down to the Bertholdt domain.

"...Why do you think he came to see Uncle?"

"..."

Edwin suddenly looked around them.

"What is it?"

"Where'd you leave that bear this time?"

"The bear?"

"The teddy bear from Dad. I told you to carry it everywhere."

Edgar's face twisted.

"How long are you going to keep on about that? Do I look like a little kid? I don't have to carry a stuffed toy around!"

The moment it was out, Edgar realized he was actually behaving like a small child. His face flushed with embarrassment, but luckily Edwin didn't notice.

Instead Edwin folded his arms and looked at him as if it was obvious.

"Why did that man come to see Uncle? He came to check that we're settling in fine at the house he lent us, obviously."

"..."

"What?"

"Nothing..."

Don't forget Edwin's a little kid.

Even so, Edgar couldn't help opening his mouth to argue — and shut it just as quickly.

"So what do you think, Edgar?"

Since Edgar wasn't backing him up, Edwin, gone sulky, pressed him. Edgar dodged the finger poking at his side and answered.

"Well, I..."

I?

"..."

Edgar stopped.

Ridiculous as it was, Edwin's argument wasn't completely absurd. More than anything, after actually greeting that Grisha Lambert, Edgar's drive had... deflated a bit. More accurately, his hostility toward Marquis Lambert had lost its footing.

That man didn't look like Marquis Lambert.

Not that gloomy, sullen figure.

"Edgar? Why'd you stop mid-sentence?"

"It's nothing..."

Maybe Marquis Lambert really was, truly, helping his uncle out of goodwill. At the funeral, well, it was a funeral, so they couldn't have spoken freely... and when he'd come by that night, Edgar had thought it suspicious because of his memories of Marquis Lambert, but it wasn't strange for a close friend to drop in out of concern. Either way, Marquis Lambert was, as Edwin said, the owner of the house.

Even taking custody of him and Edwin might really have been at a close friend's request. There was no other family left in House Bertholdt. After what happened with Adrien Renard, he wouldn't have wanted to hand them off to the family's own staff. Yes. That was more than possible.

Only now was Edgar considering it.

"...What do you think? Have I been overthinking it?"

Edgar told Edwin, holding nothing back.

He'd told him about his suspicions of Marquis Lambert, so it was only fair to tell him this too. And Edwin always did catch the parts Edgar hadn't thought of, didn't he. This time was the same.

"Wow."

Edwin gave a dazed look and let out an admiring sound.

"Is this what they call animal therapy?"

"What?"

"You don't even need the bear... my goodness. Edgar, our Edgar. All grown up now!"

Edwin grabbed Edgar's hands and started jumping up and down. The response was so absurd that Edgar missed his chance to pull his hands away and got dragged along.

Nabi, who'd been lying on the ground, thought they were playing and got up, tail whipping.

"Edwin, I'm dizzy!"

"Sorry, sorry. You okay?"

"What was that all of a sudden..."

Edgar dropped to the ground, breathing hard. When Nabi came over, he reflexively lifted his arms and hugged him tight.

"Should have pushed for a dog sooner..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I think what you said makes sense too, Edgar. He wouldn't have lent us this house if he weren't a really close friend."

"That's true. When Uncle brought us here and said this was where we were moving, I nearly fainted."

He'd known it belonged to Marquis Lambert, but he hadn't known how Marquis Lambert had come to own it.

Even so, there was no missing the historical value of this small manor. It turned up in just about any handful of the kingdom's history books.

"Yeah, exactly. I was really shocked too. It's a place you only see in books, right? Basically a historical landmark!"

"Edwin... you knew all that and still crawled up into the ceiling?"

"That's because Uncle said there was a secret passage!"

"Even so, there wouldn't be a secret passage in a ceiling."

"You never know, Edgar... this is a really old building. There has to be magic in it."

Edgar paused. The secret passage his uncle had shown him had been made of magic.

Edwin caught the hesitation at once.

"Edgar, you... you know something, don't you?"

"The secret passage isn't the important thing right now."

"No. That's what's most important."

"What matters is why Marquis Lambert came to see Uncle!"

"He came to check his house is doing fine! Edgar, where's the secret passage? Uncle showed you? Just you? Not fair! Tell me too!"

"If you hadn't crawled up into the ceiling, he'd have shown you!"

"Ah! Don't bring that up!!"

Edwin, who normally had no shame at all, was apparently still embarrassed about that day and lunged to cover Edgar's mouth. A flustered Edwin was rare enough to be funny, and for the first time in a long while, Edgar burst into loud laughter.

Nabi, apparently all the more excited by the laughter, bounced around.

"Oh dear, young masters. Your clothes are a mess again."

Drawn out to the garden by the noise, Linda saw Edgar and Edwin — and Nabi — covered in dirt and shook her head.

"Sorry..."

Edgar and Edwin drew their shoulders in and put on their most apologetic faces. Even Nabi read the room and whined.

Linda shook her head.

"All right, you know the rule?"

"I'll go wash my hands!"

"What about Nabi?"

"Just wipe his paws with a wet towel so he doesn't get dirt on the carpet."

Wetting the towel Linda had given him, Edgar paused with his hands still and cocked his head.

Weren't we... just talking about Grisha Lambert?

---

What sort of person is Marquis Lambert?

...What?

Isn't he your guardian?

Edgar had been asked something like that once.

It had been during his dorm days. Working on an assignment in a common room, one of his classmates had thrown the question at him.

Marquis Lambert is your guardian?

You didn't know?

You live in the dorm! Was he a relative?

The classmate belatedly realized his slip.

That everyone in the older generation of House Bertholdt was dead was common knowledge among capital nobles. Marquis Lambert becoming guardian of the last remaining Bertholdt child had been the talk of the town for a while.

But to an underclassman up from the country, it would have been the first he'd heard of it. The academy's admission policy — once nobles-only — had been replaced by entrance-exam-based admission open to any background just two years ago.

Ah... well.

After my uncle passed away, Marquis Lambert took on guardianship of me and Edwin.

Your uncle? Oh! I'm sorry, senior.

It's fine. It was a long time ago.

The classmate mouthed an apology. Edgar shook his head — it's fine. And it was. The Bertholdt tragedy no longer seemed to be circulating on people's tongues.

Even if Marquis Lambert is our guardian, he's such a busy man that we haven't met often.

You've at least met him though? He doesn't do much outside work.

I've heard His Majesty asks the marquis to handle special jobs!

Yes, that. That rumor's probably true. My father said he'd been handling that kind of work for a long time. Told us to be careful of him too.

Don't scare the juniors.

A small ripple of laughter went round. The classmate shrugged shamelessly.

But he quickly wiped the smile off and lowered his voice. It was, in its way, consideration for underclassmen who weren't up on the rumors. If you knew, you could prepare.

My cousin sent word — there's been trouble at the border a few times. Edgar, you really haven't heard anything?

...

Whether the classmate had been curious about Marquis Lambert, or about the unrest at the border, Edgar couldn't tell. But the two weren't unconnected.

The previous Duke Lambert had been Eastern Commander. Grisha Lambert hadn't inherited the commander title, but men in eastern military uniforms still came and went at the Lambert estate.

Over the last break he'd seen more soldiers than servants.

He's my guardian, but I've barely seen him.

He didn't want to be the source of internal Lambert business leaking out. That was separate from how he felt about Marquis Lambert. Or rather, it was precisely because he disliked the man that he didn't want to give him anything to hold over him.

As it turned out, not a bad choice. Rumors of war had been thick, but until Edgar returned to the past, the kingdom had remained at peace.

Nothing like a war at all...

"Master Edwin. Don't go to the sitting room! You mustn't interrupt when the grown-ups are talking."

"Fine..."

Edwin had been caught by Linda.

Not that Edgar had actually meant to eavesdrop on whatever his uncle was discussing with Marquis Lambert... but he did quietly slip back.

He wasn't going to try to listen, but if he happened to overhear something, that couldn't really be helped, could it?

Hoping for a lucky break, Edgar hung around the sitting room, then slipped into the dim gallery corridor. The corridor, lined with portraits of past kings, was the most ornate spot in the house. Edwin didn't like coming here — said it gave him a bad feeling — so when Edgar wanted somewhere quiet, this was where he'd sometimes come to read.

"..."

To someone else, the row of portraits down the corridor might have been art worth appreciating. But Edgar had never once looked at them properly. He wasn't interested in art, and the fact that they were portraits of kings made it worse.

So the portrait catching his eye was pure chance. Something about the bright blond hair in one of them had just now looked strangely familiar.