Chapter 88

"Hello, Mr. Vogel!"

"Hello. Have you both been well?"

"Yes! Have you?"

"I've been well too."

Edgar and Edwin were still staying at the hotel. Well-behaved nephews that they were, they didn't badger their uncle about how much longer this would go on — they just ran around the garden, playing quietly enough.

Every so often, when Edgar woke in the small hours, his uncle would somehow already be there, straightening the blanket over him and settling him back to sleep. Waking in the small hours had become rare lately, but privately Edgar liked it enough that he sometimes wished he could. Not that wanting it made it happen.

"You remember the book I promised last time?"

"You brought it? Isn't it super rare? Is it okay to just carry it around like this? Isn't it valuable?"

"The magic books Knut himself wrote have all been lost, but the copies his disciples made aren't especially rare."

"Why? Because they added their own interpretations while copying?"

Edwin's flood of eager questions didn't seem to faze Benito; he answered each one calmly. Edgar trailed a step behind, listening.

Benito Vogel's lessons were more interesting than Edgar had expected. Even so, Edwin's enthusiasm for magic had never quite taken root in him.

"Ha. There's a bit of that too, but... fundamentally —"

Benito paused for effect, then said,

"He had hundreds of disciples."

"Hundreds?"

"How many of them were real disciples is still debated in academic circles. Only five studied under Knut directly, but anyone who ever caught a word of advice from him in passing claimed to be a disciple."

"Ugh..."

Edwin clicked his tongue openly, disappointed. Benito laughed at the sight.

"We don't know today who those five disciples were. According to the surviving records, hundreds of self-styled disciples founded their own schools and claimed their own book was Knut's true one."

"Yuck..."

"Which is why the book isn't especially valuable. The closer to Knut's own time, the more it's worth, but this one doesn't qualify."

Benito took out a bundle wrapped in soft cloth from his bag. When he carefully unfolded the cloth, an old book emerged. "Antique" was the more accurate word for it than "book."

Edgar had no interest in the legacy of Knut, the so-called Last Mage, but antiques were another matter. The cover was delicately set with gemstones the size of a pinky nail. Time had left gaps here and there where stones had come loose, but even so, its beauty as an artifact of the last age of magic came through undiminished.

"How old is this?"

Edgar tilted his head and asked. Being around Edwin, some knowledge of magical history inevitably rubbed off. As Edgar understood it, Knut had lived about seven hundred years ago...

"Four hundred years."

"Wow."

Edwin's small mouth pursed in wonder. Older than he'd expected, Edgar's eyes widened too.

"It's that old and it still isn't valuable?"

"Because it isn't from close to Knut's own time. It's called a spellbook, but obviously it doesn't function as a real one anymore. It's closer to a pretty decorative piece."

"A decorative piece..."

Benito's white-gloved hand pointed to a spot on the cover where a stone had fallen out.

"If it were in perfect condition, collectors might have paid a fair price for it, but this one isn't. That's why I was able to get hold of it."

"What does it say inside?"

Edwin bounced up onto his toes as he pressed the question at Benito. He reached out as if to open the book, but pulled his hand back without actually touching it.

Benito gave a small laugh at that and opened the book.

"You remember what I told you about spellbooks last time?"

"I know — a mage's lifeblood!"

"Lifeblood is putting it a little strong. In our own time, using magic requires a lot of preparation. Herbs, minerals, that sort of thing."

The contents were as ornate as the outside. Beyond the elaborate lettering, whatever had been done to the paper made it shimmer even under the indoor lamps. If what Benito said was true, this book was four hundred years old.

Benito turned the pages slowly so Edgar and Edwin could see. There was inevitable wear here and there, but overall the book was in good condition. With each turn of the page, not just the paper but the ink itself shifted through subtle colors. Depending on the light it looked green, or blue, or red, or something else entirely.

A book like this — Edgar could see how it would have collectors.

"...What language is this?"

Unlike Edgar, who was simply admiring the artistry, Edwin was frowning hard, glaring at the letters.

Benito answered gently.

"No one knows."

"...You don't know?"

"We know several languages are mixed together, but how they combine to form sentences, we don't know. We don't even know if it's meant to be read as text at all."

"Then it can't function as a book, can it?"

"But this is a spellbook."

Benito answered as if the fact that it couldn't be read was obvious.

"A spellbook was a tool used by mages. The fact that it takes the shape of a book doesn't make it a book in the ordinary sense. According to the records, mages made spellbooks to use magic more quickly and easily."

Once Benito's talk moved on to proper magical history, Edgar half-lost interest.

There had been a time when magic mattered on this continent too, of course. A thousand years or so ago. But now... he didn't mean to slight Benito, who was playing teacher so enthusiastically, but Edgar didn't feel magic had much weight in the world anymore. He didn't have Edwin's interest in it either.

Still, he didn't dislike these lessons, which gave him a bit of new stimulus every so often when he was getting bored — whether at the little house or here at the hotel. If he'd disliked them, he wouldn't have told his uncle he wanted to see Mr. Vogel again, even for Edwin's sake.

"Every mage made their own spellbook differently. The materials, of course, but also the writing itself."

"Could the mages read their own spellbooks?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? How mages actually used spellbooks... the records that survive are so abstract there are a lot of competing theories."

"So there's no theory that they just, like, whacked things with the spellbook?"

Edwin mimed grabbing something out of the air and slamming it down. Given the size and weight of the book Benito had brought, it did look like it could double as a bludgeon.

Benito gave an awkward smile and shook his head.

"The ancient word for what mages did with spellbooks... translated into modern language, it comes out as 'used' or 'recited.' Probably, in some way, mages could read their own books."

"That's cool. Do you have a spellbook, Mr. Vogel?"

"No, no... these were used in the ancient world, when this land still had mana flowing through it."

Either way, one of the two of them was having a wonderful time.

Edgar watched Edwin fire off question after question with something like curiosity. Was that what an eight-year-old was supposed to sound like? Maybe he should think up a few questions of his own.

For now, though.

"Mr. Vogel."

"Yes?"

"I'll be right back — bathroom."

Edgar left the room without waiting for an answer. Edwin didn't care that Edgar had left; he kept firing questions at Benito.

"There's no mana now? Why?"

"No one knows..."

"Why are there so many things no one knows?"

Edgar chuckled at the frustration in Edwin's voice.

Saying he needed the bathroom wasn't a lie. But he was also curious what his uncle was doing. For once, his uncle wasn't out somewhere during the day — he was here at the hotel.

While his uncle was around, the other guards weren't visible on the floor where Edgar and Edwin were staying. Not that it made the security feel any thinner. His uncle's presence apparently carried that much weight.

Edgar still didn't know exactly what had happened in the King's Woods. His uncle and Linda just kept repeating that there'd been a bad man but everything was fine now.

The papers didn't mention anything either. He'd seen an article about the fire at the watch hospital. He wondered if that was why his uncle had been so busy lately.

Even if his uncle wasn't part of the watch.

"...?"

He came out of the bathroom and still didn't see his uncle. When his uncle wasn't going out, he never let Edgar and Edwin out of his line of sight.

Truthfully, Edgar had been a little surprised his uncle hadn't sat in on the lesson with Benito. That was part of why he'd deliberately gone looking for him on the way back from the bathroom.

He could hear a voice, though. That familiar low voice. His uncle's. He didn't remember any visitors coming by, so Edgar rose onto his toes and crept toward the sound.

"...that."

The door stood open. Edgar carefully peeked his head around. If anyone said anything, he'd just say the door had been open.

Living as a small child again was mostly stifling, but it was easy to lean on "he's just a child" when he did something a bit odd — and that part, at least, was convenient.

Inside, as he'd expected, was his uncle. But the person he was talking to wasn't someone Edgar had immediately guessed.

Leona. Leona Bleiss.

Was it about the domain? But the atmosphere didn't feel like it. Leona's back was to the door, so Edgar couldn't see her face. But his uncle's expression was somehow apologetic, and Leona —

"..."

Leona said something to his uncle, but her voice was too soft to catch. There was a wetness to it, though. Was she... crying?

Leona ended up burying her face in her hands. His uncle watched her quietly.

His uncle looked up. Edgar's shoulders hunched, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. But instead of getting angry or making a face, his uncle gave a rueful smile and held a finger to his lips.

Edgar nodded and stepped back carefully. His uncle would probably tell him about it later. But for now...

He felt a little sorry for Leona, somehow. No one wanted to be seen like that.

---

"Is the lesson over?"

"Uncle!"

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes! Mr. Vogel showed us an old spellbook today!"

"A spellbook?"

"Yeah, it was super old, and it was pretty!"

"Was it..."

Harold didn't quite know what "the book was pretty" was supposed to mean, but Edwin was so excited that Harold figured whatever made him happy was fine. Probably some kind of ceremonial book.

While Edwin bounced up and down, Edgar came over hesitantly. That earlier moment when he'd slipped away must still have been weighing on him. Harold had been telling Leona that the man who had killed her uncle was dead.

He'd have to explain it separately later so the boy wouldn't worry, but for now —

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Vogel."

"Not at all. It was a pleasure to see the young masters again. Ah, Sir Bertholdt — and...?"

"This is the Duchess Lambert. When she heard the boys liked magic, she said she wanted to meet you. I apologize for not mentioning it beforehand."

"Ah, not at all! Benito Vogel, of the western magic institute! It's an honor to meet you!"

In a deep-blue dress, Claudia Reichnek smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.