Chapter 14
-July 23, 1901-
The Beach House, Isle of Wight
When Barok entered the bathroom the following morning, he found Albert already inside, still in his night clothes and owlishly blinking at his reflection in the mirror. The redness of his skin did not seem much improved compared to the previous evening, and his friend was obviously still uncomfortable.
"Good morning."
"Oh, Barok…" Albert seemed to not even have registered his presence before he had spoken up. "Terribly sorry I didn't notice you – I'm a little slow this morning. I was going to shave, but I'm not entirely sure that that'd be a good idea…"
"I'd suggest postponing it for the time being, at the very least," Barok replied. "Hold on for one moment, let me fetch something from my room."
Stepping back out of the bathroom, he retrieved one of the bottles he had purchased in Cowes from the drawer of his nightstand, offering it to Albert when he had returned to his side.
"Here, this should relieve any itching or burning you're experiencing. If you're still feeling slow or disoriented after breakfast, I'd speak to Iris for further steps to address your condition."
Here's to hoping he didn't acquire a case of full-blown sun sickness. While his sunburn did not look all that severe, if it occurred with a fever, getting Albert to rest and potentially take other steps to ensure his temperature dropped was best taken care of right away.
"Ahaha, thank you…" His friend took the small bottle from him and opened it, grimacing slightly at the scent wafting up from the opening.
"If it doesn't completely turn your stomach, please bear with the smell – it will fade quickly," Barok stated.
"Oh, it's not that bad." With a nod, Albert let some of the chalky-pink, thick liquid flow onto his palm and gingerly began covering his face, sighing in relief when the cooling effect of the ointment set in.
"That feels a lot better, thank you very much."
"Good. I assume you can reach all affected areas?"
His implicit offer apparently caused Albert to freeze, intently staring at himself in the mirror for a moment before life returned to his body.
"I… yes, I think so, I only got burnt on my face, arms, and the back of my neck…"
Barok nodded his understanding. "In that case, pardon me for a few minutes while I shave."
While seeing to this task, his glance occasionally strayed from his own reflection to that of his friend smoothing more of the lotion onto his lower arms, then carefully spreading what remained on his hands along the nape of his neck to presumably keep too much of the pink concoction from settling on his collar.
He finished shaving at about the same time Albert completed his self-treatment with the ointment. After rinsing off his face, he stated, "I'd leave it to dry for a few more minutes before getting changed into your day clothes so it won't stain."
"All right – I wanted to see if I could get my hair to look a little more orderly, anyway…"
His friend reached into his toiletry bag to produce a wide-toothed comb and began picking away at his curls – obviously quite the endeavor, seeing that his hair seemed determined to fight back against this treatment, snagging almost every other movement. Nevertheless, Albert continued, clearly used to dealing with the unruly growth.
Noting that his own hair was quite out of control, as well, Barok opened his pomade tin and began spreading a few fingertips' worth of the substance through the locks falling freely into his face in preparation for combing it back in his usual manner.
I should probably see a barber upon my return to London. Some strands were becoming long enough that containing them would be difficult soon, and he had never thought that a ponytail would particularly suit him.
His fingers stilled for a moment when Albert spoke up.
"By the way, not combing it back suits you as well. It's different, certainly, but when I first had the opportunity to see it last night, I immediately thought that it had a very down-to-earth air."
As opposed to…? Well, he could not blame his friend for drawing the distinction, particularly considering his public image over the last decade, as well as Albert's experiences in the Old Bailey courtroom.
"Perhaps I shall consider a more 'down-to-earth' appearance on non-workdays in the future."
"… Not that I'm trying to tell you what to do with your hair…!" Apparently, Albert now considered his previous statement to have been too forward, as he had removed the comb from his hair to wave his hands in front of him as if to ward off the mere thought.
"Rest assured that I didn't understand your words as a command." Barok smiled over at his friend for a moment before continuing with his activities. "Besides, I value your assessments – you're not one to say things you don't mean, and learning about a different point of view aids in keeping one's own perspective aligned with reality."
Albert chuckled quietly in response while once again lifting the comb to his own hair. "I should stop apologizing whenever something like that slips out, is that it?"
"In one word: Yes." Glad that this particular message had made it through the far longer statement designed to set his friend at ease, Barok saw his own smile widen in the mirror as he combed back the strands to restore the style all of his companions were used to seeing on him for now.
After withdrawing back to their respective own bedrooms to get dressed, the two men approached the dining room together, the mingled scents of coffee, tea, and various food items spurring their steps.
When they entered, they found Sholmes and Iris already present, while Asogi and Lestrade had yet to make an appearance.
Iris was the first to speak up upon laying eyes on them. "Oh, good morning Bertie, Mr. Reaper!"
"Good morning." Barok seated himself on his regular chair, wondering if it had just been his imagination, or if there had been something ever-so-slightly off about the girl's smile while laying eyes on him.
They had just been served their choice of caffeinated beverage – apparently, Albert had become a morning coffee person during his time in Germany – when their final two missing companions made their entrance.
Lestrade was approaching her seat, seemingly ready to voice her own customary greeting of "Mornin'," when her glance fell on the window.
"Cor, sky's inky today, innit? I'd best go 'n make a round 'round the house with Toby before gettin' breakfast for me 'n 'im, or we might drown while 'e's goin' for a pee. 'Scuse me for a tick…"
And with those words, she left the room once more with wide steps to see to her dog.
From his own chair, Asogi likewise peered at what the young woman had seen outside, and sighed before remarking, "I suppose we're not going swimming today, then."
"You can if you want to, but don't blame me if you end up getting washed out to sea," Barok replied with a shrug. "I, for one, shall opt to remain inside, as being battered by the elements does not sound like my idea of a pleasant time."
"Well, it was to be expected that we'd have at least one day of rain during this holiday, seeing that we are still in the British Isles." Sholmes did not seem too perturbed. "Another opportunity to enjoy the beach should present itself prior to our departure."
He had just finished his assurance for Asogi's and Iris's benefit when Mrs. Hall entered the room once more, this time to place a variety of plates, trays, and bowls filled with assorted foodstuffs on the table.
"It's probably for the best if we stay in today – poor Bertie still looks a little singed from yesterday," the girl pointed out when the woman had left again. "Good that you had some calamine along, that'll hopefully make the redness and itching go down by tomorrow."
"Oh, I actually got that from Barok…" Albert sent her a sheepish grin before reaching for his coffee cup.
"I see. Well anyway, if we spend more time outside on a sunny day, you'll have to make sure to try and sit in the shade ten minutes out of every half hour, and maybe wear a hat, to avoid becoming all burnt again." Notably, the girl appeared to avoid looking over at Barok now, causing him to wonder if he had somehow offended her.
Perhaps the change in weather is getting to her, or she didn't sleep well. You're overthinking this.
"For now, we should probably focus on how to pass time today, don't you think?" Sholmes asked. "I did bring our deck of cards along, if anyone would interested in a game or two of poker…"
"Ah, with all due respect, Mr. Sholmes, Iris told me of the invisible markings on the backs of your cards a little while ago, and while I appreciate the effort that went into your little scheme, I think I'd have to insist on using another deck, and on you not wearing your analysis goggles." Albert did not seem put out at the man's apparently documented history of cheating at the game, as his demands did not sound of any annoyance.
"Additionally, if any games of poker take place in this house, we will not play for money," Barok felt the need to put his foot down as well. "I'd rather not inadvertently find myself running a gambling parlor."
"I suppose I'm outnumbered then. Very well, no creative tactics while playing, it is." The detective only shrugged.
"Would there be any open indoor space available for sword practice, my Lord? I assume that you'd rather I didn't draw a sharp weapon in the sitting room," Asogi inquired before Barok had a chance to comment on Sholmes's phrasing to describe his less-than-scrupulous original plans.
"If you're not noisy enough to spook the horses, the stable would be an option," he pointed out before glancing over at the other three people present. "As for other potential indoor activities, I would be able to offer an assortment of books, records, and the instruments in the sitting room to anyone interested."
Lestrade chose this moment to return from venturing outside with her dog. "There we are, business all taken care of before anyone got doused! Blimey, 'oo'd've guessed that you could fit that much pony into such a li'l pooch…"
"… Thank you for that enlightening testimony while we're attempting to have a meal, Miss Lestrade." Barok sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while Albert did his best to contain his chortling at his dry statement.
Grinning, Asogi suggested, "Maybe see if Mrs. Hall has some breakfast for the little guy and then come have a seat? Without further discussion of things coming out the other end?"
"Heh, I s'pose I'll go wash me 'ands before comin' back too, so 'is Lordship don't 'ave problems keepin' 'is eggs down." The young woman snorted and stepped back into the hallway, Toby on her arm.
Thankfully, the remainder of the first meal of the day progressed without any other talk of bodily excretions. Thereafter, Barok and most of his guests migrated to the sitting room, while Asogi went out to the stable with his sword to see to his training regimen. Albert and Iris had first returned to their rooms, and were now seated side by side on the sofa just as last night, the girl scribbling into a notebook, while her collaborator was intently studying the pages contained in a large, somewhat untidy folder, both of them completely lost in their respective activities.
After taking a look at the materials with which his companions on the sofa were busying themselves, Sholmes was kind enough to explain what exactly they were doing for Barok's and Lestrade's benefit. "It appears that both a fresh draft for Randst and a transformative idea based on an older invention are in the works – we'd best leave them to it."
"You ain't gotta tell me twice – them geniuses over there would just try 'n explain wot they're up to, an' I'm already doin' reading lessons every day even though I'm s'posed to be on holiday." Lestrade grinned over at the detective while using the same toy Iris had deployed during the initial carriage ride here to play with her pup – a wooden stick about half the width of a finger, from which a colorful cloth ribbon dangled above the dog's head.
"Funny, when Iris gave me this, I didn't think 'e'd like it since it's a cat's toy, but 'e doesn't seem to mind playin' with Waggy's hand-me-down."
"You'd be surprised for how many purposes this simple cat toy can be employed, and for what some might mistake it," Sholmes commented cryptically, though he did not opt to elaborate. Instead, he let his gaze wander around the sitting room until it settled on the instruments nearby.
"Tell me, Lord van Zieks, do you play either the piano or the cello?"
Glad that the man had decided to inquire about a subject he knew they shared an interest in, Barok replied, "Regarding the former, I have unfortunately never progressed past 'Für Elise' and the initial movements of the 'Moonlight Sonata,' but I was reasonably skilled at the latter once upon a time. It is quite possible that I have forgotten much of what I learned during my youth, though."
"Well, since we do find ourselves with rather a lot of free time on our hands, and I did bring my violin along… would you perhaps be interested in trying to play a few pieces together?"
"It would be worth the attempt." While Barok was not particularly keen on playing alone, a duet was a more interesting proposition – for one, it would likely distract from any embarrassing mistakes he might commit after over a decade bereft of practice, and for another, considering that he and the detective had reached something of an understanding last night, attempting to work with Sholmes on an endeavor that did not leave any room for misspeaking or bruised egos might well prove to be a pleasant exercise.
"Excellent. Let me go fetch my trusty Stradivarius, and we can discuss what piece to tackle together once we've taken care of tuning."
Barok nodded and rose to remove his instrument from its case while Sholmes left the room. He had just taken hold of the cello's neck when he realized just what exactly the man had stated before taking his leave.
… He owns an authentic Stradivarius?
He would have to ask Sholmes if he could take a look at that violin for himself, considering the legendary reputation Stradivari's work had acquired over the last 100 years.
While he was tapping the tuning fork against the edge of the piano bench in order to produce vibration and compare the resulting sound to the initial string, the detective returned to the sitting room. Obviously, Sholmes knew better than to bother him during the process, only speaking up again once he was finished with his task.
"My violin is already tuned. Now… is there a specific piece you'd prefer to collaborate on?"
"Hm. Let me see if I left any sheet music in the inside pocket of the case – if it's all the same to you, I'd like to hold off on improvisation until I have refamiliarized myself with my instrument."
Barok did indeed find notation for some pieces he had practiced with his cello tutor clear until he had moved to London for his university years and to train under Klint. Back then, he had been just about sick of them, as they had spent the better part of a year on these duets, which had originally been composed for violin and piano, but had been rearranged slightly to be played on only string instruments. However, considering the sheer amount of practice time he had put into them, perhaps they would make for a good re-entry point after over a decade of not having touched his instrument.
"Are you opposed to Bach's 'Duettos'?"
"Not at all, my dear fellow. Shall we start with No. 1 in E minor?"
Nodding his assent, Barok propped the notation up on the stand which had been leaning against the side of the piano, selected the correct page, then motioned for Sholmes to begin the piece, as the cello was only slated to join in after the first few measures, holding his bow in readiness.
To his surprise, he found into the melody without the slightest difficulty once his cue arrived, his and the detective's instruments both harmonizing with and complementing each other. Not only that, there was now something comforting in returning to a piece of music that he had, frankly, begun to loathe just before he had ceased playing altogether, and finding that all the practice that had gone into it had not, in fact, been wasted.
Before he knew it, they had reached the final notes of the first duetto, the sound's reverberation hanging in the air after their bows had stilled for another second or two, only to be replaced by enthusiastic applause coming from the sofa and the armchair by the window.
When Barok looked up, he found that both Iris and Albert had put their work aside at some point while he and Sholmes had been playing. The girl's eyes seemed a little shiny in spite of the wide smile on her face, but at least she did not seem inclined to avoid his gaze any longer.
Lestrade was the first to verbalize her opinion. "That was real pretty! An' 'ere I thought Mr. Sholmes only used that fiddle to annoy folks when 'e wants to 'ave the suite to 'imself!"
"Only on occasion, Miss Lestrade." The detective was apparently not put out by her unflattering assessment of his skill level.
"I have to agree – that was quite delightful! The two of you play very well together," Albert followed up on the young woman's words. "If you wouldn't mind, could we hear a little more, please…?"
Barok exchanged a look with Sholmes, and both men nodded slightly at the same time. After the former had turned the page to display the notation of the second duetto, they readied themselves to play the next piece.
They would complete the duetto quartet and work through a small assortment of pieces from other composers for the next half-hour – Mozart, Beethoven, Dvořák. In the meantime, the dark clouds finally decided to expel their cargo, initially battering the house with a staccato of rain. By the time Barok ran out of sheet music, however, the pattering of water against the window had let up somewhat again.
By now, Lestrade seemed to be a little discomfited by the fact that Asogi had yet to return from his training regimen in the stable in spite of the weather.
"Oi, Brainybuns, can you keep your porkies on Toby for a bit? I'm gonna go 'n see if Kaz and them 'orses ain't under water."
"Of course." Albert took the toy from her and began shaking it for the pup's benefit; Toby did not seem to mind that it had changed hands, as he continued attempting to catch the length of cloth with just as much fervor as before, while the young woman left for the small side building.
A mere five minutes after Lestrade had stepped outside, the rain once again intensified to a degree that even a brief sojourn out from underneath a roof would end in being soaked to the skin.
When Albert inquired at one point whether there was any cause for concern regarding their two companions, Barok shook his head. "Asogi's skill with the sword makes it quite unlikely that he had some sort of accident, the horses are kept in closed boxes, and the roof of the stable is sound. Should they not return to take lunch with us, we'll check on them afterwards."
As if his assistant and the junior inspector had heard him, they did make it back into the house a mere few minutes before Mrs. Hall pronounced the midday meal ready. As they were eating, Iris asked, "So, what have you been doing over there to pass the time while it was pouring?"
"Eh, y'know, nuffin' much to do in there. 'E just showed me some sword fightin' moves 'n we chatted some more 'bout stuff in Japan," Lestrade responded with a shrug. Curiously, her nonchalant answer appeared to arouse Sholmes's interest, as he raised his eyebrow while lifting the fork to his mouth, but he never chimed in with any observations on whatever it had been.
During the afternoon hours, Albert and Iris once again whiled the time away with their notebooks and folders, Barok agreed to a game of chess with the detective, and Asogi declared that he would use the hours until dinner to write a letter to Naruhodo as, as he conceded with a wry smile, "I've only exchanged a couple of short telegrams with him, and considering that some of you took the time to write him actual letters, I'm wondering if Ryunosuke thinks I'm avoiding him by now."
While Barok was doing his best to defend his key pieces from Sholmes's naturally erratic-yet-effective strategy, he spent his time between moves listening to his assistant's conversation with Lestrade, started by her when she noticed that he was apparently penning the missive in Japanese rather than English.
"So, 'ow do you remember all these li'l pictures 'n 'ow to read 'em?"
"Well, there is a system behind it all – the different parts either mean something, show how it's supposed to be pronounced, or both, but depending on how you write, the person reading it will read it differently… it's hard to explain without going into how the language itself works."
"Can you read it out loud? I've never 'eard wot Japanese sounds like – 'Oddo 'n Suze've been speakin' English whenever I met 'em."
"Sure." Asogi proceeded to do just that, translating the short paragraph he had written so far for Lestrade's benefit after finishing the read-through – apparently, it was good form in correspondence to include at least two fairly long sentences about seasonal phenomena and their relation to the correspondents' relationship.
"That sounds right pretty, Japanese does. Lotsa long words though, ain't there?"
"They can be – that's probably why a lot of us are speaking so fast to make up for it." Asogi chuckled. "Not that that always helps – if Ryunosuke comes back to visit or you go to Japan someday and meet him there, you should ask him about the speech contest where we first met…"
Their conversation about the general features of the Japanese language, varieties of writing styles, and bits and pieces of vocabulary continued for quite some time thereafter, apparently thoroughly distracting Asogi from actually completing much of his letter. Not only that, since Barok could not keep himself from listening in on his assistant freely sharing aspects of his culture without ever seeming to lean on overdrawn national pride, a sense of superiority, or the need to judge in drawing comparisons, he ultimately lost his first chess game against Sholmes due to his divided attention. Asking the detective for a rematch, he nevertheless continued to keep an ear on Asogi's and Lestrade's conversation after the first few quick opening moves – something about it was incredibly reminiscent of similar talks he had had with Genshin on a few occasions, even though of course he had not spent nearly as much time with the man as Klint had.
Before he knew it, Mrs. Hall had entered the sitting room and announced that dinner would be served in fifteen minutes. This finally put paid to the cultural exchange he had been overhearing, as Asogi rose from the armchair with a grunt. "I suppose I'll finish this before I go to sleep – and after we've done your chapter of reading practice for the evening."
"Oi, did I say I was tryin' to get outta that?" Lestrade let out an annoyed huff. "I'll show you – I'll lick that chapter in 'alf an hour or less!"
"I'll hold you to that, just so you know." Asogi smirked at her before leaving the room.
The squabbling between them did not manage to carry on beyond the food being placed on the table – in fact, while none of them was eating as ravenously as they had been the previous night, everyone present was displaying a healthy appetite, a testament to Mrs. Hall's skills as a cook as well as to the fact that, although no one had engaged in a strenuous workout except for Asogi, no one had been made to languish in ennui due to the terrible weather all day.
Once everyone was finished, Iris moved to stand and went over to the window to peer out into the gray half-darkness that had already been in evidence for multiple hours.
"It's let up a bit for the time being… maybe it'd be for the best if the Halls went home for the night, and we took care of the clean-up instead. I'd feel terrible if they had to go out there once it starts pouring again, just because of a few silly chores we'd be able to take care of in 20 minutes!"
Barok was initially a bit puzzled by her assertion – while he certainly loathed making servants wait for him if alternatives were available, he did not think he had ever witnessed someone being willing to do work that was due to be seen to by others.
Then again… They'll have to travel about fifteen minutes to return home, and their carriage doesn't have a roof. If they take ill due to exposure to the elements, they might well miss out on income beyond the end of our stay here. The Hall family owned a pub in Whippingham, presumably kept open and staffed by the couple's children while they were absent during the day at the moment, but running the business with fewer people would only be feasible for a short while before it would experience supply shortages and lack of personnel coverage. While he of course did pay them for their services, he would not consider it enough to weather the potential consequences.
Turning toward her, he stated, "If you'd like, I'll let them know that they're free to leave early."
"Please do." Iris nodded, her gaze firm.
"Very well."
Barok found the couple sitting together in the adjacent kitchen, where they had taken their own dinner. At first, the Halls were as bewildered as he had initially been, but they gratefully agreed to depart a little earlier than usual to avoid another heavy downpour and went to wish everyone a good night.
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Iris set her sights on Lestrade and Asogi.
"Oh Ginny, Kazy…?"
"I knew this was comin'…" Lestrade rose and punched the man seated next to her in the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get this over wiv – I gotta give Toby some food anyways, 'e can 'ave the leftovers."
"Right, I suppose I'll lend a hand so it's done quickly…" While Asogi was obviously not particularly enthusiastic about the task, he seemed to have accepted his lot.
Barok nodded over at him. "To show you we appreciate your sacrifice, I shall offer up an assortment of adult refreshments in the sitting room once you're finished. As for the one person who cannot partake…"
His gaze wandered over to Iris, who was standing in the door leading into the kitchen glancing back at him.
"Since I cannot offer you anything not already found in the kitchen tonight, name your reward."
"Oh! Well… I don't really need to be rewarded for taking care of this… and I don't know what to ask for…" The girl seemed more than a little surprised by his invitation.
"Feel free to take your time to come up with something you'd like – as you know, I don't forget promises I make, even if it occasionally takes me a little while to accede to them." Barok sent her a smile before turning away.
He was in the process of approaching the exit to the hallway when she stated belatedly, "I'll hold you to that, then," her voice sounding a little strange, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she had already gone to join Asogi and Lestrade to tackle her self-appointed task.
A few minutes later, he, Sholmes, and Albert were seated around the coffee table once more, which was now holding the assortment of bottles Barok had acquired in Cowes on Sunday.
Once each of the men had selected a beverage and they had toasted each other, Albert turned toward his co-lodger while reaching behind himself to retrieve the folder he had been studying all afternoon.
"Mr. Sholmes, would you mind answering a few questions about some of the items Iris documented from memory…?"
"Gladly, Professor – that is, if I still remember the details you'd like to inquire about. As you know, I tend to be rather forgetful in regard to things unrelated to current concerns."
"Well, it would be great if you could take a look at this…"
Albert leafed through the folder until he had found the page he had been looking for, putting it on the table for the detective and Barok to see.
"Now, as you know, organic chemistry is far from my strong suit – you and Iris are far better versed in that area of science – but do you feel the ratios for this substance are correct?"
"Ah, the blood trace colorant. Hm… I think the problem might not be the ratios of the ingredients, but that she noted down a different oxidant than we originally incorporated. The question now is whether this is an improvement, or a mishap – and unfortunately, I don't have all the substances we'd need for experimentation with me at the moment…"
"What experiment are you talking about, Hurley?" Iris asked as she entered the room, followed by Lestrade and Asogi.
Stepping closer to the coffee table, she peered at the folder contents Sholmes and Albert had been discussing. "Oh, that? I'm pretty sure the formula is correct. Why did you want to run further experiments?"
"Because I think you may have misremembered the oxidant –sodium peroxide wouldn't produce the effects we've been observing in field tests."
"Huh." Iris thought for a moment. "… Now that you say it, you might be right – but what have we been using, then?"
"That's what I'd like to know, as well." Sholmes heaved a heavy sigh. "I suppose I'll have to work through the chemical equations on paper if I don't want to lie awake all night pondering this question. I so hate having to resort to theory – it has always bored me most dreadfully."
"Would you mind giving me your notes tomorrow, Mr. Sholmes? Iris and I have been discussing a few of the chemical substances you've come up with, but as I mentioned, the theory still stumps me when it comes to reactions with organic matter…"
"Ah. Well, if it's for the purpose of edification, I'll make an exception and show you my work, as it were. If you have any questions after reading through them, feel free to ask either myself or Iris for elaboration."
"Thank you, I'll do that."
True to his word, the detective withdrew to his bedroom after only one drink to attend to the scientific mystery that had fallen into his lap all of a sudden. Soon thereafter, Asogi and Lestrade left after the former had needled the latter for the duration of their second drinks about trying to shirk reading practice after her grandiose declarations of how little time a chapter would take her, until the young woman rolled her eyes, rose, and pulled Asogi along by the sleeve while grumbling a rather impressive assortment of obscenities under her breath. Albert, who was sitting between Iris and the door, made a show of clearing his throat very loudly multiple times to drown out the words after blushing upon hearing the first two or three expressions, which resulted in Barok being the only one to hear most of the tirade.
I should find a way to get her admitted into the House of Lords during a plenum – she'd likely manage to give a good third of those self-satisfied old robber barons a heart attack with this sort of language.
Next, Iris stretched and yawned loudly, neither motion nor sound entirely convincing after having witnessed the real thing a few times. "I suppose I'll turn in, as well – you two have a nice evening, and a good night!"
She had left the room before either Albert or Barok had time to respond, her notebook underneath her arm.
The two men looked at each other and shrugged.
Perhaps she wanted to return to her Randst work in peace, or thought we'd want to discuss something in private. It was also possible that she wanted to engage in the same activity as Sholmes and work out the question of the mistaken oxidant.
After taking another sip of his drink, Barok took a look at his friend's face, relieved to find that the redness caused by his sunburn had receded a good deal.
"Do you think you'll require more calamine tomorrow morning? If so, I'll leave the bottle in the bathroom for you."
"Oh… to be honest, I haven't noticed any itching since I put on some more after lunch, so I think it'll be fine by the time I wake up – thanks for asking, though." Albert smiled at him. "I think I'll fill the tub with cold water and have a quick soak, if you don't mind."
"Go right ahead – I will likely be in the study for a while before turning in, so I shouldn't be in need of the bathroom anytime soon."
He was about to add that, if his friend wanted to socialize more thereafter, that he was welcome to come back out, but refrained after noticing that Albert appeared rather fatigued, if not as thoroughly worn-out as the previous evening.
Indeed, his companion made to rise soon after his words. "I'll go ahead and do that then – good night, Barok." A wink. "See you tomorrow morning in front of the bathroom mirror."
"Most likely. Have a good night, Albert." Returning his friend's smile, Barok leaned back in his armchair once he was the only one left in the room.
While today had been unexpectedly pleasant overall, being restricted to the house the entire day due to the weather made him wish that going for an evening walk was an option without being drenched within minutes. Alas, it was not to be.
It should hopefully let up sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, spending another hour or two in the study with a spot of music would have to serve when it came to calming his mind enough to consider going to bed.
After unlocking the door, he busied himself with returning the bottles from the sitting room table to the small stand next to the desk for a few minutes, then took a little while to select a record, eventually settling on Smetana's Má vlast collection of six pieces. Since gazing out of the window only offered a view at cascading sheets of rain tonight, Barok instead allowed himself a good look at the wall across from it, where those who had made use of the study all those years ago had hung a number of photographic prints capturing a variety of family moments.
While personal photography equipment had not yet been on the market when his parents had still been alive, his father had occasionally hired a photographer for a day to capture the family in front of the house as well as on the beach. The largest print, placed in the center of the collection in an ornate wooden frame, showcased Father, Mother, Klint, and himself when he had been 12 years old, standing in the front yard. His brother, then in his final year at university, was of the same height as their father already, while young Barok had not yet hit his growth spurt – the crown of his head was at the level of their mother's shoulders.
Thereafter, a much smaller photograph to the left of the large family portrait caught his attention, both because of its age and its subject matter: him and Klint kneeling to the left and right of a sandcastle, one nowhere near as elaborate as the structure Albert and Iris had erected yesterday, but still of considerable size, both the 10-year-old boy and the 20-year-old young man grinning into the camera with not a care in the world.
To the right of the largest print, meanwhile, a much newer photograph was affixed to the wall, this one not stemming from one of their family holidays: Klint and Beryl on their wedding day, flanked by Barok on Klint's side, and one of Beryl's close friends on hers.
He must have put it there during one of his visits before… well.
After the deaths of their parents, Klint had held off on tying the knot for the longest time, in spite of his obligations as the new head of the family – idealistic as he had been, he had declared that he would not simply settle for a good match, but try and find the "right" woman. He had not met Beryl until he had been 29 and she 26, and while his wife-to-be had been renowned in their social circles as a quick-witted firebrand who had refused many a suitor up until this point, they had taken to each other immediately.
Barok, 20 at the time of their wedding, had already favored the same hairstyle he now customarily wore, but his face was of course still unmarred by the Bicycle Incident, and his expression was relaxed. A year and a half later, he would meet Albert at the science faculty, and four years later, tragedy would suddenly strike, completely destabilizing everything he had taken for granted, but the younger version of him in the picture did not have the slightest idea yet what the future would hold in store for him.
Perhaps I should take these down before we leave for London. Keeping them where they now were would only lead to him contemplating them again the next time he came here, and all the times thereafter, dwelling on a past that could never be restored.
Barok sighed and rubbed his right temple. Yes, doing so would enable him to spend time in this room and perhaps accomplish work in the future without thinking about all the family members who had passed on and left him behind, but… Pretending they never existed won't assuage the grief.
After all, had he not stated to Naruhodo back in November that it could well be that he had tacitly accepted the Reaper rumors about himself due to them somehow, perversely, causing him to feel that something remained of his deceased brother?
Denying the past only intensifies the longing. It might be better to instead attempt to accept the past as the past, and move on, without jettisoning memories both good and bad, as much as that was possible.
Rather than taking down any of the older photographic prints, perhaps he should consider adding new ones to the wall. Iris and Albert's sandcastle definitely should be here once I receive a print from Sholmes.
He was startled out of his thoughts when someone softly knocked on the door even though he had left it open.
Turning toward the sound, he found Iris standing in the doorframe, still clad in her day clothes. The girl's expression seemed oddly determined, as though she were steeling herself for an impending fight.
Ignoring the burgeoning hint of concern that she was about to reveal something that would cause a rift between them, he decided to take the initiative. "Good evening again. What brings you here? I thought you had decided to retire for the night."
For a moment, it looked as though the girl might turn tail and run, her eyes widening and her hands flying up to her mouth even though she had not yet uttered a single word in response. Then, however, her resolve appeared to make a return, as she once again straightened her posture and took a couple of steps toward him.
Tilting her head back to keep her glance on his face, she stated, "There's something I need to ask you, and I didn't want anyone else to hear this."
His concern now mingling with curiosity, Barok prompted, "What is it?"
Iris took a deep breath, visibly gathering her courage. Yet, when her question emerged, it was quiet, as if she was concerned about his reaction – or his answer.
"You and I… we're related, aren't we?"
Now, Barok was the one who could do naught but stare down at her, his mouth opening to respond a few times, only to close again when nothing emerged.
How…?
Apparently, the single word had somehow made it out in spite of the fact that he would never recall forming it with his lips, since the girl looked away and explained.
"I've had my suspicions since Bertie and I found you and Hurley just glaring at each other that day when we got home from Lambeth – neither one of us could think of why you two would be angry with each other, especially since you didn't know where we went yet at that point. And then, last night… I did nod off for a bit, but when I came to, I dimly heard music playing through the wall, and your and Hurley's voices, so I snuck over here and I, um, eavesdropped on your chat…"
Of course. The wall on which the painted portraits hung was constructed of sheet timber, not brick, underneath the wallpaper – Barok still recalled occasionally hearing Klint and Father talk in the study just before he had gone to sleep during his childhood days, in the same room Iris now used.
"… Then I assume you already know what my answer will be, but would prefer to hear it from me, correct?"
Iris merely nodded, her gaze still fixed on his face.
"In that case… yes, we are."
They quietly studied each other for a few endless seconds after his confirmation, both of them unsure how to continue the conversation.
Eventually, the girl was the one to break the silence once more. "I'd ask why you didn't tell me earlier, but I think I already know. Your brother… he was my father, wasn't he?"
This time around, his surprise did not render Barok speechless, even though he found it even more difficult to envision how she had worked out that particular detail.
"Once again, that's right."
Iris must have read the question in his expression. "It wasn't that hard to piece together. Both you and Hurley mentioned last night that you didn't know until late last year when Professor Mickey told you, and he hinted that he had a good idea of who my father was just the evening before… and you said that your brother's wife was from the Baskerville family during the trial. That's why Hurley didn't want me to publish my novelization of Professor Mickey's notes on that case… it was too close to the truth…"
She took another deep breath, lowering her head before speaking on. "I suppose now I finally know why I never got to meet either of my parents…"
"I'm sorry." The muttered words came out before Barok could stop himself. "I'd give anything to change that fact for you if it were within the realm of possibility."
"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that… you knew them, and loved them, and still miss them." The girl looked back up at him, a melancholic smile on her face. "It's just, I was often wondering if, if they just didn't want me, but I suppose that isn't why Hurley's been taking care of me for so long. I've had him all my life, and Mrs. Huston, and Gregsy, and then I met Ginny and Runo and Susie and Professor Mickey… I've always wanted to know where I came from, but I've never had to feel lonely or lost..."
Unlike you. The words she did not say nevertheless made it difficult for Barok to maintain his composure for a long moment.
She has borne this uncertainty her whole life, and yet she would expend compassion on others instead? Klint and Beryl would be unspeakably proud of their daughter's strength and empathy.
Aloud, he stated once he was certain his voice would not waver too obviously, "Both of them wanted for you to be safe, and happy, and loved, I'm sure of that. They'd be grateful to everyone who has been in your life since their passing… I know I am."
His words caused her smile to widen and lose its melancholy cast. "Since February, that also includes you, you know."
Barok could feel a responding smile forming on his lips all but automatically. "By a fortuitous twist of fate, yes, it does."
"By the way, I think I know now what I'd like for that reward you offered me earlier tonight." She was still smiling up at him, waiting for the obvious follow-up question.
Obliging her, Barok raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would that be?"
In response, Iris raised her hands, palms held toward her, and curled her fingers inward in a beckoning gesture. "Come down here and give me a hug."
"I don't think I'll be particularly good at it." In spite of his warning, Barok readily lowered himself to one knee before her.
"Well, then there's nothing for it but to practice, is there?" The girl stepped closer, her slim arms wrapping over his shoulders and her cheek settling against his.
When he moved to reciprocate, encircling her torso with his arms and pulling her in, taking care to not squeeze her too hard, she let out a little giggle near his ear. "I'd say you're doing very well, actually."
"In that case, I'm glad that I'm meeting your expectations."
His words earned him a kiss on the cheek.
"You know… I don't think I should call you 'Mr. Reaper' any longer. You never were the Reaper anyway, and, well… it's not very nice, is it?"
"Did you have an alternative in mind?"
Iris stilled in his arms at his question, apparently thinking on it for a moment.
"How about 'Uncle Barry'?"
Her suggestion got a chuckle out of him. "I'm not opposed in general, though I'd ask you to leave off the 'uncle' while in the presence of others – I'd gladly acknowledge you as my niece to all and sundry, don't misunderstand, but given that my profession and reputation regularly paint a target on my back, doing so might well endanger you."
"Oh, I suppose… I'm not too worried about that, but if you are, then let's just go with 'Barry.'"
"Much obliged."
They remained silent for a little while after that, the only sound in the room the notes of the Smetana composition currently playing on the gramophone.
Eventually, Iris stepped back slightly, just enough to be able to look Barok in the face again.
"So… those pictures on the wall here… the ones you were looking at when I came in… are those…?"
"Ah. Yes. Would you like to take a closer look at them?"
When she nodded, he lifted her up on one arm and turned toward the photographic prints once more. Of course, her gaze was immediately drawn toward the one depicting the day of Klint and Beryl's wedding.
"So those are my… my father and mother. They look so happy… and so nice…"
"They were both of those things whenever I was in their presence. They loved each other very much."
Iris's arm on his left shoulder tightened slightly before she spoke on. "It's strange to miss someone you've never met, isn't it? I almost feel bad for it because it's not fair to Hurley – he's always been there for me. Not that it's their fault that they couldn't be, but…"
She sighed. "This is coming out all wrong, but it's really hard to explain how I'm feeling right now."
"While I wouldn't presume that I know exactly how you feel, I believe I might have a fairly good idea," Barok quietly replied. "Reconciling one's conflicting feelings about a person who is, or should have been, close to you is… complicated. Give it time – you don't need to come to a conclusion immediately."
"I'll do that… if you promise me you'll do the same."
He glanced over at her and found her sending him a knowing smile.
"Touché. I suppose I've been in need of hearing this advice for a while now, myself."
Iris nodded. "Well… let's take the time we need, and talk more about them after we've found the right words."
"It's a promise."
Barok had just finished speaking when the girl on his arm yawned widely; this time, her tiredness did not seem feigned.
"Perhaps we should both consider going to bed," he suggested.
"You're probably right… I didn't sleep too well last night because, well, I was thinking about how to talk to you for a long time before I could fall asleep again."
"Well, since I believe we've taken care of that item on your agenda…" Stepping over to the gramophone to turn it off, Barok extinguished the two oil lamps illuminating the room afterwards, and pulled the door of the study shut behind himself, Iris still perched securely on his left arm.
