The Hidden Portrait
"Please take this."
Bayul had been staring at the portrait for a long while. Amon, who had watched him silently all that time, drew a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to him.
"...Thank you."
"Your mother was a truly beautiful woman."
Amon spoke up in a deliberately bright tone, hoping to shift the mood.
"What sort of person was she in life? From what I can sense, she seems to have been a remarkably tender soul."
"...Does she look that way to you?"
"Yes, her character shines through as well. I imagine she must have cherished you dearly, young master."
"...You're right. She would have."
Had their mother lived, she surely would have. How many times had Bayul imagined himself and Bail nestled in her arms, giggling without a care? He had dreamed, over and over, of her gentle hands stroking his hair and his brother's.
"If only she hadn't passed away giving birth to us......"
"Oh — so she left you so soon......"
Seeing the grief etched on Bayul's face, Amon had merely assumed he'd lost her; he'd had no idea she had been taken from them so early. Privately, he squirmed, wondering if he had poked his nose in where he shouldn't have.
"By the way, why is your mother's portrait here of all places?"
Death asked abruptly.
"I've cleaned through hundreds of picture frames, and this woman wasn't in a single one of them. Why?"
"...Because Father told us to put it away."
"......?"
"Looking at her pained him too much, so he ordered everything put away."
And whenever he missed her, he must have come here alone and gazed at her for hours. Just as I am now.
We should have found it together — Bail and I.
How overjoyed his brother would have been, if only they had. As Bail's memorial day drew nearer, the desperate longing to see him, coupled with the unbearable guilt over the mistake Bayul himself had made, tightened around his throat like a noose.
"Ah, so that was the situation. I apologize for overstepping, entirely unaware of it."
"Not at all, Amon. Thanks to you, I got to see my mother again — I couldn't be happier. It would have been better to know sooner, of course, but simply being able to look upon her now fills me with joy."
Now there was a place he could come to whenever he missed her. Once the break ended, he would have to return to Carrington. Some instinct told him he would visit this room many times before then.
"That necklace must be a keepsake, I see."
The very same necklace Bayul wore hung around the neck of the woman in the portrait. For some reason, Death fixed his gaze on Bayul's necklace with an air of finding it vaguely annoying.
Ah — the rings!
And then Bayul's eyes stopped on the ring gracing his mother's finger.
The Eye of the Ocean.
The matched pair of rings known as the treasure of the Mermaid Kingdom.
Wait — maybe the rings are here too!
Suddenly Bayul spun around and searched the room like a man startled awake, and Death and Amon followed suit, sweeping their eyes over the surroundings.
That drawer — could it be......!
A chest of drawers stood in one corner of the room. Bayul dashed over at once, set down the candle, and yanked the drawers open.
One, two, three...... All of them empty. Nothing but gray dust filled the five drawers.
"Were you looking for a book, by any chance?"
"...What?"
"Earlier, in the study over there, you seemed to be searching for something as well......"
Amon had stepped in to help, and that was how he'd discovered the hidden space and, in turn, the portrait. Had it been anyone but Amon, it never would have happened.
"A ring. I'm looking for a ring, not a book."
No more hesitation remained. Bayul pointed to the ring on his mother's hand in the portrait and made his request.
"The ring she's wearing there. Would you help me look for it?"
"Of course. If it's anywhere in this castle, I will find it."
Amon declared this with grand confidence, as if to say trust me and no one else, then set off on his search. Death simply crossed his arms where he stood, glancing around halfheartedly, showing no real interest.
Bayul couldn't stand still either. Taking up the candle once more, he combed the room from top to bottom. He pored over the walls and the ceiling and even peeled back the carpet, leaving nothing unexamined.
But contrary to his hopes, no ring appeared. Amon's uncanny senses seemed to fail him this time too; he scratched his head in embarrassment.
"Well now, it seems it's not here after all...... What should we do?"
Amon bowed his head deeply, evidently troubled by the disappointment on Bayul's face.
"Instead of us fumbling around, wouldn't it be faster to just ask someone?"
Bayul answered Death's suggestion in a hollow voice.
"Father struggles just to look at Mother's portrait. I can't go pushing my own selfish wants on a man like that."
"Who said anything about asking your father?"
Death continued, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"The person who arranged this room — in other words, whoever hid the portrait — would know where the ring is too, wouldn't they?"
"This place was made by my father......"
"He only gave the orders, surely."
"......!"
"When someone gives a command, there are always others whose job it is to carry it out."
It was a perspective Bayul had never considered. And Death was right. His father would have entrusted the task to someone. A lord of the territory would hardly have done the work with his own hands.
Who could it have been?
Only one person came to mind.
The one who confirmed and supervised everything that took place in the main castle —
As far as Bayul knew, there was exactly one such person: the head butler, Cunning.
When Bayul visited the head butler's office, Cunning happened to be away. He could have ordered the servants to summon him, but Bayul steadied himself and decided to wait.
He had found his mother's portrait. The pounding of his heart from that moment still hadn't settled. He needed time to sort out in his head exactly how, and in what words, he would broach the question when Cunning returned.
How much time had passed like that?
"Young master Bayul! What brings you to my office, my lord?"
Cunning returned before long, stepping into the office with a faint air of excitement about him.
"I came to ask you something. But has something happened at the castle?"
"Ah, nothing of consequence. I was merely startled — haha, and come to think of it, that too is entirely thanks to you, young master."
When Bayul looked at the butler in bewilderment as he burst into laughter, Cunning explained.
"Those three brothers. Death, Bar, and Amon, was it?"
"What about them?"
"Rita praised them so lavishly that I wondered how good they could really be — but their cleaning is no ordinary work. The entire castle was transformed in a single day. I saw it with my own eyes, and I still can scarcely believe it."
The relentless rain, pouring down as though the sky itself had torn open, had left mess upon mess in every corner. With no chance of sunlight, mold-stained patches had multiplied without end.
But thanks to the three brothers' astonishing efforts, the main castle was finally regaining its true colors. It was like the ache of a rotten tooth finally pulled clean.
"I've been considering giving them a special bonus. What are your thoughts, young master?"
"I heard they have many younger siblings. A fair reward for honest work sounds like a fine idea to me."
"Rita tells me you picked those three out yourself, young master. Let me take this opportunity to offer you my sincerest thanks."
Cunning was the chief steward responsible for every great and small affair within Hamilton's castle. Some might consider cleaning a trivial matter, but nothing concerned him more than the castle's cleanliness. It bore directly on hygiene, and it shaped the first impression whenever a guest came to call.
Just as he was reaching his limit, faced with endless cleanup after the long downpours, the Death brothers' uncanny efficiency had completely transformed the castle.
To Head Butler Cunning, those three were nothing short of a godsend.
"I should be the one thanking you. I hear Rita gave you quite a hard time?"
"You mean her tantrum about wanting to be sent to Carrington?"
The butler shook his head, as if the memory still made his skin crawl.
"Thanks to Rita, I found myself looking forward to the weekends. When I first left Hamilton, I was quite anxious, but with her there I somehow felt steadier, and my heart was much lighter. I very well might have scolded her harshly — thank you for not doing so."
"I've known the girl since she was in swaddling clothes. She is as precious to me as you are, young master. I could hardly keep making her cry, could I?"
She had come to him every day with eyes swollen red. Since matters within Carrington were Sir Ian's responsibility, Cunning had been hesitant to meddle — but he could not bear to simply watch, so he made the decision on his own authority first and reported it to the lord afterward.
"Then there's no need to thank me so. Is it not the duty of people like us to serve the lord and his heir with utmost devotion? We find our fulfillment and happiness in that very service, so you needn't offer words of thanks at all."
"No. Still, gratitude is gratitude."
"......?"
"And I intend to keep telling you, every time it's earned."
Cunning was genuinely taken aback, though he fought hard not to let it show. He had sensed it the night before, when they first met in the main hall — truly, so much about the young master had changed.
Confident, one might say, in every respect.
He could not recall the young master ever speaking with such crisp decisiveness before. It wasn't that he had made no demands at all, but this was a firmness that defied easy explanation.
Whatever Bayul had been through in Carrington, from Cunning's standpoint it was a most welcome development.
He was, after all, the sole heir of the great House Randert. Serving him filled the old butler with a quiet pride.
"You said you waited because you had something to ask of me? I must give the lord his end-of-day report shortly. Please, ask away."
"Before that — I need you to keep it secret from my father."
"...A secret, my lord?"
"Yes. You must promise me."
Bayul met the head butler's gaze squarely. In that instant, Cunning felt a strong premonition that this was no ordinary matter — and honestly, part of him wished he could refuse.
But this was the young master, returning to Hamilton after so long an absence. Turning him down would not be easy. Whatever he could do for him, Cunning wanted to do.
"Very well."
"You must never breathe a word."
"My lips are not so loose as all that — rest assured."
Had there been any carelessness in his words or conduct, he would never have risen to the post of chief steward. Bayul trusted him and laid it all out.
"I found my mother's portrait."
"...By your mother, do you mean the portrait of the Duchess?"
"Yes."
He said nothing, but the unspoken question was written plainly on Cunning's face — how did you find it?
"It was hidden away perfectly, behind the study."
"......!"
"I knew you would know about it, Head Butler."
The shock on the man's face was all the confirmation Bayul needed. He went straight to the point.
"The ring my mother wears in that portrait. I'm looking for it. Do you happen to know where it's kept?"
"...The ring? Why this sudden interest in that ring......?"
At words he had never once anticipated, a puzzled expression settled over Cunning's face.
"I can't tell you the reason just yet. Only — think of it as the fate of an entire nation hanging in the balance."
"The fate of an entire nation?"
Cunning's face twisted, as if he'd never heard anything more absurd. Setting aside the fact that it was a keepsake of the late Duchess, it was nothing more than an expensive ring, was it not?
And yet — perhaps because Bayul's bearing was so utterly grave — a needless tension crept over him, and a bead of sweat rolled down the head butler's brow.