By Zephyria 
It was just as the doors to autumn were opening when ‘that guest’ visited Mark Twegger’s shop, the Miguelen Trading Company.
The man, sitting in a corner of the shop as usual, managing newly arrived materials, equipment, and inventory, looked somewhat grim.
“It’s precarious.”
Numbers and trend calculations flickered rapidly across his gaze. It was a ledger comparing last year to this year.
“It’s never been this long since a visit.”
Clicking his tongue in regret, Mark highlighted this month’s income—which had plummeted to half of last year’s—in red. While the general economic downturn played a part, the primary cause was the absence of his most important client for several months.
“Now that I think about it, has it been over a year?”
The last purchase was last summer, so it had been about a year.
For over a year now, the young Duke of Cornwall, a key client, had not set foot in the Miguelen Trading Company. As the absence dragged on, the Cornwall family, who used to make large advance payments every quarter, had suddenly cut off all contact. Mark wondered if something had happened to the Duke.
Of course, as a mere merchant, there was no way for him to discover the whereabouts of a high noble, so his curiosity remained just that—curiosity. More than that, Mark was curious about the identity of the ‘Mad Dog of Yorkshire,’ who had been competing with him in recent wholesale bidding auctions, sweeping up expensive gemstones and marble one after another. Rumors were even circulating that the man was not satisfied with that and was scouring the quarries as well.
“I’ll need to increase the stock before autumn.”
Clicking his tongue low in worry, he was calculating how many more months he could hold out.
Clink.
At the sound of someone entering, Mark sprang up and headed toward the door.
“Welcome. Welcome to the Miguelen Trading Company. How may I help you? I likely have everything you are looking for prepared in my shop. Just say the word.”
The same greeting he had used without change for twenty years came out. With a desperate prayer that this be a big fish, Mark quickly escorted the visitor.
“There was someone here.”
The tall man standing at the entrance tilted his head slightly.
“Oh!”
The face was familiar. Mark paused for a moment, searching his memory.
Dark eyebrows stretched cleanly beneath a sharp forehead. Sunken eyelids and long eyes emphasized a pure green gaze, free of any impurity, and the sleek cheeks and jaw formed a perfect harmony. Above all, the tailored suit and dinner jacket fitting his sturdy, lean body were more than enough to make him look like an exquisite gentleman.
The owner of this magnificent appearance, capable of stealing the hearts of every woman strolling down Grosvenor Street, was certainly a man Mark Twegger knew well.
Most likely, definitely…
“Five thousand pounds…”
The man, not missing the dazed voice, curled the corner of his lips. It was a smile so stunning that even another man could lose his soul to it.
“You seem to remember me. I only came here once.”
“Yes, yes… O-of course I remember.”
The reason he stuttered more than necessary was likely because, around this time a year ago, he had spent a great deal of time badmouthing this man to the Duke of Cornwall. Feeling guilty for having made another client a laughingstock to win the favor of his primary customer, Mark subtly looked away.
“W-what do you require?”
Despite his pricking conscience, a glimmer of hope bloomed in a corner of his heart. This was a gentry-like beast who had bought a mediocre painting for a staggering five thousand pounds. If he discovered a piece that suited his taste this time, he might pay an even higher price. A list of works left by both newcomers and established artists for sale or storage flashed through Mark’s mind.
“There are quite a few new paintings that have arrived recently. Would you like to see some of them?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Ah, it doesn’t have to be paintings; I have sculptures and various other things. While my shop is a materials company, it is also a place where artists based in England exchange ideas freely. I also handle intermediary sales, so I can connect you with various painters and sculptors. Just say the word.”
At the lengthy explanation, the man chuckled and removed his Top Hat.
“I would like to speak with you for a moment. Is that alright?”
“Of course. Please, come this way.”
Guiding the gentleman to a table set up on one side of the shop, Mark quickly prepared the black tea served only to precious guests.
“Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. The aroma should be lovely. Please, take your time drinking and let us talk.”
The young gentry, crossing his long legs, scanned every corner of the shop while sipping the tea. Assuming the man was searching for an item to purchase, Mark led the conversation with a confident voice.
“The works I mentioned earlier are not here. Paintings and sculptures are quite difficult to manage.”
“I see.”
“Yes. I keep basic tools and materials that aren’t affected by external environmental factors in the shop. Works entrusted by artists are kept in a special space with controlled humidity and temperature.”
“Hmm.”
The reaction was lukewarm. He showed no emotion typical of someone looking to buy art. Nor did he look like he had come to purchase art supplies. As doubts grew, Mark brought up a shared memory to shift the atmosphere.
“How was the painting you purchased back then?”
“Painting?”
“The painting you bought for five thousand pounds.”
His intention was clearly to boast about Miguelen’s systematic customer management and remarkable memory.
“…….”
The man’s expression, which had been relaxed until a moment ago, suddenly distorted before Mark could even finish his sentence. Startled by the sudden change in the air, Mark hid his bewilderment and stammered on.
“Haha, come to think of it, after the gentleman purchased the painting, the artist came to see me. Since it was a piece that was absolutely not to be sold, I got a severe scolding. Well… fortunately, they didn’t tell me to bring it back…”
“…….”
“If the gentleman was satisfied, then that is enough…”
“…….”
“…….”
An awkward silence fell. It was a terrible sense of déjà vu. It was the same discomfort he had felt a year ago during a conversation with the artist, Duke Aaron Wizfeldon of Cornwall. Convinced that the damn painting must be cursed, Mark quickly changed the subject.
“L-let’s leave the greetings here… please tell me your business.”
“……The works you mentioned were in storage.”
A voice, lower and colder than before, brought up the business. The gentry’s expression was terrifyingly frigid. He looked as if he were about to pick someone and put their head on a guillotine. While thinking this would be a difficult sale, Mark first focused on the fact that a capable gentry was interested in purchasing art.
“Yes, there are various works. Of course, there are things you should keep in mind. Most of the works I store and sell on behalf of others are by emerging artists. Therefore, if you are looking for the level of work that enters museums or courts, you may be disappointed. The painting you purchased previously was part of that.”
Of course, there was a magnificent sculpture that would completely overturn such an opinion, but unless the creator willed it, it was unlikely to be seen by the world. The forced sale of the painting a few years ago had been an unexpected accident. Now that he knew the artist was the Duke of Cornwall, such a thing must never happen again. If it were stolen again, his own head might roll. This was a matter of survival, regardless of money.
Recalling how he had practically coerced the sale of the painting despite repeated refusals years ago, Mark thought of a list of works he could sell to the man.
“I heard you are storing works created by the Duke of Cornwall.”
“Gasp.”
Mark experienced and proved with his own body that one’s breath stops when one is too surprised. Frozen in the middle of writing the list, Mark Twegger slowly and with great difficulty exhaled. Though only a few seconds had passed, his mind, hit by a bomb, became a mess.
Oh my god.
Screaming silently, Mark broke into a cold sweat. This man knew the Duke of Cornwall’s secret hobby. Above all, he knew of the works he created. The Duke had said he would kill him if that fact ever spread.
‘No, wait. That means the Duke of Cornwall also knows this man.’
If so, wouldn’t he also know that this man bought that painting? Then, regarding what I said back then… the chain of thoughts quickly reached a conclusion.
“Gasp!”
This young gentry knows the Duke of Cornwall, and the young Duke also knows this gentry. They were clearly close enough to share a secret hobby like sculpting, and Mark had used an anecdote involving this man as a bit of entertainment for the Duke. He swallowed hard with a dry throat. Just as his brain was spinning at high speed to figure out how to fix the situation—
“Lead me to where the Duke of Cornwall’s works are stored.”
“Pardon? What? Oh, heavens, sir, I cannot. You did it last time, but back then I had no idea the person who painted that picture was the Duke… I absolutely cannot now. I only have one body and I value my life. Please, spare me…”
At the desperate plea, the man let out a scoffing laugh and stood up.
“I have the Duke’s permission, so lead the way without worry.”
“Pardon? Permission? I received no prior notice…”
“If you cannot believe me, you may send a letter to Pellynton Hall right now. I brought a Footman, so it is possible to send it immediately.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but…”
While he hesitated, the glare became even more intense. Unable to withstand the pressure of the atmosphere, Mark reluctantly nodded.
“But you must only look. Any further action is impossible without an official letter from the Cornwall family. My own neck is on the line, so you must promise me this.”
“I understand.”
The man, answering more cleanly than expected, stood up. Filled with discomfort, Mark guided the young gentry to the storage room.
‘I’d rather business not be booming.’
In the silence where not a single word was exchanged, the only sound was the noise of footsteps. The distance to the storage area wasn’t long, but it felt as if hours had passed. Thinking it was a terrible silence, Mark squeezed his eyes shut.
“Here it is.”
The storage room was at the innermost part of the building.
“……It is meager. Are you truly storing the Duke’s works in such a shabby place?”
The gaze expressing doubt was cold. It was as if he were looking at a ruffian who treated his work carelessly. In that moment, Mark forgot his fear and felt a surge of indignation.
“It only looks that way from the outside. I am confident you will be surprised once you see the interior.”
“I hope it is not an exaggeration.”
“Just don’t be too shocked.”
Arriving at the door, Mark took the keys from his waist and began unlocking the multiple locks one by one. Clank. The sound of the final lock and key aligning echoed through the lobby. It was the moment the works, hidden so no one would see, were revealed to an outsider.
“…….”
Since it had originally been used as a warehouse, the exterior was shabby, but the interior was magnificent enough to rival any museum. Of course, this was only possible thanks to the full support of the Cornwall family.
“How is it? Is it not better than you expected?”
The footsteps crossing the line between the interior and exterior were very cautious. He walked with a prudence that made it hard to believe he had made such a brazen request.
“……I see.”
The gaze looking at the enchanting sight unfolding before him surely contained awe.
“To preserve the works perfectly, we control all variables, including humidity and temperature. You have no idea how much effort I put into this.”
“…….”
“Some people say marble is just stone and it’s fine to leave it anywhere, but in fact, it’s not such a simple mat—”
Mark, who had been boasting like an artist showing his work to the world for the first time, suddenly shut his mouth and looked back.
“……Yes.”
The man looking at the sculpture before him was weeping silently. The young gentry seemed unaware of his own state, his expression completely entranced.
“Beautiful.”
“……Yes, yes it is.”
“Truly beautiful.”
The man’s gaze contained an emotion beyond mere awe for a work of art. Feeling that he had witnessed a scene he shouldn’t have, Mark carefully stepped back into an inconspicuous spot. In many ways, today was a dangerous day.
“If I may venture to say, there is likely no sculptor alive more skilled than Lord Cornwall. I may seem this way, but my eye for such things is excellent. ……For me, it is simply a pity that such works are not revealed to the world.”
“No.”
Without even thinking to wipe away his tears, MacQuan stepped toward the largest sculpture.
“I will not let it remain so.”
Every work of the creator before him was so precise and wondrous that it was hard to believe the source was stone.
It wasn’t just figures of perfect appearance. Sometimes a fierce beast, sometimes a man with a grotesque expression, sometimes a woman fallen into despair—they were carved into the blue-tinted stone, imbued with life. The expressions, which drew out human desire and emotion without reserve, were terrifyingly vivid.
The more he enjoyed the wondrous art, the more his heart was torn apart. It was because the perfection of the sculptures contrasted with the state of his lover. MacQuan recalled a fragmented soul writhing in many failures and physical pain. All were results stemming from his own past greed.
“I intend to make these works known to the world.”
“Pardon? The Duke would never allow it…”
“No. It will certainly happen.”
The voice repeating the vow was resolute. MacQuan hoped that every work Aaron Wizfeldon had achieved, was achieving, and would achieve would be eternal. He desperately hoped that his own two hands would no longer defile his lover or ruin the talent he possessed.
Since he could never be his savior, he hoped at least not to be his destroyer.
✧ ✧ ✧
It was the third autumn since establishing a residence in Yorkshire.
Stopping his carriage at the front entrance of the Cosher, MacQuan draped his coat over one hand and walked across the endless fields of barley. A cool breeze playfully ruffled his deep brown hair.
At the time of harvest, the barley planted across the vast land shone elegantly, as if gold had been scattered upon it. Halfway through his walk, a wind blew from the west. The fully ripened barley swayed with the direction of the wind. The waves of barley, broken into grains and dyed gold, surged slowly.
His steps toward the mansion stopped immediately upon discovering a person sitting on a nearby hill. He was the only person MacQuan could never fail to find, no matter how far away. Bright blonde hair, difficult to distinguish from the barley field, was tousled by the wind, but his lover simply sat still.
“Aaron!”
Despite the short distance, his stride was full of longing. The one called slowly turned his eyes. The distance closed in an instant.
“When did you come out?”
As a long shadow fell over him, Aaron slowly tilted his head back. Eyes with scattering water-like light turned toward MacQuan. The process of that beautiful blue haze focusing on him was always an overwhelming emotion and a miracle.
“Just now.”
The face he saw after a few days was exceptionally haggard.
“Did you eat?”
“I ate roughly.”
Even though he knew for certain that nothing had been eaten, the meaningless question and formulaic answer were repeated. His lover had been particularly suffering from the aftereffects of his recent injury. Hiding the sudden fear that something might have happened while he was away, MacQuan curled his lips into a bright smile.
“Were you waiting for me?”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
Despite the rebuke, MacQuan removed his cravat and vest and sat down beside Aaron. A cool breeze blew once more, cooling the hot sweat.
“Then what were you looking at?”
“……Nothing.”
Darkness fell over the eyes that were glancing at his lover. The gaunt face looked sharp enough to cut if touched. Suddenly, a vague fear gripped MacQuan.
“When did you come out? You shouldn’t be outside for long. Isn’t the wind chilly?”
“You seem to think of me as some lady living in a glass palace. How unpleasant.”
“Forgive my rudeness. I was simply worried you might suffer again.”
“Stop it.”
“……I understand.”
At the sharp tone, MacQuan sighed lightly and gave up on persuading him. His lover had been exceptionally sensitive lately.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, as time passed, Aaron’s health was gradually and noticeably deteriorating. Paralysis in his hands and legs became frequent, and the prognosis for his ruined lungs was poor.
“Still, the cold wind isn’t good for you.”
“Stop nagging.”
“Would you be angry if I gave you my coat?”
“I’d kick you off this hill.”
“How truly cruel and terrifying.”
At the fierce retort, MacQuan gave a helpless laugh and braced himself with both hands on the ground.
The time his lover spent sculpting was becoming shorter and shorter. He no longer had the physical strength to carve and polish stone for long hours as he once had. On top of that, he invariably fell ill whenever the seasons changed. Most of these were lung-related ailments, and several times they progressed into pneumonia, leaving him in critical condition.
The speed of recovery slowed, and the moments when his vitality returned became fleeting. This fact constantly led MacQuan to a terrible conclusion. Watching his lover’s sickly appearance worsen year by year, and seeing him lie in bed for days on end, unconscious from illness, MacQuan had to endure the agony of walking on a knife’s edge every day, every hour.
“I visited the Miguelen Trading Company. Fortunately, they are keeping the sculptures in good condition.”
“…….”
“The exterior of the storage area looked shabby, so I had a word with them, and they got angry immediately.”
When MacQuan spoke playfully on purpose, Aaron gave a faint smile and a small nod.
“He may look sloppy on the outside, but he has immense pride. He’s very stubborn.”
“Yes. It seemed so. Also, while I was there…”
MacQuan’s expression grew wistful as he recalled a sculpture he had seen a few days ago.
“I saw a piece you created.”
A work born from his lover’s hands during a time when he was slightly younger, slightly more vibrant, and slightly healthier.
“It was truly wonderful.”
It was a brief impression. A quiet gaze slowly turned toward MacQuan. In those eyes, completely consumed and weathered, there was no longer any shining passion.
Yet, he was still alive by his side.
…Still alive.
“It was truly so wonderful that…”
The wind blew again. It was a soft, warm autumn breeze, resembling a sigh from God. MacQuan quite liked this season, full of harvest and blessings.
“I thought it would be good if more people could see your work.”
“……I don’t know.”
“I hope your work is exhibited in more places.”
“…….”
“I wish there were more pieces sculpted by you.”
“It’s a meaningless endeavor.”
“I will make it meaningful.”
“You’re being uselessly stubborn.”
“Please wait. Your…”
The choked voice was swallowed back into his throat. Their touching shoulders collided a bit more deeply. With a cautious touch, MacQuan pulled Aaron’s waist into an embrace. Without much resistance, the soft body settled into his arms.
Abundant blonde hair rubbed against MacQuan’s shoulder for a long time. Enjoying the feeling of the body completely relaxed against him, MacQuan gently stroked the straight line of the neck, which looked exceptionally cold, with his palm.
“While I was coming by train, a thought suddenly occurred to me.”
“A thought?”
“That I want to live a little longer than you.”
At the inexplicable remark, Aaron let out a quiet snort and closed his eyes.
“You’re treating me like someone who’s about to die.”
“It’s not that.”
“Even if you don’t think about it, that’s likely how it will be.”
A soft laugh escaped. MacQuan hugged Aaron’s thin back and slowly shook his head.
“I don’t need that much time.”
Kissing the sun-kissed hair carefully, MacQuan whispered low.
“About a year would be enough.”
“A year?”
“After holding your funeral…”
He paused for a moment. Though he was clearly smiling, his eyes, which didn’t reflect that smile, flickered slightly. With a small crinkle of his nose, MacQuan pulled Aaron even deeper into his embrace.
“I’ll take a steamship to the other side of the globe.”
“Where is that?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll find out when the time comes.”
They shared another laugh. Watching the barley leaves and stems swaying endlessly as if dancing, MacQuan whispered low.
“I will find the opposite landmass. And there, I’ll choose the furthest edge.”
“That will take a long time.”
“That’s why I estimated about a year.”
The murmuring voice was cheerful yet infinitely heavy. The scenery passing quickly outside the window always gave him a strange feeling. It was the anxiety that the life composing him might collapse rapidly. He feels happy while sensing the end; he feels fulfilled while thinking of the finality.
“And then?”
His lover, unable to wait through the silence, asked. And then. Repeating those words, MacQuan raised his interlaced hands and kissed the back of his lover’s scar-filled hand. Then, he answered in a soft, low tone.
“I will commit suicide.”
“…….”
“So that even in death, I cannot go to you.”
His gaze, staring at the distant manor, was reverent.
“Since I cannot let you go while I am alive…”
The lingering echo of his drawn-out voice remained. In the eyes imagining a future that would one day arrive, there wasn’t only misery.
“I thought that, in death, I could give you the complete freedom you desire, at least once. So that no one can stop you or hold you back.”
A long-tailed white cloud passed indifferently across the clear sky. Following the trail of the cloud, MacQuan recalled a memory from long ago. A man lying sprawled in a chair, smoking opium. The cloud resembled the smoke that had drifted from those handsome lips.
“A clumsy method would only end in failure… Yes. It would be best to try with a pistol. If it pierces the head, it will be hard to survive no matter how lucky one is.”
“Hmm.”
Only then did Aaron seem interested; a cruel smile played on his lips as he gave a long, sidelong glance.
“I like that.”
“Do you? I’m glad.”
“I hope that resolve of yours does not change.”
Savoring the sound of the laughter that softly reached his ears, MacQuan closed his eyes. His calmly settled heartbeat pulsed at the same pace as his lover’s. There could be no time more satisfying and fulfilling than this.
Revealing his desire to not be apart for even a single moment, MacQuan pressed his body against Aaron’s. Aaron looked clearly annoyed, but he did not push him away. MacQuan felt that this tolerant gesture alone was enough. For a while, the two sat on the mound, enjoying the golden season created by nature.
When they returned to the manor, he wanted to hold his lover and kiss him.