Chapter 18: Uncle

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“We’ve arrived, Roland.”
Enid rubbed her eyes as she spoke.
Fernandes stepped down from the carriage ahead, his heel striking the ground and sending out ripples of white dust.
Roland now clearly saw the shop to his right.
A thick brown wooden board hung diagonally above the entrance, its four corners rounded and worn. The walls were painted a lake green leather color, and the wooden double doors, also brown, had two copper handles. On the second floor, a small balcony with thin black-painted railings overlooked the street. The arched wooden window was slightly ajar, faint light spilling out from inside.
“Herbalist’s Shop”
The sign’s letters were crooked and uneven, as if chiseled out with two gouges, then coated with black paint and singed with fire.
Much of the lettering had already peeled away.
“I was going to have you stay at an inn tonight, but I think the night might suit better,” Enid said as she helped Roland down from the carriage, glancing up at the faintly glowing lamp on the second floor. “I’ll be with you, Roland.”
Roland took up his cane.
Fernandes stepped past them and knocked heavily on the door.
Thunk—Thunk—!!
Dust fluttered down in clouds; a few dogs barked from a nearby alley.
“Do you want to tear this door down, Fernandes?”
Enid shot him a sharp look.
The square-jawed cleric bowed to Enid, looking glum, then turned back and lightly tapped the door twice more.
Roland heard footsteps descending the stairs—hurried but scraping along the floor, as if sliding down.
“I told you! If I catch some punk messing with my door at night again—”
A man’s voice, full of authority.
Fernandes glanced at Enid, who nodded approval, then spoke solemnly to the door:
“The Church—”
“I’m still the damn queen! You little bastard, today—”
Creak.
The door opened to reveal an old man.
Outside stood a cleric.
The street instantly fell into a deep silence.
Roland noticed several nearby houses quickly extinguishing their lights.
Piers Collins and Fernandes stared wide-eyed, both a bit stunned. Only then did Roland find time to study the old man’s appearance.
He was much older than his brother, Thales Collins.
Same blue eyes, brown hair, and especially that long hooked nose, identical to his brother’s.
Their facial bones were similarly prominent.
He stooped, his beard and hair tangled, each clump seeming to have a life of its own. Within his curly brown beard were bits of green plant roots and stems.

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He exuded a slightly unsettling herbal scent.
“Oh.”
The foul-mouthed old man’s expression shifted instantly when he saw Fernandes—especially the pendant on his chest.
“Good evening, Reverend! Ah! I said this morning that a beech branch fell by my door, turns out my good luck came at night!”
He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to look more alert:
“I’m Piers Collins, sir. How may I help you? Potions? Or flower seeds?”
His gaze passed over Fernandes, lingered briefly on Roland’s face, then quickly shifted to Enid.
“Good Lord! Such an elegant, beautiful, and noble lady!”
Enid, however, did not respond to him as she had to Abner, instead nodding slightly while holding Roland’s hand and stepping forward.
“This is Roland.”
She introduced him to the old man: “Roland Collins, your brother’s youngest son.”
Simple and straightforward.
Then… nothing.
Piers stared down at Roland’s slightly weary cat-like eyes, looking back and forth, his mouth twitching.
“…Ahem, madam, do you… do you really—”
Enid frowned slightly, patiently explaining: “We’ve verified. Roland is indeed Thales Collins’s youngest son.”
“His eldest son died in a traffic accident, crushed under rubble; shortly after, your brother, old and deranged, set the house on fire. The servants, the steward, and he himself didn’t escape—just as they’d found Roland again, they abandoned the poor child…”
That was the gist of it.
“Oh…”
Old Piers said softly, his blue eyes now dull and spotted, carefully appraising Roland.
Roland tightened his grip on his cane but forced himself to stand tall, wanting to make a good impression on his uncle.
“Oh…”
He was silent for a long moment, his expression complex.
“Thales’s youngest son, huh… my brother.”
Old Piers scratched the back of his head a few times, glanced at Enid, then at the stern-faced Fernandes and the group of black-clad clerics who had descended from the carriage.
“I—I honestly didn’t know he had a—”
“We’re not here to interrogate you, Mr. Collins,” Enid said gently, with a hint of hope. “You are Roland’s only kin and should care for him. We’re only cooperating with the constabulary and bringing him here.”
“Tell me your decision.”
“If you refuse, the Church will take him in.”
Decision?
What decision?
How could I refuse to care for him?
With all these eyes on me?

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Old Piers’s lips twitched as he gazed deeply into Roland’s honey-gold eyes that still shone brightly in the late night.
All their family had blue eyes.
“All right… all right, madam. I… I think I… yes! Yes, I think I can tell! Look—at least his nose is like my brother’s, and mine too—it’s unmistakably a Collins family trait!”
“I saw it at a glance!”
Enid stared for a few seconds at his hooked nose that curved downward, then turned to Roland’s, which was straight and sword-like, the tip slightly upturned.
Hmm...
“The second blind Collins.”
The words appeared just in time.
Roland wanted to laugh.
He always felt Enid was teasing an old man ready for bed.
“Come on, child, I’ll make you some hot soup—well, I suppose you’ve probably eaten? Haha, following these fine folks, you must be well fed!”
He pressed his face into a half-smile, pulling Roland inside.
At that moment, Enid looked toward Fernandes.
The cleric withdrew a bulging envelope from his inner pocket and blocked the old man’s path.
“This is the remaining movable property of the Collins family. Aside from the destroyed mansion, your brother sold off everything else.”
“If you have any doubts, take them to the Fork County Constabulary. I believe, at your age, inheritance matters should be familiar to you?”
“We’re not responsible for such trifles.”
Piers Collins released Roland, took the envelope with both hands, nodding and muttering apologies for troubling these gentlemen.
“I’ll come see you in a few days and take you to the Church, Roland.”
Enid raised her hand, brushed Roland’s black hair aside, and with two fingers joined, traced a symbol on his forehead.
“Please take good care of this child, Mr. Collins.”
“You underestimate me. Not only can I raise him to be white—”
Bang.
The door shut.
“…White and plump.”
Old Piers pinched the envelope, his face tight as he limped a few steps toward the side of the house, cautiously pushed open the window.
After several carriages disappeared into the night, the sound of hooves and wheels fading, he finally exhaled deeply, smacked his lips, and sank into a low-backed chair.
Looking at Roland.
For at least a minute, neither spoke.
“All right.”
He mumbled dryly, “All right, you are my brother’s son… though I never heard of this before…”
“Sir,” Roland whispered softly in the quiet night, gripping his cane, “I never heard of it either until he found me.”