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19th June, 1906
The Van Zieks Estate
“Dinner was great, but this is what I have been anticipating the most today, Uncle Zieksy.”
Barok van Zieks settled back into his chair, watching the young woman across from him as she shuffled around her bag, pulling out some type of gadget and a tea set. The evening had been delightful thus far, as he always appreciated the opportunity for Iris to update him on all the happenings in her life. Tonight’s dinner conversation pertained mostly to how everyone else had celebrated her birthday. It sounded as though she had had a wonderful day, filled with a wide range of festivities.
It was surprising to hear this was her most anticipated part of the day though. Barok figured his offer had to be relatively high on her list, but certainly not at the top. If anything… well, his eyes lingered on the manuscript resting on the table.
The Hound of the Baskervilles . If anything, he would have assumed that would be the best event of the day.
“For one, I’m quite excited for you to try this tea blend,” she said and offered him a cup. She caught his staring at the manuscript, and quirked a smile at him. “And for two… that . Hurley mentioned you already knew about it.”
He did. It had been one of the astronomically rare times when he and Herlock Sholmes had completely agreed on something. They had carefully revealed the truth to Iris over the years, answering every question her blossoming mind could conceive of as best they could, but Iris was a child no longer. She was a bright young woman, and the future ahead of her was developing brilliantly. She deserved to step into it having the full knowledge of her past, and full control over what it meant to her, what it made her, and what she made of it.
So, when she reached sixteen years of age, it was agreed that Sholmes would give Iris ownership of the story she had penned when she was younger, along with all the notes that had inspired it. The detective would answer and explain what he could, and Barok would supplement the rest— another night. Tonight, on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, he had forbidden talk of the Professor altogether. There was no reason to sully such a special day by rehashing that story.
Iris had already requested a separate set of stories for him to regale her with anyways. She had asked for stories of her father—stories of Klint van Zieks as the man he had been, not the terror he had become in his final days. Sholmes knew this and had readily agreed that all else would be told in due time.
The only thing Sholmes had not agreed to was the final gift he intended to bestow, though that was due to a lack of knowledge. With time and age, Barok had softened considerably towards the man—not that he would freely admit as much—but that hardly meant he had to detail all aspects of his life and decisions to Herlock Sholmes. This was… a familial matter, if not a personal one. He did not need Sholmes’s approval.
For now though, he nodded at his niece, acquiescing to her request for tales of her father. “I did,” Barok said, motioning towards the manuscript. “Speaking of that , I fully intend on gifting you what you asked for, but you must be the one to lead this conversation. Within the predetermined boundaries, what would you like to know?”
“Within the predetermined boundaries?” Iris repeated with a teasing smile, “I feel like I’m being interrogated, Uncle.”
He felt her scrutinising gaze as he took a sip of the tea. He smiled sheepishly with a nod, both at her words and in approval of the fruity tea blend she had made. “Apologies,” he said simply, choosing not to explain his current state of mind. She did not need to know. “No interrogation, I only meant for you to ask whatever your heart desires.”
Iris’s smile turned more sympathetic—of course she knew this was not an easy subject to broach—before she started, “Well… there is one thing I’d like to know, and you’re the only one who has the answer, I think. What was he like as a child?”
“As a child?” Barok echoed. It was not what he had expected her to start with, but it made sense. And she was correct: he was probably the only person left who could answer such a question.
“Klint was an undeniably bold child,” he started, pulling memories of their childhood to the forefront of his mind in waves. “More so than I, at the very least, though that was hardly difficult to achieve. Yet, despite his adolescent desire for adventure, he also shouldered the responsibility of being an older brother very well.”
Barok paused, a fond chuckle bubbling from his chest. “I pestered him constantly when we were children. I followed him everywhere , insisted on doing everything with him, and imitated him as best I could. To his credit, Klint never seemed to mind too much. I… suppose he always knew it was only ever done out of love and admiration,” he admitted with a soft sigh. “He lived up to my every expectation. He taught me much as a child, cleared many paths for me, and took care of me as well as a boy his age could.”
He caught Iris watching him intently with familiar blue eyes. The striking resemblance dredged up an old, treasured memory, and before he could consider otherwise, the story was falling from his lips.
“One of my first memories ever was one of the few times I shouldn’t have followed him,” he admitted. He did not need to ask if Iris wanted him to continue; it was evident in the way she sat straighter, eyes sparking and head tilting slightly incuriosity. He would have laughed if the pang in his chest didn’t momentarily wind him—it was so heartbreakingly like how Klint always reacted.
“I could not have been older than five at the time,” Barok continued after a moment to regain his composure. “Klint was heading out to inspect the lands on our property. When he instructed me not to follow him, I crept after him regardless…as much as a toddler could anyways. Admittedly,” he trailed off, thoughtful, “to this day I still don’t know if he was aware I was following him or not. I… believe he did and was perhaps proving a point. Regardless, the longer we went on, the more exhausted I became and the more I started to lag behind. When I inevitably lost sight of him, I panicked.”
The remnants of that panic lingered for years after he lost Klint entirely; only recently had it truly begun to subside.
“In my fear, I ran towards where I had last seen him, and came across a creek. I should have known better, but I was a child, and in my exhaustion, I was also incredibly uncoordinated. So when I tried jumping over it, my foot snagged on some underbrush, and I tumbled straight in.” He grimaced at the memory of the cold water immediately soaking him through. “Shocked, drenched, cold, and believing myself to be alone, the only thing I could do was cry.”
“Wait,” Iris interjected, “is this why you get grumpy standing in the rain?”
Barok grimaced again. “I suppose one of many reasons, yes,” he answered grudgingly. “Of course, I was never in any real danger. Klint came swooping in as though carried on the wings of a guardian angel and deftly pulled me from the creek. After confirming I was unharmed, we hurried back to the estate, and that was where his cleverness and boldness came into play,” he said, glancing back at Iris.
“Somehow, Klint managed to sneak us past every adult in the manor and cleaned me up without anyone noticing. By that point, dry clothes and my brother’s presence had calmed me down. I was quiet as a mouse, awaiting my older brother’s scolding,” he sighed and shook his head with a small laugh.
“He never did. Instead, we both swore never to tell any adults about what had happened, and then he put me in my room with a kind, though firm, reminder: there were places he would go where I should not follow. In time, I would be able to tread those paths myself, just not quite then. It was rather sage advice from a fourteen-year-old,” he said and smiled wryly at his niece. “Though, I believe that, back then, all he wished was for me to stop ruining his outings.”
In hindsight, it was perhaps the most ironically prominent advice his brother could have ever given him. Barok fell quiet, rather unsure of what else to say with that left hanging in the air.
“No matter his intentions, he clearly loved you,” Iris spoke finally, “and you him.”
His eyes slipped closed, and he nodded. For tonight, that was all that mattered. “Does that answer your question?”
“It does,” she replied. “It also confirms what I’ve heard about Lord Klint van Zieks and how he’d move Heaven and Earth for his darling brother.”
His eyes snapped open just in time to see Iris’s gaze sparking with mischief as she made an obvious, yet effective, attempt at lightening the mood. Despite himself, he smiled; if anyone was going to tease him over it now, it might as well be family.
“I suppose that carried over into adulthood?” Iris asked, “I know he was a good prosecutor, but no one talks much about his personality.”
“At heart, Klint was a family man, yes,” Barok agreed. “Though that privilege of moving Heaven and Earth did not extend just to his family. Klint cared immensely for several people, including those of the lower classes he worked to protect.”
“He was good to his clients, then?”
He nodded. “The very first case Klint won was against a rather vile man who had shorted several rail workers out of their pay and endangered their very lives with blatant disregard for safety regulations,” he explained. “It set a precedent for the type of cases my brother would choose to prosecute.”
He released a sigh and sat back, considering that day. “I was not allowed to be present in the courtroom, but I remember how proud Klint had been emerging from it. At first, I was young and foolish enough to have thought it to be about the win, but Klint had made it blindingly apparent once we had returned home that he took pride not in his skills, but the fact he had served justice to that man, and, more importantly, granted justice to those workers.”
Klint had been so proud that day, so damned happy in that moment, and he had appeared so righteous in serving justice for the downtrodden. It was what his brother had always wanted to do—protecting those who could not protect themselves—and it was what Barok knew he was incredibly skilled at; it was what Klint had been doing for his little brother all his life.
“Truthfully, the way he spoke that night, and the way he doggedly continued to for years thereafter, was the inspiration for me to go into law,” Barok admitted, “Always rousing his little brother to follow in his footsteps.”
“You both wanted to help people,” Iris responded. “I understand that. It’s why I wanted to study medicine.”
Medicine was a far better pursuit. After everything they both had endured, Barok knew Klint would not have wanted his daughter anywhere near the judiciary. He did not want Iris near the judiciary.
“And…his home life…?” Iris’s question pulled him out of his thoughts before he could mull them over too deeply. Her voice was significantly softer than before, almost tentative. “You said he was a family man?” she continued, and then hesitated again as she stared down at her tea in thought. “So, he and my mother…?”
Barok sighed, a sound laced with sympathy. She would have received few answers about this subject too, and unfortunately even he felt unqualified to speak at length on Klint’s marriage. He could assuage her obvious concerns, at least.
“They loved each other dearly,” he confirmed and smiled when her shoulders relaxed. “Though they were incredibly private people. Lady Baskerville saw a side of Klint the world was never privy to—a side that I only caught the occasional glimpse of in the privacy of these walls.”
Iris looked up at him from her tea, and he resisted the urge to sigh again at her gaze, silently imploring for more. “They had a typical relationship for the people of the nobility. I… don’t know the exact details myself, admittedly, on how… arranged they had truly been,” he fumbled, “but they were considered a good match, and they developed spectacularly well after. Regardless of their beginnings, it was undeniable your father venerated your mother, and she adored him in turn.”
Iris considered this for a long moment before nodding at his explanation. “And you?” she asked. “How did you feel about them?”
That was… not something he had ever been asked. “I was quite fond of your mother, actually. She was a nice, respectable woman,” Barok answered after some thought. “And what she brought out in Klint… I could not have been more grateful. She was one of the few to actually get my brother to relax, and around her, he shone in a way he had not since we were children. And, of course,” he added with a smile, “their love produced the best thing to ever happen in my life.”
It took Iris a moment to catch what he meant, but when she did, she grinned at him, a slight blush dusting her cheeks.
That was enough for him. Barok nodded in return with a quiet sigh, “I do apologise that I cannot give you more, in that regard.”
“Knowing they truly loved each other is enough,” Iris assured him. She fell silent and twirled her teacup on its saucer in thought. “Though, I do wonder…” she stopped and sighed, “I know I agreed to a lot we wouldn’t talk about tonight, but… I feel like now is as good a time as any to ask: why do you think they never told you about me?”
Barok released a long breath, a means to stall for time as one of the few, remaining splinters in his heart pressed deeper, cracking the surface. He looked away from her in thought, his eyes trailing towards the window and the darkening skies outside as night fell over London. One by one, the streetlights lining the roads below started to glow.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped—”
“In all honesty, that is the one question I have never answered myself,” he admitted, effectively ending her apology. It was an understandable question, one he had been asking himself for six years. It was as appropriate a time as any, and it technically did not cross the boundaries he had set prior to this conversation.
“My brother,” he trailed off and shook his head, displeased with that start. “ Your father was not in a proper state of mind at the time. There was obviously much he was avoiding telling me.” It was difficult to keep a bitter edge from colouring his voice.
Iris set her teacup down and focussed her attention on him. He gave her a moment to speak if she needed to, but when she didn’t, he collected his thoughts enough to continue. “Perhaps Genshin was supposed to inform me, and given what happened… well….” His voice trailed off into nothing.
His head lowered in shame, eyes staring down at his steepled fingers in his lap. The possibility had tormented him often over the years–an added point of regret surrounding his final actions towards a man he had considered a friend. Still, Genshin had had ample opportunity to mention Lady Baskerville’s pregnancy–to even use it as a bargaining tool–and never did. Therein lay the more likely explanation: Genshin Asogi had been an honourable man to the bitter, biting end, and had remained true to his final promises to Klint.
“Perhaps it had always been Klint’s intention to keep you a secret and thus, from being tarnished by our name,” Barok mused.
It was the most probable answer he had arrived at over the last six years. He would not put it past his dear brother to have readily considered how his actions would affect his child in the future, once they were discovered. Klint had to have known the truth eventually coming to light was an inevitability.
“Perhaps, with everything else he had been undergoing at the time, it had simply slipped his mind. Honestly, there are thousands of possibilities as to why I was not informed of your existence, and each one is as plausible as the next. And each day I…”
Barok passed a hard breath through his nose, forcing his jaw to unclench and pressing his hands flat onto his thighs. “I sincerely regret that decision was made for me. Each day, I truly, truly regret that, Iris.”
With a burst, the pressure in his heart finally eased—that final splinter plucked—and Barok looked over to find his niece staring back at him, sympathetic and sad, a few tears glistening in those familiar blue eyes.
“But,” he continued, “I do not for a moment regret what it did for you in the end. A truly spectacular, young woman sits before me now, and it is because she was raised in the best possible circumstances.”
Barok stood up and gave her a smile. “I am simply glad the truth did reconnect us when the time was right. I am grateful fate granted me the chance to watch you become the woman you are meant to be.”
“So am I, Uncle Zieksy,” Iris said quietly. She wiped a stray tear from her eye and stood as well. “So am I.”
He wasn’t given the chance to offer to comfort her before Iris stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the hug in kind, muttering a quiet apology. “I do wish we had more time, but I was informed you have a curfew tonight.”
“He is allowing me an extra hour tonight because he’s walking me home,” Iris pointed out. She pulled away from him and gave a cheeky smile, “it wouldn’t do to keep Hurley waiting, trouble tends to find him.”
Barok smiled wanly, choosing not to say anything else. He could hardly badmouth the man when he had extended Iris’s curfew and was walking her home. The detective cared for her as his own. Instead, Barok nodded and swept his arm towards the entrance, following after his niece as they walked towards the front door in comfortable silence. It allowed him to mull over his one final gift to her.
It wasn’t until he assisted her with getting her coat back on and she was turning towards the door that he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “There is one more gift I want to give you,” Barok said. He fished around his left pocket and produced the small trinket.
“A prosecutor’s badge?” Iris asked, tilting her head to look at it.
“ Your father’s prosecutor’s badge,” Barok clarified. Gently, he took her hand and pressed the badge into her palm before curling her fingers around it. “I have carried it with me for… far too many years to count. In that time, it has brought me both immense comfort and immense grief. There were many nights it was the only thing keeping me afloat in the darkness, and many more where I wanted nothing more than to throw it into the sea. It has been the only thing of Klint’s I have had for a long while… but it is no longer mine to keep.”
He no longer had need for it; not in the sense that he no longer needed Klint, but in that he had finally found his own way. His free hand subtly slipped into his left pocket, thumb tracing over the bottom of his own badge. He had found his own calling now, had his own legacy–he no longer needed to follow in Klint’s footsteps.
This was the final act of letting go.
It was all too fitting as well. This was the only correct thing to do with Klint’s badge: for it to be passed on from the idolising younger brother who had had his heart broken upon his older brother’s death and yet again upon learning the truth his older brother had kept hidden from him to the man’s daughter, who had no true bias for or against her father, and all the time in the world to determine what he and his actions meant to her.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Iris whispered and looked up to him with wide, blue eyes. “Are you sure?”
Barok nodded. After a moment, she pulled her hand away and moved it close to her heart, badge still clutched between her fingers. “I’ll cherish this,” she said softly, “Both for who it belonged to… and who gifted it to me. Thank you.”
“If that is what you want,” he nodded, “then it is an honour.”
When she remained silent, he smiled at her, “When you have more questions…” –which was an inevitability– “you are always welcome to come and ask.”
“I know. I will,” Iris promised. She returned his smile and leaned up, kissing his cheek goodbye. He noted she was once again clutching her manuscript tightly to her chest, now with the badge overlaid on the title page.
He nodded and saw her most of the way to the door before adding one more thing. “Oh, and Iris?” Barok called and let her turn back to him before offering her a coy smile. “Just because it is in your possession now does not mean that badge gives you permission to practice law.”
Despite the emotionally laden air, Iris shook her head with a laugh and waved to him as she departed. Now staring at the door, Barok noted she had not actually agreed to that stipulation, but then, had he truly expected anything less?
With a deep sigh, he grasped at his own prosecutor’s badge and lifted it from his pocket, staring at it as it rested heavily in his palm. He figured that, after passing over Klint’s badge to its new, rightful owner, he would feel a flurry of emotions that he would be all too tempted to drown out with a drink, but the more he stood there considering the past few hours, the more Barok realised that what he was feeling really was quite simple:
Pride .
“She brings such honour to a name she shall never carry,” he spoke softly, tracing the edges of his badge, “Were you here to see her, you would be even more exorbitantly proud than I am. I just know it, Brother.”
***
Just on the other side of the door, as Iris stepped out into the warm summer night, she had a similar thought. She could see Hurley waiting for her at the corner of the street, outlined by the streetlight’s glow, but could not bring herself to call out to him just yet.
Instead, she gripped the prosecutor’s badge a little tighter in her hand and glanced back at the door with a smile. “He’s come such a long way from everything that’s happened. I hope you’re proud of him…Father.”
Iris looked down at the badge, tilting it a bit as it caught the light from the streetlamps, before she pocketed it altogether and called out to her Daddy to start the trek home.