[Ashen Masks] Smaragdine #8, Color Spray #20, Watchet #7

[tally]

Name: Think of the Books
Story: Ashen Masks
Colors:

• Smaragdine #8: Tima (Icelandic): Being unwilling to spend time or money on a particular thing even though you can afford it.
• Color Spray #20: comprehend languages
• Watchet #7: it'll be fine

Supplies and Styles:

• Supply - Seed Beads
• Supply - Canvas
  

Word Count: 876
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: I don't use warnings.
Summary: A librarian receives an offer he is not allowed to refuse.

 

There was just about no other place Loren would rather be than right here, tucked away beneath the protective wings of shelf after shelf of overstuffed library books.  All the way back here, within the inner shelves, where the more obscure books hibernated, he couldn't even hear the front door open and close.  

Since few patrons needed these books—mostly transcriptions in a dialect of Old Verdiis, which few people in the capital could even read—the library spared only one precious gas lamp to light these sections, usually kept off to reduce the risk of fire, but Loren had brought it to life for now.  In its dim glow, he finally saw the title he needed, on the top shelf.

Over the years, the library's ancient wooden step stools had disintegrated one by one, and since the library's wealthy proprietors were never willing to spend money on a small problem until it became a much bigger, unavoidable problem, that now left them with one rickety step stool for the entire library, currently in use upstairs and on the other side of the building by the steward.

Maybe, if he reached...

Loren stood on his toes and stretched, his fingertips just brushing the spine.  Almost.

He placed his toes upon the lower shelf.  If this didn't work, he would make the trek upstairs and beg the steward's pardon to borrow their one step stool.  Or he would sneak over to the tables and steal away a chair to stand on.  Frowned upon, but they all did it, even the steward when he thought no one was looking.

Again, Loren reached, breath puffing out as he strained.  He couldn't get a grip about the spine to pull the thing out.

A shadow came over him, and a heavy hand eased his shoulder down.

A deep voice filled the space.  "Let me."

And someone loomed up to pluck the book from its resting place.

"Thank y—"

Loren strangled his own reply, for he recognized the man before him, a man he had never seen but knew of.  A man every patrician, citizen, and slave in the capital must know.

His eyes gave him away.  They cut through the gloom like arctic gemstones.  Those eyes, set within a face dark and severe as a desolate mountaintop, the height of him, the power evident within his still and stolid frame...

Even in plain clothes, without the armor, without the mask, Loren knew the Stalwart Chevalier.

Loren took a step back and bowed at the waist, heart hammering within his chest.  "Chevalier."

"That's fine.  Is this the book you needed?"

Was it?  It may have been another.  Loren didn't know, couldn't think.  The space felt suddenly too close and too tight, but he took the book and took a breath.  He stared at a space in the middle distance between them.  His eye level only came up to the man's shoulders.  "Thank you, Chevalier."

"One of the other librarians said I might find Loren Varro back here."

'You have found him, Chevalier."  Loren bowed his head again.  He wasn't so up to date on the protocols, how often he should bow and how deeply.  He'd never been blessed by the presence of a Chevalier before.

"Excellent.  I understand you can read Old Verdiis."

"Yes, Chevalier."

"I have need of assistance with some historical tomes.  A personal interest of mine.  I may need you, say, once a week."

Loren's mouth went so dry, he could not even intone the requisite consent.  He would have to endure this once a week?  He felt lightheaded.

"You would have access to the Imperial Archives," the Stalwart added.

A jolt like lightning struck away Loren's hesitation.  He bowed again, deeply this time.  "I am at your service, Chevalier."

"Good," and though Loren kept his eyes dutifully on the ground, he detected the barest smile in the man's voice.  "I'll have my adjutant arrange things with the library steward."

In the Chevalier's departure, Loren could breath again.  He stood dazed for a moment before traversing through the shelves to peek around to the front door.  Every patron and librarian stood, heads bowed, as the Chevalier strode past the worn oak tables.  When the door shut behind him, the entire room seemed to exhale in relief.  Quiet chatter burst gently about the tables.

Harriet, a friend and fellow librarian, found Loren immediately, eyes wide and wondering.  They ducked back behind a shelf to help hide their whispers.  "What did he want?"

"I have to meet with him once a week.  For...something."

"Well."  She clutched her books to her chest.  "The Stalwart is said to be, um, steady, at least?"

Trying to help.  Trying to reassure him.  And, of course, Loren would never think uncharitably of any of the Eyeless God's champions.  The Chevalier, in their divine calling, were infallible.  Except...people did talk.  One heard rumors.  The Chevalier, in lofty pursuit of their holy mission, might do things a common person would find incomprehensible.  Or cruel.

But justified!  Always justified.  Certainly someone as mundane and lowly as a librarian could not speculate upon the actions of the divine.

"It'll be fine," he said, though skepticism skewed Harriet's face.

Just think of the Imperial Archive, he told himself.  Think of the books.

Comments

[paradoxcase]

Interesting, I guess from the Canvas that this is kind of a prologue? I wonder what the historical books will turn out to be.

Having a class of people who are religiously held to be infallible seems like it could spell all kinds of trouble. Curious to see where this goes!