Chapter 3
Chapter three
The carriage rolled to a stop outside a pale-stoned storefront.
Lux caught her breath against a building while her eyes narrowed upon the fixed placard.
Mothlock’s Manuscripts. And in smaller print below: May Your Mastery Be Limitless.
The hatted man climbed from the carriage holding a parcel and went inside.
And now he leaves the body behind…
She kept her face angled away to better act the strolling visitor.
Only when she saw another person making for the door, did she hurry.
This man didn’t bother to glance behind him, either, and when he opened the door and released it immediately afterward, she grabbed it before it could swing closed.
It was a heavy door. An entirely black door.
And up close, it too, displayed the same emblem as the carriage at her back.
Cold crept up her arm; she stepped warily inside.
Lux’s eyes widened. First to better see because the shop was darkly decorated, but then at what she discovered.
Lit by blue-flame lamps protruding from the wall, shelves lined either side—and they were filled from floor to ceiling with books.
Her survey began at one end and skipped to the other, and by then, she decided not only had she never before seen so many books at once, but she’d never seen so many well-appearing books in all her life.
They were glossy, their covers thick, and every spine held silver lettering bearing their titles.
Lux forgot the men momentarily and stepped sideways to better view the volumes.
Like the carriage, like the door, the spines had been stamped as well.
The now-familiar silvery ‘M’ of Mothlock.
Her hand reached toward the shelves and swiped.
She eyed her finger in shock. Not only were the shelves free of dust—a feat which she’d not seen managed in any establishment—but they were crafted entirely of stone.
She squinted at the silver flecking and thought, Cold colors.
The green shade of her cloak did not fit in here.
She would have, though—the past her, at any rate. The girl who’d understood long ago that to wear black in Ghadra was an asset in remaining unseen, and she’d grown to love it because of that. Because it had kept her safe.
“Apologies,” mumbled a voice, a hand stretching out to grasp a book from beside her head.
Lux didn’t have time to see its title before it was pulled free.
She moved over to be out of his way and realized he was the customer she’d followed in.
She didn’t reply, and he didn’t meet her eyes.
Instead, he flipped open the book until he came to an illustration.
From there, he began muttering to himself, his finger roving over the page.
Both of them startled when a second man said, “I regret that this is not a lending library.”
“Oh. I understand, Sir. I was only browsing.”
But even Lux could hear the waver in his voice. She pressed herself nearly against the shelves and wondered where the man she’d actually cared to be near had suddenly vanished. There wasn’t anyone but them three in the main room.
The nervous customer closed the book with a snap, and Lux could see the spine now. Petrovno’s Musical Assortment. He pushed it back onto the shelf.
The clerk—or perhaps the proprietor, for his stare did seem severe enough to own the building—watched the action closely.
When it was done, his lips lifted into a smile that could have been almost kind—if it weren’t for his eyes.
“If you’re interested in browsing, I would suggest you visit one of our many libraries; they’re all about the country.
You’ll know you’re in the correct place by the insignia, and the copies there are not so expensively bound.
Fine to be tarnished by the touch of so many… hands.”
“I did plan to purchase—”
“Which did you plan to purchase? These shelves are catalogued. Give me the title, or at least the subject.”
At this, the other man grew increasingly ruddy. Lux guessed he hadn’t planned to purchase anything but had come to memorize what he could as quickly as possible. His embarrassment coaxed hers to the surface. She wanted to be gone from here, but she was trapped now in the corner.
“I… Only the…” And with his next breath, the man was gone, bolting through the door.
“Hmph,” grunted the clerk. Then he turned his assessing gaze upon her. “And you?”
Lux floundered for several heartbeats until— “Art.”
“Art.”
“Painting…specifically.”
The clerk managed a perfunctory glance down her person before turning on his heel. “Okay, then. This way.”
She followed him along the deep bookcases. While she did, she stole glances around her. The blue light cast a cold, eerie glow, reflecting off the shelves and silver titles. There was still no sign of the bowler-hat man.
“Here we are,” said the clerk. She stopped a single step before smacking into his side. “The arts. Painting, as you said. But in what capacity?”
“Oh. Maybe—”
The clerk sighed. “History. Catalogues. Journals. The brilliant technique itself…”
Lux, her teeth grinding, promptly said, “The technique.”
He climbed up two rungs of a ladder before reaching toward the elegant bindings.
“Brilliant Brushstrokes.” He descended again with the book in hand, but when he went to hand it over, he paused.
“Now, I know you heard the exchange I held before. These books are extremely well-preserved. They are meant for ownership. Not for thumbing through. Do you agree?”
Lux felt her lip begin to curl and quelled it. “I cannot even look inside?”
“No.”
She opened her mouth but found no rebuttal would come. She’d never heard of such a thing in all her life. But then again, they did not have bookshops in Ghadra, and maybe this was how things were done? It was an exceptionally beautiful binding.
“And the price?” she asked.
“Only a single goldquin.”
Only. Lux rubbed her forehead. Is everything priced beyond comprehension in Loxlen? “Saints above…”
A hiss left the clerk. “None of that. We are not to invoke the Saints in anything but blessings and prayer.”
Lux’s hand dropped away. Her brow rose. “May I say, ‘devil below’?”
“Do you wish to invoke the Devil instead?” The man’s stare narrowed to a sinister level.
“No. If such a creature exists, I prefer they stay where they are.”
“If such—creature. Bah.” The clerk rolled his eyes, and his unyielding glare finally granted her a reprieve as he looked instead to the shadowed rear of the shop. “Do you wish to purchase the book or not?”
“It’s a book of instruction? It will further this particular brilliance?”
The man stared at her, unblinking. “Yes.”
And Lux, thinking of the only painter she knew, of the crow currently flying an endless journey in her pack, said, “I will take it.”
“A worthy choice. I’ll see it wrapped. You may wait here. Peruse if you must, but do not browse.”
Her stare narrowed on his straight back as he turned it to her, and once he began to walk, she noticed he hardly bent his knees either. His outsides match his insides, I see. She scoffed. He turned at the rear of the shop and vanished. Lux craned her neck back.
Two ladders, one for each side, rested on either wall. They were curious: rather than a sawed clean edge, their tops were curved and slung over a rod to match the bookcases. All of these books, a goldquin each…
History. Journals.
Her body tensed as she swung toward the shelves. What if…? Could there be…?
The smack of boots yanked her attention away. Her lips parted as the rich man from the carriage stalked the length of the store. He didn’t so much as flick his gaze to her even though he must have felt her stare. His arms were divested of their parcel. He walked straight toward the door and out.
Lux bit at her cheek. She wanted to follow him. But she wanted that book just as much.
She could see from the window that he’d already climbed in alongside the body. And when the driver snapped the reins, her heart stuttered. The carriage moved onto the street.
She’d the goldquin clutched and ready in her fingers by the time the clerk reappeared.
The book’s wrapping was black, tied with a black, satin ribbon, and when he held it out toward her, she saw it was stamped with a silver wax seal.
She traded the coin with hardly a wince, the idea of gifting such a book to Shaw suddenly a beating wing’s worth of excitement in her chest.
Other than his life, she’d not gifted him anything, she realized. And even that had been bought by his sister, and as such, couldn’t likely qualify. Her fingers traced carefully over the seal.
“Mothlock is a bookseller, then?”
The clerk peered down his nose. “Mothlock provides enlightenment to Malgorm.”
Lux blinked back at him. How pretentious. She wanted to tell him they’d missed Ghadra in their “enlightenment” but didn’t want to give such details of herself away.
“Are you in search of anything else?” he continued.
Yes. Lux nearly glanced out the window again. “Do you have much on the subject of necromancy?”
The clerk sucked a quick breath. But he gathered himself quickly and said, “We do.”
His response ricocheted about in her skull.
“In what capacity?” she breathed; she didn’t care she’d turned his own question on him. She did care, however, at how desperate she sounded. That emotion was the perfect opposite of what she needed. She made a show of nonchalance to make up for it, easing the book into her pack.
“Two separate volumes of history have minor mentions of necromancy. And one personal account.”
Lux’s breaths grew erratic; she noticed his calculated stare and fought to maintain her composure. “A personal account. How much?”
“Twenty goldquins.”
She couldn’t even curse this time. Really, a part of her had expected it. That it would be outside her reach. Her disappointment sharp, she said, “I suppose it will have to wait. Thank you for your time.”
Only once she’d fully made it to the door, did the clerk say, “It’s a dark brilliance anyway. Cursed, some would say.” Lux pivoted and discovered him retreating. “May your mastery be limitless. Do come again.”
The carriage left Loxlen by the east road.
Lux stood at the edge of town and watched it go.
There were some things she’d learned about herself in the past few weeks.
For one, when it felt like her words were biting into her tongue, she must consider why—thoroughly.
For two, pessimism had permeated her nature, but sometimes people were kind without want of anything in return, and she should consider that.
And three, if there was a rich man in a rich carriage buying expensive, obscure drops and carrying a body like a bag of grain, she simply must know why.
“Oy, Gorga Girl. On your way already? You know there’s plenty of places to sleep or stay in Loxlen.” Mistress Farrentail, breeze rustling through her feathers, pushed open a rusted garden gate. “But not here,” she added at Lux’s stare. “My birds don’t like strangers.”
“What birds do?” Lux muttered and rolled her map.
“Some do. Crows do.”
Lux’s eyes snapped to the woman’s. Her stare narrowed. And she tested the words to see if they would come. “Have you heard of anyone peddling lifeblood?”
“I don’t even know what that is, dear. But please, don’t follow the zealots.” Then the woman walked through her decaying garden, opened her door, and went inside.
“Worth the ask, I suppose.”
Gorga Girl. How hideous. She should tell Shaw. He could never complain of being called “Prowler” again.
Lux’s chest hollowed, and she flattened her hand against it.
It’d been doing that for at least a week now—whenever she thought of him.
It was so different, missing someone who lived.
She couldn’t say she’d had any real experience with it until now, and she disliked it just as much.
There were so many things she longed to tell him, she’d taken to writing them down.
She would have been embarrassed if she also didn’t want to cry.
The autumn sun beamed down on her head, and Lux pulled her hood forward to shield her eyes. Already, she’d learned the clouds in Ghadra had both created a problem and protected her. Her pale skin reddened within minutes of exposure.
She tracked the vague blot of the carriage all the way to the blurred canopy it headed toward. The road to the sea meant a road first through the trees.
And trees—well, she and they didn’t have a history of getting along.