Page 5 of Runes To Rain
Finally full, I rise from the table and make to leave in the same direction as the others, but Lent stops me. “I need to go out on an errand,” he says. "Would you like to stretch your legs and accompany me?”
“I would like that.”
“What do we call you?”
For a moment, I’m not sure what I might be named, but then it comes to me and I say, “Chaosta.”
He grins at me and says, “Welcome to the mansion, Chaosta.” Gesturing to me to follow, he leaves the room. I trail behind him from the room, through the entry hall, and out the front door.
EMERGENCE
Stepping out onto the street after Lent, I have to fight to hide my emotions as intense sounds and smells crash over me. The street is narrow and carriages rush down it in careening paths as though in the middle of some race. There is a thick and smoky fog in the air that immediately burns my lungs.
Just down the street, several people seem to be fixing a building, and the tools they are using send sharp, explosive sounds through the air and directly into my skull.
Carriage drivers yell and scream at each other as they speed past, and the sound of wheels driven fast over cobbles on the street adds to the din.
“It’s too early to be very busy,” says Lent, speaking over the wild noise, “but all the same, stay close so you don’t get lost.”
Then, without looking at me, he steps off along a narrow path running along the building, which seems to be the only safe place from the speeding carriages.
I follow close behind him and try to keep up and not trip over my own feet. As I do, I crane my head up, looking at buildings so tall they disappear into the smoggy sky.
“Magnificent, huh?” calls Lent, turning to face me for a second with a grin. He then continues on rapidly, leaving me to think that this is not the word I would use to describe this place.
His long legs attempt to outpace me, so I break into a jog. Suddenly, as though realizing I’m not easily able to catch up, he slows down, walking beside instead of ahead of me.
“I’m a bit of a researcher for the other work the band does,” he says. “I have a book I must pick up for that work. Do you like books?”
An answer rises unbidden from my lips, and I’m likely as surprised as Lent as I say the words, “I love books.”
Lent flashes me a grin. “You’ll fit right in then,” he says enthusiastically.
Soon, we arrive at a crossroads. Catching the fabric of my hood in his fist, Lent looks across the street and then, pulling me, darts across. We only narrowly avoid being run down. I hear curses hurled from the carriage behind me as Lent continues on, apparently accustomed enough to this to be unflustered by the near-death experience.
We continue for a while at a fast clip down the same street, and then he turns off to the left and almost immediately steps into a small door at the front of one of the tall buildings.
I follow him into near silence, especially relative to the noise outside. In this small shop, the smell of musky books mixes with the acrid scent of smoke from outside. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling, and we have to walk through a maze of shelves before we get to a small counter.
Lent clears his throat, and the tiniest man I have ever seen, not that it means much at this point, appears from somewhere behind us. Taking a pull on his pipe, he walks around to the opposite side of the counter. He peers through narrowed eyes at Lent, who waits as though for the man to recognize him.
Finally, Lent grumbles, “You were holding a book for me onhag stones. You told me to come back today and you would have it.”
“Ah, though I don’t remember you, I remember the book,” says the little man. “It is over here, no wait, wait, I’ll fetch it.” Grumbling quietly to himself, he disappears into the maze of bookshelves that are behind and to both sides of the counter.
While this happens, I wait, standing slightly behind Lent. Catching my attention, he crosses his eyes as though telling me something about the little man I didn’t already realize. I smile, looking down to hide behind my hair, and while I look at the floorboards, the little man returns.
He takes the pipe from his mouth and sets a small book on the counter as he says, “That’ll be forty coppers.”
“No way,” says Lent, “you told me you could get it for cheap. That price is not what we agreed on.”
“Hmm, well, I’m certain I don’t remember that. This book will cost you no less than forty, and look here, son, I’ve got plenty of customers who will take it for that, so no bargaining.”
I can only see Lent’s back, but he seems upset. Finally, he digs something out of his pocket and sets it with too much force on the counter.
The little man slowly counts it as though expressing boredom at Lent’s outrage and then nods and, wrapping the book in brown paper, hands it over.
Once again smoking his pipe, he grins at Lent and says, “Enjoy it there, young man, great book that.” With that, he turns and disappears again into the maze of books.
