What Vandamir’s Books lacked in creative naming, it more than made up for in character. Every time Raith entered the shop, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Old paper and leather, with the slight hint of that flowery tea that Vandamir was always sipping on.

  If there was any organization to the shelves that lined every wall, it was a mystery known only to the shopkeeper himself. Gnomish contraptions sat on wooden pedestals at odd intervals throughout the shop, inviting visitors to wonder at their purpose.

  Two comfortable sitting chairs sat atop a fine rug in the center of the room. An unusual treat for customers who liked to stay awhile. The wall above the merchant’s counter was dominated by a finely detailed map of the world in a handsome wooden frame. A glimpse behind the counter to the back office showed a massive table loaded with books upon books that had not yet found their way to the front.

  Raith had gone on countless adventures within these four walls. Traveled back to the Age of Giants, wielded the awesome power of a fifth- braid [Mage], and fought in battles so epic, they shook the foundations of the godtowers themselves.

  He’d even picked up his first class, [Bookworm], sitting right in that very chair. Awestruck that someone could reach out over the span of a thousand years to tell him that they felt the same way he did. That he wasn’t alone in this world.

  This shop was Raith’s favorite place in the entire city.

  Standing behind the counter and pouring over some paperwork, Vandamir looked up when he heard the door open. In his early two-hundreds, the gnome was approaching late-middle age with a dignity that would be the envy of any race. Glasses perched at the end of his long round nose, framing an equally round face. Only the barest hint of gray showed in his neatly cut black hair. His expensive yet subdued suit was an odd but pleasant mixture of gnomish and human styles.

  “Mr. Quirric, you have fortuitous timing.” Someone had informed Vanadamir that humans entered adulthood at the age of eighteen, and he had been calling Raith ‘Mr. Quirric’ ever since. “I have just received a shipment of books that have not been well cared for. Do you wish to work for money or merchandise today? Or perhaps a [Quest]?”

  With all three classes maxed at level ten, the weft from a [Quest] would be useless until after he braided.Raith couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the prospect of new books to read.

  “What sort of books?”

  “Not the fare you typically enjoy, I’m afraid. A twelve volume set detailing economic causes for the rise and fall of King Enturad IV. It was a special order from a noble who will pay extra if the books are in excellent condition.”

  “I am actually looking for a specific tome. I’ll trade my services for that information today, if that’s ok with you, sir.”

  “You have me intrigued, Mr. Quirric. What is this book that has you so interested?”

  “It’s called the Lexicon of Exalted Patterns by Galath Stone-eye. I believe Galath was a cyclops, but I don’t know anything else at this point except that it is very old. Probably several thousand years or more.”

  “Have you tried the Order of the Loom? Beckhaven’s Loremasters have the greatest library in the three kingdoms.”

  “I would prefer to leave them out of it, if that’s alright with you.”

  “That peculiar distrust of the Order will make this more difficult. May I ask why you want this book so badly?”

  “It’s supposed to detail the pattern for a class I want.”

  “So that’s why you’ve been putting off braiding your classes. Very well. I will track down this book in exchange for your services today. To be clear, this is only to provide you with the whereabouts of said book. Not procure it.”

  “Of course, Vandamir. I understand.”

  “You’ll find your work in a crate in back. I will begin my research at once. It’s admittedly a nice excuse to take a break from these ledgers. Perhaps one day I’ll hire someone to do this tedious work.It’s just difficult to pay someone to do a task I’m perfectly capable of performing myself.”

  “If I could afford it, I’d pay someone to do all of my chores.”

  This earned Raith a mildly disapproving look as he made his way behind the counter to the back office. Every square inch of the enormous worktable was taken up with stacks of books, rolled up scrolls and repairs in progress. Rather than clean off a spot, he plopped down onto the floor next to the crate and pulled out the top book.

  It was in worse shape than he’d hoped. The pages inside were mostly fine, with only a few minor tears. The leather cover, on the other hand, was badly scuffed and the lettering barely legible. Some of the stitching in the binding was also starting to come loose. If they were all like this, then he was going to be here a while.

  At least it isn’t mold or insect damage.

  Activating his [Bookbinding] skill, he watched as a palm-sized portion of the cover unscuffed back into new condition. It was very satisfying to watch, but he’d been hoping to knock out in bigger chunks at a time. He did some quick math and estimated the repairs would put him here for at least an hour if everything went well.

  Unlike [Recall Passage], [Bookbinding] didn’t synergize with [Life in Staccato] so he had to wait out the cooldown in real time. While he waited, Raith perused the books on the table for anything interesting. He sifted through the stacks, careful to put everything back exactly as he found it. While it may look like a mess, Vandamir knew the precise location of every item on this table.

  As he carefully shifted a particularly precarious stack, an eight inch person scurried out from behind them. Raith startled, knocking over a book, which knocked over the stack and avalanched into several other stacks making a terrible racket.

  “Dammit, Crinkle! You scared the crap out of me.”

  Crinkle was not actually a person, but a daemon. This particular daemon looked like paper that had been artfully folded into the shape of a person. It had no features, but it appeared as though the paper had been written on with an elegant script before someone folded it up. It always bothered Raith that he could never quite read the words as they spilled in and out of the creases of its body.

  Other daemons may assume the appearance of a person-shaped collection of brass gears, or an elemental representation like fire or water. They seemed to take on different aspects depending on the owner, but scholars assured they were all the same creature. About three times as smart as a dog and one hundred times more annoying, for some reason gnomes loved to keep them around as pets.

  “By the Loom, what is going on in here?” Vandamir demanded as he rushed into the room.

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  “Nothing, sir. Crinkle just startled me.”

  “Stop playing around and get back to work.” He surveyed the toppled books with narrowed eyes and tightly pressed lips. “After you clean up this mess.”

  Raith waited till he was gone and looked down at the daemon. Crinkle grasped its stomach and bent forward, shaking in silent, mocking laughter.

  “Yeah, laugh it up you little shit.”

  With one more glance to ensure Vandamir was gone, he grabbed a large tome and dropped it right down on top of the daemon. The little creature flattened completely beneath a book that outweighed it many times over. Removing the book, he watched as Crinkle peeled itself off the table and shook its folds back into the proper shape. It then made an extremely rude gesture and scurried off to perch on the desk at the other side of the room.

  Raith recalled the first time he had accidentally smashed Crinkle. He was only nine, and had run to Vanadmir crying, terrified he had killed the poor creature. The gnome assured him that daemons can neither hurt anyone nor be hurt. Even vaporized, they will eventually find their form again. ‘The worst we can do is irritate each other. It’s part of their charm,’ he’d said.

  Gnomes sure have a strange idea of charming.

  He put the books back in order to the best of his memory, knowing the shopkeeper would still complain, then returned to the monotonous work of repairing the tomes.

  Firing off [Bookbinding], waiting until he could use his skill again, then repeating the process. For all that he could get lost in his head for untold hours using [Life in Staccato], he became bored and restless very easily. After the first couple of books he was jumping around the office, pantomiming rope dart forms during cooldowns.

  With only a couple of books left, Raith was working on a particular spinning dart cast. He could perform the footwork and upper body movements perfectly by themselves, but hadn’t quite put them together. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Crinkle sneaking up to the book he was currently working on.

  “Shoo.”

  Raith snatched up the book and the daemon darted back to the desk. Enough time had passed, so he fired off another repair and began working on kicking techniques this time. As soon as it thought he wasn’t looking, the daemon crept back over to the book and started rubbing its face on the cover.

  “Knock it off. You’re going to get me in trouble again.”

  Instead of returning to the desk this time, Crinkle folded itself flat and wormed in between the pages, disappearing into the middle of the book.

  “Hey, get out of there!”

  He picked the book up and turned it upside down, shaking the loose pages to dislodge the bothersome creature.

  It didn’t work.

  Turning the book back to a reading position, he rapidly flipped through the pages. Halfway through he found Crinkle all folded up on a page. Onethat did not match the rest of the book.

  While all the other pages were discolored and worn, this one was still as white as the day it was created. Raith recognized the distinctive layered runic phrases of magical text on the page. Trying to read them made him feel dizzy.

  Crinkle stood up on the opposite page and gestured grandly at the magical text.

  “That was actually very helpful for once. Thank you, Crinkle.”

  The daemon took a sweeping bow.

  “Vandamir, you may want to see this.”

  The gnome came bustling back in the room holding a book that was closed on his finger to mark the page.

  “If you require my help, then I must insist you stop interrupting me, Mr. Quirric.”

  Raith held out the open book, with the daemon standing proudly on one side.

  “Look what Crinkle found.”

  The gnome set down the book he was holding, marked page forgotten, and accepted the one Raith offered.

  “Will you look at that? I suspect my customer has attempted to swindle me. Excellent work, Crinkle.”

  He reached out and patted the daemon on the head, causing the little creature to spring up and down like an accordion. It vibrated at the attention.

  “Can you read what it says?” Raith asked.

  “You cannot?”

  “No, sir. I never had much interest in becoming a [Mage].”

  “The ability to read magic is an invaluable skill for any scholar.”

  “But I’m going to be an adventurer.”

  Vandamir let out an exasperated sigh.

  “So you have said. And yet I still hope you will come to your senses some day. You have a keen mind if you’d ever slow down enough to use it. Reading magical runes is equally important for idiots who run off to pursue levels by risking their lives. Stitching the [Skill] enables even non magic users to cast spells from scrolls.”

  While he intended to form his party with a mage, it would certainly be valuable to be able to use scrolls.

  “Thank you, sir. I believe that’s advice I will take. What does it say?”

  “It details a ritual to bring the caster great fortune.”

  “Oooh. Can we use it?”

  “First of all, this is not a scroll to be cast from. More akin to a page from a spellbook. Secondly, the fortune is offset by choosing another to be the target for a terrible curse. Is there someone to whom you wish to bring grave misfortune?”

  There were actually several, but it didn’t feel appropriate to mention that.

  “No, sir. Does this mean I get to be done repairing the books?”

  “Certainly not. We made an agreement and I expect you to stick to the terms. The discovery was made by Crinkle, regardless.”

  Vandamir recovered the book he came in with and went back up front. The tome with the magical page, and Crinkle, went with him.

  Raith spent the remainder of his repair time spent worrying about where his book might be. With the answer so close at hand, he was too nervous to distract himself with weapon training. Was it in some ancient dungeon he had no hope of conquering? In the possession of an evil mage? The last copy destroyed in a war? There was no telling, but the most likely answers did not bode well for his immediate future.

  Placing the last book back into the crate, Raith took a deep breath and got to his feet. Expecting the worst, he forced himself to walk to the front of the shop. No matter the answer, he was determined to find a way to make this work.

  “I’m done with the repairs.”

  “It so happens I am also done. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  He’s already done?

  On further reflection, it wasn’t all that surprising when he considered how tight-knit the Guild of Letters was. With so many manuscripts hoarded by the Order and secreted away in other Guild’s vaults, they had to rely on each other a great deal to pursue their passion.

  Leading them back to the crate, Vandamir pulled out each book and inspected it thoroughly. With each thoughtful ‘hmmm’ from the gnome, Raith increasingly felt like he was going to explode. He managed to hold it in, barely, knowing that any outburst would only delay the answers and earn him a lecture.

  “Excellent work, as always, Mr. Quirric. Now to the location of your book.”

  Raith let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding.

  “Ten copies are known to have been made. Of those ten, four are confirmed to be destroyed. The whereabouts of another two are unknown. One is in the hands of a corvid mage named Ganthius. He is quite powerful, last recorded at his fourth braid, but not unfriendly. His keep in deep in the corvid lands on the other side of Tela, however.”

  A journey halfway around the world would be incredibly daunting. Less than promising, but at least not impossible.

  “One is in the Dungeon of Allarack. A notoriously dangerous ruin and home to the bones of countless adventurers.”

  Considerably closer, but practically impossible. Especially unbraided.

  “Another may be found in possession of the giant-kin, at a publicly available library in the Kingdom of Formor.”

  “Now we’re talking!”

  His kingdom was on excellent terms with the giants, and the tall folk even had a growing community of expatriates on the southern coast. It would still be months of travel, but this was doable.

  “Please don’t interrupt. The final known copy of the Lexicon of Exalted Patterns by Galath Stone-eye can be found right here in Beckhaven. The Loremaster’s catalog indicates it is kept in the Rare and Priceless section of the library. While strictly controlled, it should be a comfort to know it is not in the Hazardous Tomes section, to which any outside access is forbidden.”

  Raith had never been so happy and angry at the exact same time. It was right there, not a ten minute walk out the door. But those kid-snatching bastards had it, and there was no way he could look without involving them.

  Vandamir must have seen the emotions warring on Raith’s face, because his next words were uncharacteristically gentle.

  “I do not mind that you have never entrusted me with whatever secret puts you at odds with the Order of the Loom. The Guild of Letters has certainly had our share of differences with their Loremasters. But they are by not villains, as you seem to believe. They do the world a great service by passing on a record of the patterns and keeping the god towers in check. Requesting their help will save you a long and perilous journey, at the very least. Perhaps even your life.”

  “I’m grateful for your counsel, Vandamir. I have a lot to consider.”

  “Very well, Mr. Quirric. Please do not do anything rash without consulting your parents. Or anyone possessing a shred of wisdom with whom you may be acquainted. I include myself among that list, should you so choose.”

  “Thank you, Vandamir. I won’t do anything stupid.”

  With mind racing, he exited the shop. The door chime didn’t quite cover up the gnome’s softly spoken parting words.

  “I doubt that very much, Mr. Quirric.”