Chapter One

(I do not apologise for the length. I do, however, apologise for possibly strange formatting, it seems that I'm having a bit of trouble with that.)

The woman glared at him through the bars.

Her eyes were big and light, round on her sunken pale face, and once golden hair tangled and covered in dirt fell on her shoulders like a shroud. She was beautiful, in a way, but it wasn’t her beauty that caught Lain’s attention. The thin locks of her hair shone softly under the dim light, proving the theory of it being drawn using real gold rather than paint, and the smooth coloration of her purple dress revealed not only a skilled hand, but a master illuminist with a streak of boldness.

“What do you think?”

He didn’t look up, following the lines of her eyes through the magnifying glass, not touching the book. The artist seemed to have been completely sure of his work, having drawn the lines in one swift move, not taking the quill off the paper. Lain couldn’t help but smile a little.

“It’s extraordinary,” he said, standing up straight, and suppressed a sigh as the woman standing besides him closed the book again. “The artist - or artists - surely was very skilled. I have only seen a couple of books with illuminations so well preserved.. It must have been hard to get hold of.”

“It’s my father’s passion,” she said, taking off thin white gloves in two elegant moves. “You understand now why he’s taking his time with your book, I hope. He’s making sure everything is fine before agreeing to your price. Cookie?”

It took him a moment to realise she was holding a bowl and offering - a moment in which she had already put it down again, and the learned response to her question slipped from his lips, almost without his consent. “My superior values patience, lady Novelli, and I like to flatter myself that I’m graced with the gift of it. I assure you, however, your father has nothing to worry about. I can guarantee for the authenticity of the book myself. If you wish to-”

“Claudia.”

“…What?”

She flashed him a smile, cocking her head slightly to the side. A strand of hair broke free from the bun, he couldn’t not notice, and brushed against one of her high cheekbones. There was just a hint of some makeup on her face, probably unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t taught to look carefully enough. “Claudia Novelli.” He noticed tiny freckles on her face, and a scent of lime in the air between them, and smiled a little polite smile as he took a step back. She raised an eyebrow, for a moment looking almost insulted. “Are you afraid of me, Mr Valdescu?”

“I’m afraid of all beautiful women,” the answer slipped. August’s answer. Not mine. He wondered how she’d react if he tried to come up with responses himself instead of sticking to the ones he needed to know to do his job properly. Safe and charming, never too close yet never too far.

“I might have underestimated you,” she muttered. “You do have a-” The door creaked open. “Father!”

Signor Novelli brought the book like a baby, put it gently on a table, swept an invisible speck of dust from its binding as he sat down, and then, only then, took his time to turn to Claudia and Lain. “Ah. I see you met my daughter, Mr Valdescu.”

“And I am certainly honoured, Mr Novelli,” Lain inclined his head and smiled a little to the lady, taking his eyes off the book if only for a moment. “Forgive my rush, sir, but if-”

“Yes, yes, the book.” His gloves were green rather than white like his daughter’s, and he slid his fingers over the binding slowly, carefully, barely touching it. As if caressing the soft skin of a lover, with all caution of a guest touching a statue in a museum of glass. Every move of his fingers spelled the decision out for Lain, before he even spoke. “It’s flawless, Mr Valdescu. Everything we’ve agreed on and more.” A pause he made was long, but not the kind which allowed anyone else to speak. “Have you ever been to Paris, Mr Valdescu?”

“Paris?” Lain frowned and licked his lips. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

“I see... Well yes, you are very young. Have you ever left Venice, then?”

“That I have,” Lain said. “My job tends to take both my superior and myself to many places across Italy.”

“I see… Mr Valdescu, do you know why I built this library the way I have?”

Signor Novelli waved his hand, and Lain’s eyes, for the hundred and first time since he stepped in a couple of hours earlier, flicked over bindings of tens of books, all carefully separated and labeled, some in complete darkness and others offering their heavily decorated covers to the audience. There was only one window, casting light through thin curtains, hung there more to hide the inside from the world out there than to truly decorate the interior. Lain could almost hear the books whispering in his ear, tugging at his clothes, pulling him closer with the scent of parchment and soft glow of the illuminations.

“Because these books deserve to be seen,” he said, “but not by anyone.” He could tell that even without checking how rare and valuable most of those books were. If he hadn’t been called to deliver the book to this address, or if his host had decided to treat him like any other person, he would’ve stayed in the small cafe in the front, never knowing of these treasures hid in the back rooms.

Signor Novelli observed him for a long time, with his daughter by his side and one hand still touching the book on the table.

“You are so very right, Mr Valdescu…” He stood up with a low groan, letting a stash of money leave his pocket and land on the table with a surprisingly loud sound. “Tell me, is there any way for me to meet your superior?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “A person with the talent of obtaining this manuscript will be - must be - a guest to the Villa Violetta. Pass him my invitation, would you?”

Words seemed to have declared war on Lain, as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He didn’t even have to strain his mind to think of August’s reaction. When was even the last time he was anyone’s guest? When was the last time he wanted to be…? He glances at Novelli’s daughter, and she met his eyes with a smile. Her skin looks flawless under this light…

“Oh, of course he would!” She smiled. And her teeth are so white. Like in a perfect portrait. “We haven’t had guests at home in months… Say you’ll both come, Mr Valdescu.” And those eyelashes…

“Of course.” What are you doing? He smiled. “I will gladly be there…” Don’t finish that sentence. “…And I will see to bring my superior as well. Thank you, Signor Novelli.”

*

The room in the attic smelled of smoke and ink. Lain’s eyes slid over the curtains, and tables covered in parchment and quills, brushed the chest in the corner which he knew contained metal tables with imprinted letters, and stopped at the figure by one of the tables. A cigarette - last of many - was slowly and patiently turning to ashes, on top of a pillar of books hiding Lain’s master in trade. Over the books, he could see the top of August’s head, disobedient dark curls above a wrinkled forehead, and only as he stepped closer and up on his toes did he manage to see his eyes. They stayed focused on something on the table before him, shaded by thin eyebrows and dark lashes.

“You are distracting me,” he muttered. “You smell like the world outside.”

Lain suppressed a smile as he stepped closer, frowning slightly at the cigarette in the ashtray and putting the money from Signor Novelli on a few unoccupied centimeters in the corner of the table. August’s eyes darted towards it and back, focusing again on a small book. It had no illuminations, as much as Lain could see, and was written in ink which seemed more red than black. August was inspecting it with a magnifying glass, drawing the same letter over and over again on a piece of thick paper, and sighed after a few long minutes.

“What is it?” He turned to Lain and pointed a quill at him like a sword or a magic wand. “I know that look, you did something wrong. It’s not the money, so do tell. Did Novelli make any troubles for you?”

“Not exactly…” There is just one person in this room who will think of it as trouble. He frowned. “You look terrible, August… when was the last time you ate?” His eyes narrowed at his superior’s clothes. “Or went home to change?”

“That depends…” August’s quill poked the paper before he picked it up and held up to Lain. “Does this look similar enough to the one in the middle?” The letter in one of the corners had a hole pierced next to it, and Lain assumed he was supposed to focus on that one. It was almost flawless - almost, but not quite, because while August’s letter was clearly written by his quill, the original had a thick ending drawn by something Lain couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“It wasn’t written with a quill,” he murmured.

“I know it wasn’t written with a quill.” August slammed the paper on the table, rubbing his temples with his other hand as he met Lain’s eyes. “I’ve been trying to figure out what was it written with for.. What day is today?”

“Friday.”

“...For eighty hours. I think I slept through some of them, since I can’t for the life of me remember what else I was doing besides staring at this book.”

He got up with another sigh, only to stretch and walk pass Lain to slouch on a sofa by one of the shelves. Apart from the chair which he was sitting on up until that moment, the sofa was the only object in the room which August hadn’t covered in something. Windows hidden by curtains, shelves covered in papers and ink bottles in various stages of emptiness, old closet covered in some plant, which had originally been brought in a pot now also lost somewhere under the leaves, and which now resembled a being threatening to cover the entire room if there continues to be nothing stopping it from completing that task… Even the candles were covered, shaded so they provided barely enough light for a living person to truly appear as such.

“What happened with Novelli? Did he find anything strange?”

“No…” Lain shook his head to emphasise. “He was pleased, very much so.” He couldn’t help but grin. “He had no idea, August. He was inspecting it for over an hour and he said it was ‘flawless, Mr Valdescu, everything we’ve agreed on and more.' He was delighted.”

August closed his eyes and shrugged, but not before the corners of his lips twitched a little, curling into a smile for a short moment. “Don’t let it make you proud enough to be reckless. Watch for the critiques, not compliments. You shouldn’t be surprised we did something right.” He pointed in general direction of the money, still with his eyes closed. “If we had made a mistake, we wouldn’t have gotten that in our hands.”

Lain’s shoulders dropped a little. “I know…”

“Mm… you can take the bigger half, there was a lot of drawing to do and it did make you wait for an hour.”

“More than an hour,” Lain muttered, “and there’s no such thing as bigger half…”

August opened his eyes for long enough to shoot a pointed glare at him, then closed them again. “Bigger part, then. Now that’s settled, what is it that you don’t want to but have to tell me or ask me about?” His lips stretched into a smile as if he saw the grimace on Lain’s face. “Now, now. I know you well enough, something happened at Novelli’s that you’re sure - and probably right - I won’t like. So let’s get it over with, shall we?”

Lain sighed. “He invited us to his house.” He sat down next to August, who kept silent. “He really wants to meet you… He admires you, I think.” Words he thought about on his way home now seemed to threaten to all come out all at once, making his voice louder as he continued quickly. “You might like him too… I think you two would agree about books. He’s so passionate about them, you could--”

“I don’t go to people’s houses.”

“I know, but… August, he has a hidden library filled with rare editions. You should’ve seen the illuminations in some of those books.”

“Lain.” The expression in his eyes matched his voice. “I don’t go to people’s houses, even if they like rare books. Many people like rare books, otherwise you and I wouldn’t have a job.” He paused. “Not a very well payed job, in any case.”

You are not going to convince him, Lain’s subconsciousness muttered melodically. This is the man capable of spending days focused on one detail, and only willing to make contact with other humans when he runs out of coffee or sweets. He sighed again. “I know. I know. Can you just listen to me? He might be keeping more of them at home. It’s a treasury, and his daughter said he’s a passionate collector… If you come, you could make another deal, or more than one. I’m sure he’d agree; as much as I gathered, he seems to think you’re some kind of magician for being able to get books like the one he bought today.” August was just looking at him now. You don’t quite have a choice but to tell him. “Also, maybe I promised we’d come.”

August smirked. “Who taught you to make promises you can’t keep?” He closed his eyes again as Lain kept looking at him. “You promised, it’s a potential business opportunity and you think Novelli and I should be friends.” He shook his head slightly. “You really want to go, don’t you? I can’t recall the last time you thought of that many reasons to try to manipulate me into doing something. I thought you didn’t like people.”

“I don’t…” Lain looked away, feeling much younger than his age. You know me too well. “I only don’t like being in contact with people… or close enough to feel them breathe.” He frowned, searching for an argument to silence both August and the thought prodding in the back of his own mind. You wish to see lady Novelli again, but the moment she as much as offers you her hand you’ll be running faster than a fox before the hunters. He turned his attention to August again. “You are the one who dislikes everyone just because they dare to exist.”

“And there is your answer.”

Licking his lips, Lain got up again. “Very well…”

He walked to the door, followed by August’s eyes, only to turn around again before opening it. This carpet is very interesting, the thought crossed his mind. I never noticed how elaborate the motive is, really… It required almost painful level of control to look up and meet August’s eyes again. “Fine, you’re right. I really want to go. Stories surround the Novelli family, and we live of stories.”

For a long moment, August stayed silent. His eyes resembled dark holes in the dimly lit room; Lain could imagine falling into them if he looked for too long - or something crawling out of them and taking a grip of his soul, taking it away to slowly devour it in some corner. “We live of forging illuminated manuscripts, Lain. Those stories aren’t ours.” He pushed himself up, running his hand over his face before walking around Lain to reach the door. The scent of freshly made coffee sneaked into the room as the door soundlessly slid open. It was combined with something Lain interpreted as one of the various kinds of exotic teas August’s maid was so fond of, and mixed with unmistakeable aroma of chocolate cake.

“We will go to Novelli’s,” August stated.

Just like that? August’s tone was final, as if he’d decided on a matter which would affect the entire nation, and nothing in the way he looked at Lain, holding the door for him, was suggesting a possible reason for the sudden change of heart.

“...Why?”

“Why?” August smiled wryly as he fixed his shirt, failing in attempt to make himself look in the least presentable by running his fingers through his hair, and flew down the stairs like a hungry child at the mention of dinner. He turned to look up at Lain again just before disappearing in the direction of the dining room. “Because, dearie, I like being owed favours.”

***