The bell tinkled.
In a small, unimportant alley in a small, unimportant city stood a smaller, less important store. A girl sat in a chair behind a counter, reading a book while another girl walked in, carrying a large crate.
Lanva, the girl behind the counter, looked up from the book that she was reading, which was a large book with the title Celestrian Mythology for Fools printed in gold letters on the green binding. The tall girl who had entered the shop stood uncertainly in the entrance. Lanva could see that the crate in the other girl's arms was filled with books.
Well, of course. Nobody had yet walked into the bookshop with a crate full of kittens.
"The Letter?" asked the girl, sounding breathless and shy.
Lanva nodded.
The tiny secondhand bookshop had no sign on the door, and that sometimes confused new customers. The sign had been stolen half a decade ago and had never been replaced. It didn't matter. The display of books in the window drew in curious passersby, and the old customers already knew where the shop could be found.
"I can drop these books off here, then?" asked the tall girl who'd come in. She tossed her head to throw her long brown hair out of her eyes. Her eyes were green, and Lanva thought they looked gorgeous. "You'll take care of them?"
"Of course we'll take care of them," said Lanva. "But don't you want to know how much we'll pay?"
"Oh, no, that's all right," said the other girl. "My family's looking to get rid of them. My grandmother's just passed on. She had so many books we don't know what to do with them all. We were hoping someone would take them off our hands. The people who bought her house thought of this shop and told me to bring them here."
"I'm sorry about your grandmother," said Lanva, eyeing the crate of books. They had been packed neatly in the box, but it would still take Lanva a good few hours - if not days - to sort through them all.
The other girl gave an embarrased shrug and sad smile. "It's alright. She was getting - well, old. We will miss her, but… well… " The girl trailed off. "Take good care of her books," she said, gently laying the crate down on the bookshop floor. "She was very fond of them."
"Of course," said Lanva, trying to be reassuring. "Don't worry, we'll find the nicest homes for them."
She felt oddly like she was reassuring someone who had dropped off a crate full of kittens.
The girl left the bookshop.
The bell tinkled.
Lanva put down her book of Celestrian mythology and stood up. She'd never been able to resist the lure of looking through a fresh delivery of books. She went to kneel by the crate and began picking up the books and leafing through them, one by one.
A People's History of Armaretto. That was a common one, and in brand new condition it would sell for two silver coins. The next book that she picked up was an atlas. It was heavy, and it looked old. Lanva opened it and checked the date of publication. Fifty three years old. This book wasn't likely to sell. Lanva put it into a separate pile. It would be on sale in the five-copper-coins bin for two weeks, and then tossed.
And what was this? A new book. In all of her life, not even during her six years of work at The Letter, had she ever seen a book like this. It was wrapped in a deep blue cover, which was silky and soft to the touch. Lanva traced the silver letters with her fingers, struggling to read the words spelled out by their swirling font.
The Book of Maguss.
Somehow the words had a familiar ring to them, as if she'd heard them before but had forgotten them. Lanva turned the book over in her hands. She stroked the cover. How smooth. It even felt beautiful. She opened it. There was no writing on any of the pages, which were perfectly creamy white. Untouched.
She hesitated. It didn't seem likely that a blank book would sell. She didn't know how much money to sell it for, or which section to add it to.
The bell tinkled. Lanva looked up. But no one was there.
She looked back down at the book in her hands. A chill passed through her, unexpected, unbidden.
Lanva stood up, the strange blue book still her hands.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't part with it. She'd add a few silver coins to the register. It wouldn't be stealing. Not - exactly.
She opened it up. She didn't know why. She knew it was blank.
But this time it wasn't.
Printed on the page she'd opened up to, right in the middle of the book, were printed the words, in tall black letters that shone dark against the creamy white -
BE WAIRE THE BLAK STAGG OF DOOME