Chapter 4: The Contract

"Dakshina made you come, didn't she?"

The voice came from atop one of the large bookcases in East Library. Above him, a redheaded boy with an eye patch looked down at him with an almost knowing expression. Bookman, who had indeed been casually searching for him, attempted to remain innocent.

"And why would you assume that?" Bookman asked. Lavi turned his gaze back toward the shelf he was level with, pulling out a book to leaf through it while balancing precariously on the top rung of the ladder.

"Why else would you be here?" he inquired.

"Perhaps I wanted a book," Bookman replied. Lavi did not even dignify him with a glance as he placed his book back on the shelf and took another.

"With all do respect, I may be young, but I am not yu ben de," Lavi said. Bookman felt the corner of his lip quirk upward in a smile, but he stopped it prematurely, watching silently as the redhead replaced the volume in his hands in exchange for another.

"So what did we talk about, then?" Lavi asked in a nonchalant manner.

"Your current status that declares you Bound and denied Furtherance," Bookman replied, "and other topics of similar nature."

"Should I say I cried at the unfairness of it all? Perhaps arguing with indignation at the unjustness of my situation?" Lavi asked, glancing down at him briefly before turning his attention back to the book in his hands. "Perhaps it will be more believable that way."

"If you're into such drama," Bookman answered, not believing that the boy above him would act in such a manner. It appeared that Dakshina had done a good job training him. He was serious and rather level headed, not seemingly influenced or controlled by his emotions. It was impressive for someone of his young age.

"Was there anything else?" Lavi asked, setting his book aside before reaching for another.

"Not at all, but timing is essential. After all, there is no way that we could have had such an in-depth conversation in under the span of five minutes," Bookman said.

"True, but will she really know…?" he asked, his voice low enough that Bookman presumed him to be speaking mostly to himself. Without bothering to respond, the old man sat down at the nearest desk. It was the same one he had declared to be his own all those years ago, beside the wide window in East. By his elbow, there rested a glowing lantern and a small stack of books with titles like: Astronomia, Astrum Libri, Rectro ut Sidus quod Plagiarius, and Skywatching. Bookman picked up Rectro ut Sidus quod Plagiarius, as he remembered reading the English version—The Guide to Constellations and Heavenly Bodies—some time during his travels in Europe. It was fascinating to see it in its original Latin, but it contained rather advanced vocabulary and grammatical patterns that Bookman idly wondered if Lavi would be able to understand.

"Astronomy?" Bookman inquired aloud, mostly out of lack of conversation than actual curiosity. On the highest shelf, Bookman heard Lavi snap one of the tomes shut before reshelving it. He watched as the redhead made his way carefully down the creaking ladder, three more books beneath his arm.

"What of it?" Lavi asked. Bookman noticed that he had to hop down from the second rung, as the one on the very bottom was splintered and broken. He landed expertly and unfazed, shifting the books beneath his arm as he neared the table. His gaze was cautious as he set his new finds down beside his other books and then seated himself opposite Bookman.

"It must be hard to see anything from inside," Bookman observed, peering at the boy over the top of the book in his hands. Lavi's gaze was out the window, observing the twilit evening with an expression of near-yearning. The window was of decent size, but Bookman knew that it would not provide even a decent view for a stargazer, which accounted for that wistful look. Lavi seemed to realize this and turned his face from the window, scratching at the band of the eye patch that stretched over his nose in irritation.

"It is," Lavi said, looking at him fully. Up close, Bookman could see that his single eye was a peculiar shade of emerald that was very rare in their region. Before he could ponder the boy's unknown lineage, Lavi's gaze had flickered downward to look at the books on the table.

"I know you probably don't care, because I wouldn't if I was you, but before I came here, I used to look at them all the time," Lavi began quietly. "I had no idea what they were then, but I always liked looking at them. Now, I know what they are: how they're formed, what their names are, and even when they appear in the sky…but no matter how much I want to look at them, I can barely see anything from in here…" Lavi leaned over in his chair and pulled his bag on top of the table. From it, he removed something that was wrapped tightly in a cream handkerchief. Unwrapped, Bookman saw that the object in question was a small, brass telescope. The side had a major dent in it, as if someone had taken it and beaten it against the edge of a table. The lens was cracked and broken.

"To make matters worse, the other day, someone broke my telescope and now I can't see anything at all," Lavi said, wrapping it up with practiced care. "I was going to ask Manas and Ganesa in the science wing to fix it for me, but they've been busy with all their alchemy research…And I can't ask Enoch either, because he was really nice and gave it to me. I don't want him to know that it's broken." Once the telescope was completely swathed in the fabric, Lavi placed it back into his bag and stood up.

"And would you believe it? In this entire place, with all these libraries and annexes," Lavi began, stopping half-way through his sentence to pull the ladder along the shelves to the next section, "there isn't a single book on how to fix a telescope?" He climbed up the steps about halfway before he began searching for specific volumes on the shelves once again. It fell quiet again, Bookman passing the time by staring out the window until the oranges and reds had disappeared behind white-capped mountains, giving way to indigo. When the sky darkened, the stars would come out. Bookman could picture them perfectly in his mind, twinkling against the vastness. Out of everything in the world, Bookman believed they were the most beautiful: the only thing that man could not tarnish or destroy.

It was unfair to keep the child from experiencing that.

"Would you like to see?" Bookman asked, before he could stop himself from voicing his thoughts aloud. He had no idea what possessed him to say those words. It would almost be considered kind, which was completely out of character for him. But there was something about the boy that intrigued him and nothing interested Bookman more than a puzzle.

"See what?" Lavi asked, his back still to Bookman.

"The stars," Bookman replied. The redhead's hand stilled over a large tome and Lavi instead turned on the middle rung to face him. He looked skeptical and a little suspicious.

"Well of course," Lavi answered, going back to the volume that had captured his interest. He pulled it down off the shelf, but didn't open it. Instead, he climbed back down and came over to the desk to stand across from Bookman. "I tried to get out once, you know. I was caught by the West Shepherd and he wailed on me until I couldn't move anymore." Lavi set the book down, a little forcefully on top of the pile. "I'm not willing to try that again. I learn quickly." As he returned to the shelves, Bookman recalled the West Shepherd's harsh punishments with a mental cringe. Rong was nothing short of cruel when it came to discipline and Bookman knew that he would not hold back his strength, even if it was inflicted upon a child.

"What if I were to tell you that there was a way around all of these stipulations?" Bookman inquired.

"I would say that it was too good to be true," was the answer.

"But would you do it?"

"Perhaps.

"Perhaps."

"It depends on what it would entail," Lavi said. Bookman could tell that he was trying not to look too interested, as obvious from the way that the boy kept his back to him. However, he wasn't looking through books as he had been before, which allowed the old man to know that he was listening. He was cautious, smart, and quite articulate for such a young child. If Bookman had known himself better, he might have actually considered himself impressed.

"An essay," Bookman said, before amending with: "Actually, three essays."

"And that's all?" Lavi asked, looking over his shoulder at Bookman, as if wondering if it was some elaborate joke being played upon him by a higher power.

"That's all," Bookman answered, watching as that gaze shifted from him to the window. He could almost see in the dim light how that single eye strained to see beyond the limited view it provided: to someplace in the far-off distance beneath an indigo sky of freedom. The boy then looked back at Bookman with an expression of determination.

"You have yourself a deal."

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The three essay prompts Bookman left with Lavi were the same three he had supplied in his letters to the four Shepherds. He had not made the prompts any easier in consideration of the boy's age. After all, Bookman himself was not quite clear on why he had promised the child such a reward for completing them. Had it been pity towards Lavi's situation, or was he merely following the wishes of Dakshina, whom he regarded with some degree of fondness? Bookman was unsure, but he did have to admit that there was something peculiar about the boy and he was interested to see how a younger child would answer those thought provoking questions.

The prompts were the same as when he had been a young man, striving for the position of apprentice Bookman. In short, they were to encompass the three attitudes that Bookmen had to consider in the life as an observant historian: the impact of humans within the world, the presence or absence of a higher power in the realm of human existence, and then finally the inescapable cycle of pain and suffering.

By the late evening, Bookman had received all three essay bundles from a few of the candidates. He was a bit distressed to find that most of them had been composed with too much le se in order to meet the measly length requirement of sixteen inches each. Only two stood out among the pile. There was the provocative essay written by one of the North Shepherd's candidates acknowledging the existence, but neutrality of a being known as "God". The other was an intelligent essay composed by one of Enoch's candidates, which focused on the concepts of progressive sciences and how the new technology affected the world.

Setting those two aside in a pile to keep, Bookman rifled through the remaining essays with dissatisfaction. None of them were truly to his standards, so he put those into a stack and placed them beneath the table. Perhaps at the end of the week, when he received the remaining essays, Bookman would look at them again, but he truly doubted it. However, he could not completely rule them out, especially if the responses by the other candidates were any worse than the ones he held in his possession.

Bookman felt an exasperated sigh leave him as he shrugged on his heavy haori, stood and went to the patio door. Pulling back the screen, Bookman stepped out onto the veranda and lit a cigarette. To him, the exercise of finding an apprentice seemed pointless when the youth was not up to par with his standards. He inhaled, breathing in tobacco and the cold air. When he exhaled, it was a mixture of breath and smoke that twisted itself in patterns beneath a myriad of stars. Above him, the moon was a bright chunk in the sky, illuminating the snow-covered peaks down below. Truly, it was a breathtaking sight. Even a Bookman could appreciate the natural world, especially when it was quiet and still.

That boy came to mind again.

Bookman's memory could conjure the image again and again: Lavi's wistful look to a world beyond the window. He sought something outside the cage where he lived in shackles. But despite his best efforts, there was nothing but darkness for him. Bookman knew that the boy had no future. He would live for the rest of his life with condemned status and he would die without seeing the outside of the mountain. This place was his coffin. The sad thing was that Lavi knew; the old man had seen the weight of that knowledge in his only eye. And even sadder was that Bookman knew that Lavi understood there was nothing he could do about it. Bookman paused on his inhale, the tobacco suddenly tasting too bitter. He threw the cigarette out into the night, watching as the orange end burned brightly before disappearing into the darkness.

He watched it fade away, much like Lavi could only watch his hopes and dreams fade away through the cracked lens of a broken telescope.

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Revised 11/9/2009

Dhampir72