Forrest Wineburn, proprietor of the bookshop, is standing behind the counter, cleaning the dust off the wood with a wet rag. He looks a bit dishelved now, and he has trouble keeping his eyes open.
From the clear, humid night air steps the tall figure of Trevain Zahir, closing the door of the bookshop firmly behind him and looking about, flexing his red-gloved fingers testily. The Zahir swishes up to the counter, his midnight black cloak loosely about his shoulders, and places a gloved palm on the countertop. "Master... Wineburn, is it?" he begins, a smooth grin spreading over his face.
"Ah..." The bookseller blinks his eyes absently, setting down the rag and rubbing his face with his hands. "What time is it..." He focuses on the man standing at the door, at the swirling cloak and the shutting of the door, and instinctively asks, "How can I help you? Aye, this, err," he stutters, "I am Wineburn."
The noble straightens, raising an eyebrow at the man's dazed response and says clearly and sharply, "I would like to buy a book, Master Wineburn." He tightens his red-gloved hand around the edge of the counter. "But perhaps I should return at another time."
"Oh!" Master Wineburn, aware that he has a customer now, shakes himself out of his reverie, and throws up door to the counter, then shutting it behind him. "I'm afraid I do not get many buyers, Lord?... Well, there are four volumes here, and I'm afraid my prices are quite high, but these are books, good sir, and you don't see many libraries do you! Hah!" Forrest smiles, and pulls out a chair. "Would you like to sit, sir?"
The man grins rather thinly, nodding to the man but politely refusing a seat with a wave of his hand. "I would much prefer to stand, Master Wineburn, thank you." He glances around at the shop with a raised eyebrow, leaning on the table before sliding his intense green gaze back to Forrest. "Ah... and what would these four volumes be about? I would like one that portrays great suffering, and it must delve deeply into human nature," he remarks with a glint to his eyes.
"Suffering?" Forrest asks, a confused look on his face spreading across the layers of his skin. "Perhaps, if you take a look at this volume," he says, fingering a tome. "This is about a love that could never be, and there is suffering. Perhaps you might be interested in The Tailor of Seamel?"
"Ah, yes, yes... love," the Zahir remarks with a dismissive wave of his hand, yet glances at the tome. "I'll take it." With this decisive statement, the Zahir nods sharply and places his hands behind his back, tilting his head at Forrest. "Now, ah, exactly how much will this volume cost?"
"Well, my lord," Forrest begins, holding the letter in his hand, "if you can read this letter, it should explain most of the price to you. I do not sell the originals, but I do sell a copy I will make especially for you. You will need to choose which volume," he says, interrupting himself, by pointing to volume one, and then volume two, "that you wish. Each book is priced at 1000 Imperial kahars, while I will need some time to properly craft the book.
The noble takes the letter, glancing up at Forrest as he peruses it, then sets the parchment back on the table, smothering it with his palm. With a slow smile, he looks back up at Forrest. "I understand it must be very taxing to copy each volume. However, I must request of you both volumes. I am a very avid reader, you see, and I hope to write my own novel one day," he reveals with a sly grin. "Now... that would be 2000 Imperials, am I correct?" He hefts a coinpurse from somewhere on his person and offers it to Forrest. "This should be more than enough, Master Wineburn." He makes sure, in a rather creepy way, that his fingers brush Forrest's as the coins change hands.
"I believe, Lord, that you have paid me too much," Forrest says, fingering the pouch with a curiousity. "I am not one to disrespect a customer, so I must ask you if you know how much is inside this pouch?"
The Zahir's lips crease thinly and he eyes Forrest, drumming his red fingers on the letter. "Master Wineburn, please. In that pouch is exactly as much as I intended to pay you."
The bookseller nods, as if understanding something beyond his bookshop. He places the pouch on his counter, and then looks up to the young nobleman and smiles. "If you come back in two days time, my lord, everything shall be prepared for you. The boy here who I leave in charge of the shop while I am busy with the Duke's business will help you." He goes up to the nobleman, and holds out his hand to conclude the deal, a bright smile on his face.
The noble's eyes glint as a smooth grins spreads across his face like honey, and as he releases the pricing letter from its prison and accepts Forrest's hand, giving it a firm shake. When he speaks again, his voice is a low rumble, almost, one might say, seductive. "I will return, Master Wineburn, in two days time." With a swish of his dizzyingly black cloak, he moves to the door and places his red hand upon it. "I look forward to reading your stories, Master Wineburn." Almost as a snide afterthought, he adds, "Light keep."
"Aye, indeed. Now, who shall I leave these books to? I have yet to know your name, Lord?..."
"Oh, of course." Trevain turns abruptly, approaching Forrest. "My name is Trevain Zahir," he rumbles, leaning slightly toward the bookseller. Straightening, he smiles. "Two days, Master Wineburn," he says, swishing out the door.
"Then farewell, Lord... Zahir." He bows to the noble as he leaves the bookshop, and turns to his work, removing a paper parchment from his trunk.