Wrestling with a stack of dusty, decaying books, a budding young woman ambled over to a nearby table. Almost dropping the precariously constructed tower only a moment earlier, she eagerly plopped them down all at once. Strewing the fragile, bound stacks of paper over the tabletop in the process. Wary, but trusting, eyes darted at her from the other side of the room- cautioning her to tend to the books carefully and quietly. With an apologetic smile, she planted herself on the ragged old couch nearby. A sigh escaped her lips as she eyed the mountain of books before her. Reluctantly, she began searching through her collection. Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to decode the faded titles lining the bindings, engraved labels worn down from years of wear. In truth, she had relinquished hope of ever finding the book she needed when it had surprisingly disappeared from its position on the shelf it had held the last ten years. For the sake of tradition, she had collected all the books of similar size and binding.
Under normal circumstances, any old book provided her with sufficient entertainment. She rarely needed anything more than a fantastical world to escape to during the day whilst keeping company with her father and tending to their quaint cottage grounds. The significance of the day, however, prevented her from borrowing the first book that caught her fancy. Tradition declared she must return home with her treasured story in hand. She eyed the bookkeeper across the room in despair. Familiar with her plight, the rotund, greying man lumbered over to her position on the couch, ledger in hand. Grunting and groaning as his aging bones creaked, he folded into the seat next to her.
His normally gruff exterior melted into one of warmth and concern. He took note of her despairing expression, mussed flaxen hair, dark under-eye circles and concluded the memory of her mother must be weighing on her. They lived in a small town, people had noticed that her father left his home more and more infrequently as the years went by. Gossip had spread, rumoring her father's mental state had significantly declined- to the point of insanity. In truth, the bookkeeper did not care much for the gossip, but he felt the girl deserved a chance at a normal childhood. From observance, he noticed the amount of responsibility she carried and concluded the role of parent and child had long been reversed. As much as he wished to help, the girl and her father had refused all offers of aid since the disappearance of her mother. Despite everything, she visited his library at the same time every day with a finished book from the day before in hand. The bookkeeper felt proud that he could provide her with a small sliver of fantasy and the imaginary in what was left of her youth.
"Kalet, what is it you're looking for?" The bookkeeper pressed her. Knowing very well what she wanted, but trying as best he could to put off telling her more bad news. She had endeared herself to him, and he had no desire to burden her any more on what he knew was a trying day for her.
"Monsieur, you know very well what I am looking for. I-" She took a deep breath, as she realized the frustration in her voice was misdirected. "I- Well, my story- the one about about the girl with the golden hair- It doesn't seem to be in its usual spot on the shelf."
He looked away, contemplating how much information he should disclose to her. There was no way around it, he supposed. Only a week prior, the prince turned ten and eight. The usual celebratory events took place: parade, feast, and festivities. Few noticed the prince slip away some time during the night, he did not return despite the ongoing celebration. Within days, royal guards had burst into the bookstore. Collecting an assortment of ancient fairy tales- one of which was the book Kalet sought after. The guards had urged him to stay quiet about the raid; threatening his livelihood if he spread gossip about the event. Although he trusted Kalet, and knew her to be above the small town's unruly gossip- albeit, sometimes the cause of it- he did not want to drag her into any trouble with the palace.
Wracking his brain for an excuse, he spotted a name on his ledger. "Alfie- the kitchen boy at the palace. He borrowed the book when he was here earlier this week. I'm sure he'll have it back in a matter of time."
Satisfied with his excuse, he relaxed.
Kalet sensed something off about his demeanor, not wanting to push the older man, but somewhat suspicious, she pushed a little harder. "Perhaps he'll understand if I ask to borrow it from him? You know I need to read it. Do you have an idea of where I might find him today?"
She had seen Alfie, the kitchen boy, running errands in the marketplace earlier in the week- the day after Prince birthday, in fact. His tousled, dishwater locks bobbed through the crowds of people- a small, wiry frame making it easy to dodge around the masses of people doing their weekly shopping. She had never carried a conversation with the young boy before, but recognized him from the few times he had been browsing the bookstore at the same time as her. Somewhat doubtful that he was old enough to actually read the book, she failed to mask the incredulous expression sneaking its way over her face.
The bookkeeper nodded in consent- nervous his little fib might be found out. He considered misleading her, but Alfie may not even be on palace grounds. She would know he deceived her if he misguided her. Praying she would not run into Alfie, he suggested Kalet visit the palace kitchen, through the servant's quarters, of course. Again, he insisted the book was likely to be returned soon. Kalet shook her head at his insistence, she could not abide waiting a few days for the book. It saved her from the undertow of bitterness, threatening to drag her to depths of anger she did not care to experience on the anniversary of her mother's abandonment. She was desperate to find it, and return to her father before supper to read the story. After her visit with the bookkeeper, she fully intended to track the book down.
When her mother had left suddenly ten years ago, it nearly destroyed her father. Some would argue that it did. Kalet had always thought her father a gentle man, soft and considerate. He never raised his voice at her or her mother, but when he woke up and found his wife missing that dreadful day, he dissolved into a fit of rage. Kalet had never seen a man cry until that day- he had the most sorrowful cry, filled with pain and confusion. To this day, she could sometimes hear it ringing in her ears. He blamed her for the disappearance of her mother, but Kalet's young ears did not understand. After the episode, he retreated to his study for a period of weeks, taking with him the note her mother had left. Not even coming out to eat or sleep. She did not visit him, she never wanted to. Young Kalet understood her father's reaction, she also only wanted to be left alone. She wept and prayed for her mother's safe return. It took a long time before she accepted her mother's abandonment, the lack of goodbye and explanation plagued her. It gave her a false hope, that had been unfair of her mother to leave her young heart with.
When her father emerged a month later- thinner and sick in the head- he gathered the remnants of her mother's presence in their home and set to burning them. Perhaps this action ignited the rumors of her father's insanity as the bonfire was easily visible from the town square. Kalet had watched as her father hurled in every quilt her mother had sewn, the bookcase he had built her- for she was always buying new books, her dresses and apron, the dried flowers she saved from their wedding, and everything her fingers had ever grazed, it seemed to Kalet. When all had been burned in the furious blaze, he held her mother's final note in his shaking hand. "Papa, no!" she had managed to squeak before he tossed the precious last words her mother had written into the fire. Her little fingers turned white as she clutched the book she had discovered on her nightstand the morning after her mother had left. It was written in her mother's scrawling cursive, the story of a golden-haired maiden trapped in a tower. She had left before teaching her to read, Kalet thought bitterly. Her father's eyes had turned towards her then, she expected to see fury, or perhaps sadness; but the empty void staring at her caught her by surprise. Still, she had pleaded.
"No, papa" Kalet remembered herself begging. Unfelt tears had streamed down her face. "Please, don't"
He had drawn near to her then, the void still present; but he had registered his daughter's desperate cry. His heart won out, where his mind was lost. Her papa knelt down then, but she had shrunk back. Taking her by the hand he pulled her into his broad chest in a mighty hug. Kalet had been so confused, she thought he was angry with her, but he held her instead. Tears beginning to breach his eyes also, "I can't look at you, Kalet." he whispered, "Just like I can't bear to read that book."
She pulled back, her six year old brain again not comprehending. He stroked her hair between his fingers, muttering to himself about golden hair and chestnut eyes. "We'll donate it to the bookstore." His voice, stronger than before declared. "The bookkeeper will help you read it."
Shaking her head as if she could erase the memory, Kalet's attention returned to the bookkeeper. Worry evident on his face, it seemed as if he knew her thoughts. She forced a pitiful smile that barely made it halfway to her eyes, preparing to say farewell.
"Go home, Kalet. The book will do you no good today- your father needs you." The bookkeeper pushed one last time. "I will bring the book to you once it has been returned".
Kalet's flaxen strands escaped from her bun as she vigorously shook her head no. "I will go find Alfie, I'm certain he will understand- just this once."
After wishing the bookkeeper a final goodbye and promising her return on the morrow. Kalet made her way out of the bookstore's doors and down the cobbled street towards the market, hoping someone had seen Alfie in town that day. She felt the bookkeeper's anxious gaze on her back as she had turned away, his bearing had changed from one of concern into one of uneasiness as she refused to give up her search. So lost in the turbulence of her mind as she wondered about his unsettling reaction was she that she did not notice the monstrous black horse and its rider trotting down the narrow street until it was too late.