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“The renowned Hazlen Codex, was the last great teaching grimorie ever produced. Magic cannot be learned from printed books. Only through these ancient, crumbling texts of long forgotten lore.”
- Dendra Otzi, On Wizardry
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Chapter 13:
Honors and Titles
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#13.1 – Monday, the 16th day of the 9th month…
Scarlet sat dejectedly on the sofa staring at the two books in the middle of the coffee table.
“Here we are!” Roy announced, looking up from a small computer tablet. “A twelfth Edition Hunter Jusenkyou Honorarium sold at auction last year for… my, seven hundred and fifty thousand. It doesn’t look like a tenth edition has come on the market in recent history. The last one was well over a century ago… oh my.”
Roy glanced over the rim of his glasses at Scarlet while showing the tablet to Ann.
“That’s not very—” Ann began.
“Adjust for inflation,” Roy instructed.
Ann covered her mouth in shock and glared down her nose at Scarlet.
“What?!” Scarlet snapped.
“Well, on the plus side, we won’t have to worry about tuition for university when Scarlet comes of age,” Roy shrugged. “Or next year, if she opts to buckle down and study.”
“We can’t sell it!” Ann howled. “It’s stolen property!”
“I found it!” Scarlet yelled, jumping to her feet and stamping.
“SCARLET AMIKO JUSENKYOU, YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER THAT WAY!”
Scarlet fell back onto the couch and pulled her knees up under her chin.
Ann pinched the bridge of her nose and looked away, then knelt down beside Scarlet and put a hand on her. “I’m sorry for yelling. But you knew it was valuable. You should have known you couldn’t just keep it.”
Silently, Scarlet thought about several other volumes tucked away in forgotten corners of her meticulously catalogued personal library. Some of those were valuable, too.
“Scarlet, dear,” Roy motioned. “Why don’t you tell your mother how much that book means to you?”
“You just can’t find copies of that one,” Scarlet lamented. “Not even modern reproductions! Some commentaries, a bunch of modern biographies… but nothing at all like the information that’s inside that one book!”
“But WHY is that information so bloody important?!” Ann demanded.
Tears filling her eyes, Scarlet glanced over at the replica of Echbaldam sitting in the crystal display case above the mantle. “If you don’t get it by now, I can’t explain it to you,” Scarlet wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, then set her jaw and looked at her mother.
Ann wavered for a moment, then softened. She sat on the couch and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Scarlet, I can’t always… understand you, but I know your heart is in a good place.” She patted Scarlet’s back and moved away. “But you cannot keep stealing. They’ll put you in jail.”
“They can’t put me in prison, I’m a juvenile,” Scarlet responded. “And these are non-violent, non-lifestyle offenses! Worst I’d get is community service.”
“How much community service do they give you for stealing a book historians have called ‘without parallel in the known worlds’?” Roy asked, reading from his tablet.
“I figure I’d just cry a bunch in court, and they’d tell me I learned my lesson,” Scarlet shrugged.
Ann scowled at her daughter again.
“Look, we can debate Scarlet’s questionable ethics later,” Roy said. “Scarlet, you’re not keeping a book valued higher than our family’s net-worth. Just give it back and tell the nice book people it was an accident .”
“What about the other one?” Ann twisted her mouth and looked down at Scarlet.
“That one… I’m not sure,” Roy rubbed his chin. “Was it billeted as part of the estate, listed among assets?”
“No,” Scarlet blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “It wasn’t even stored with the rare books collection, just on a bottom shelf in the regular library. The number on the spine is off-center, I think he figured it was a badly-damaged eleventh-edition.”
“It’s a bit of a legal grey-area, so far as I know,” Roy said to Ann. “She paid for the book and has a receipt to show it. Assuming the previous owner was truly unaware of its value, then technically she would be free and clear. However… I doubt it would do well to attract attention to the situation by putting the book up for sale.”
“You can’t sell my book!” Scarlet shook her head and covered her mouth. “You can’t!”
“But we also shouldn’t just keep it on a shelf,” Roy said. “How about we’ll get you a safety deposit box, fair?”
A knock sounded at the front door and Scarlet sank further back into the couch, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at her parents. Ann went to answer the door, and returned a few moments later leading in a trail of old people. She looked at Scarlet with stern eyebrows, then drew a deep breath and calmed herself.
“Scarlet, Roy, our guests are from the Antiquarian Society,” A small note of terseness snuck in to Ann’s voice. “Scarlet, you remember Mrs. Nessmen?”
“H-hello,” Nessmen waved, barely raising her arm above her middle.
In very short order, the house was invaded by old people.
Realistically that wasn’t the case. Antiquarians came in all ages, but the ones who had come to the Jusenkyou house were mostly between fifty and ninety. Impossibly old, to young Scarlet.
She couldn’t keep track of exactly how many there were. The frail and elderly Nessmen seemed positively glowing with delight. There was also a little white-haired man whom Scarlet hoped wouldn’t recognize her. Fortunately, he didn’t seem entirely aware of just where he was.
But they were all being shepherded by a commanding figure. He wasn’t tall or particularly authoritative, but the respect of those around him seemed glaringly obvious. His chest displayed a large, elaborate, solid-gold medallion.
Scarlet forced herself to swallow. “M-mom, dad… this is Alabus Norman… president of the New Stormwind Antiquarian Society*.”
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* #13.2 (Monday, 16/9) *
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“Look at this. She’s got the entire Denton-Mills stenography, minus the fourth volume.”
“They’re all different editions, but still.”
Scarlet did not like having people in her bedroom. There were presently seven or eight antiquarians milling around, all taking books off shelves and looking at them. This wasn’t merely upsetting, it made her stomach churn and her arms tingle in a way she had never before experienced.
Having people in the private space where she slept always made Scarlet uncomfortable. She allowed her parents admission under the basis that it was their house and she couldn’t reasonably do anything to stop them. Mostly she cared about the books; many were very old, several were quite fragile. And she felt downright neurotic about keeping them maintained in her very strict catalogue(a few night-time research binges not withstanding).
Scarlet wanted to know what a panic attack felt like.
One particular Antiquarian bothered her more than the rest. Dr. Druet Young, ironically the youngest of the group, and an academic with a reputation to build. He hobbled around on a cane and had his lips curled into a perpetual sneer. The way he handled Scarlet’s belongings made her ready to scream.
He riffled across a shelf, treating the delicate tomes as if they were protected by the Library’s enchantments. “She’s got a reference collection on the early Golden Age I’m hard pressed to beat. Look at this.” Young hovered about the case that held Scarlet’s three-ring binders, already gripping a stack of pilfered books. “Ah, here! The Peterson Report! And… yes, the Flanders.”
“Ah, but you don’t see Carlyle in there,” Mrs. Nessmen replied.
“I’ve seen enough,” Young put the two binders and three books down on the bed and spread them out. “Complete dig notes for both excavations, a third-edition Rumbleton, and the exceedingly obscure two volumes of the Catskill.” Young looked up and locked his eyes on Scarlet. “I knew it. She,” he raised an accusing finger. “Is The Weevil!”
Scarlet gripped the back of her desk chair until she felt her knuckles go white. What did Dr. Young mean by that? Scarlet didn’t know, but felt terrified all the same. The reactions of the others were mixed, a few seemed amused, several expressed disbelief.
And poor Scarlet had no idea what he was talking about.
“All right, all of you, out!” Ann commanded. “Put the books back where you found them, please. There’s coffee and some sort of custard thing in the front room.”
“Mom, I don’t know why these people are here!” Scarlet tried to whisper, but her voice only came out as a series of alternating-pitched squeals.
Ann closed the bedroom door once the last Antiquarian filed through, then placed her hands on Scarlet’s shoulders. “Breathe, child. Relax.”
A knock sounded, followed shortly by Roy. “So, you girls like weird coincidences?”
“Roy-boy, not now,” Ann grunted. “Your daughter is having a moment.”
Scarlet exhaled. “I think I’m ok. …does my door have a lock? I don’t like how interested they were in my precious.”
“Your precious books, you mean?” Ann asked.
Scarlet looked at her. “I said what I said.”
“You know how I got Scarlet’s history paper graded by the university?” Roy closed the door behind him and leaned casually on it. “Half the people reviewing it are here. I didn’t arrange that. They’re all Antiquarians and just… showed up.”
Another knock came at the door.
“Just a minute!” Roy shouted over his shoulder.
“No, I need to face them, dad,” Scarlet forced herself to swallow. Trembling, she stepped out of her mother’s grasp and motioned for her father to open the door. In the sitting room, the Jusenkyous’ were surprised to find most of the visitors had left. Alabus Norman remained, relaxing in Roy’s recliner; Mrs. Nessmen, and of course Druet Young. To Scarlet, it felt like being dragged before a tribunal.
“So, this is the girl?” Mr. Norman looked relaxed, detached even, and held a bemused grin across his bearded face as he studied Scarlet. “I have to say, this has turned into quite an evening. My associate, the lady Nessmen, here; had been ordered to simply deliver the news. Society Bylaws are very clear: an Assistant Membership with voting and veto powers simply cannot go to a thirteen-year-old child.”
“I… guess I shouldn’t be too surprised,” Scarlet admitted, hanging her head beneath a sullen cloud.
“However, when she saw your daughter’s collection, she was impressed enough to bring the matter up for scrutiny,” Mr. Norman continued. “Is it true you’ve managed to master scoriography?”
“Umm… ‘master’ might be going a lot far,” Scarlet shuddered. “I mean, I can’t really tell the difference between a ‘ryr’ and a ‘yry’ but I can more or less figure it out from context. Their language really isn’t that nuanced.”
“And that paper you wrote,” Mr. Norman said. “Truly remarkable. Riddled with spelling errors… but brilliant nonetheless.”
“My history teacher didn’t like it so much,” Scarlet said sheepishly.
“I shall have to have a few words with that teacher,” Mr. Norman scowled. “Nessmen, make a note! I should like to pen a letter come the morn!”
“Arrangements will be made, sir,” Nessmen nodded resolutely.
“Memberships do not change hands easily,” Mr. Norman said to Scarlet. “There are very strict guidelines, especially the rare high-level memberships like the one you were given. They cannot be bought or sold under any circumstances, only willed. In your case, we may try to make accommodations. To be honest, Ms. Jusenkyou, the Society could do with a bit of fresh blood. Oh, every child in Arindell has a ‘junior membership’, but these days its all computers and things that start with ‘e’ or ‘i’ or some such. And it’s not just the positive press… you’ve been well-known to us, albeit not by name. You have a rare gift, and I think there is a place for you in my organization.
“You are meticulous, you are talented. Meanwhile our senior members occasionally loose million-wingbeat historical treasures and neglect to so much as file an expense report.” Mr. Norman tapped his finger on the Honorarium sitting on the table, then glanced at a white-haired old man across the room, who hung his head and looked guilty.
“It’s quite lucky this volume was found by Ms. Jusenkyou,” Mr. Norman said. “I dare say few others would like as have recognized its importance.”
The little old man shuffled out and looked around the room, then muddled his face in deep thought for a moment before looking over to Scarlet. “I remember you, now! You sat beside me on the bus. Such a polite little girl. You kept asking questions about the late era of the old Alliance… I was more than happy to answer, I am an expert if I recall. Why, I even had that book with me… it was the day I lost it, you know. But I don’t recall it ever even left my valise. Such a lovely girl, bright smile… why, you even told me you were a descendant of the last true Pendragon! Yes, I remember you.”
Mr. Norman angled his body away from Scarlet as he turned to look at her with a furrowed brow. He appeared both proud and a little shocked, but seemed unwilling to let the revelation dampen his mood.
“We must meet formally on the subject, there is a vote to be had, bylaws to edit. However, we believe you have some potential. Assuming the dues are all in order, I will support welcoming Scarlet as our youngest ever Assistant Member.”
Mr. Norman extended his hand towards Scarlet, who could only stare in abject shock. Never in her wildest dreams had she dared imagine she might one day ascend to the lofty heights of an Antiquarian Assistant-level membership. Her life, she suddenly felt certain, had settled onto the track she always wanted.
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End:
Chapter Thirteen
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