Chương 28: Vol 1. The Foxglove Shelf

Morton, Tahir, and Rutka made their way to the bookstore. Above the door was a crooked wooden sign painted with a cute little iconographic depiction of a stack of red leather-bound books, and beside it were the words The Foxglove Shelf in fading ebony letters. Tahir stopped just inside the door, his ears rising and fluttering in delight at the sight before him. It felt as if he were entering a place of religious sanctity. It was nothing like the library back home—of course not. Nowhere else in the world was.

But this felt… delightfully quaint. The inside was narrow, and the vast array of bookshelves zigzagged, creating an intricate maze of paper, ink, and leather-worn spines. The stale air smelled of dust, drying ink, old glue, and the mustiness that came with poor ventilation. Stacks of second-hand volumes leaned against the walls. Rolled maps sat upright in cracked clay jars. Behind the counter, a family tree was carved into the wood, the oldest names so worn that only a few faint, crooked letters remained.

Morton turned sideways between two shelves, his shoulders almost knocking over a display of devotional pamphlets Rutka's wife had put together for the local parishes. Rutka, meanwhile, slipped through with grace, one paw sliding against the shelves as if greeting an old friend.

"Love?" he called out sweetly.

"I brought customers!" Tahir's ears pricked. He heard a rustling and bustling coming from somewhere in the building, followed by a faint, feminine voice.

"I'm coming, my darling!" A woman emerged from between two shelves with a stack of old books balanced against one hip, her body tilting to and fro before she unceremoniously slipped, sending the books tumbling everywhere. With haste, she gathered them up and began putting them into separate piles around her. She had the same russet fur as Rutka, though hers was slightly darker around her muzzle, which bore a thumbprint of black ink across the bridge and a few flecks of white.

Her paws were also stained with black ink. Once she had corralled all the fallen books, she stood and looked first at Rutka, affection present in her visage; then at Tahir; then at Morton. Her eyes climbed slowly up and down Morton's height, analysing him.

"Rutka," she said wearily, "where did you find an elf woman…" She narrowed her eyes.

"Why are you hanging out with an elf woman?"

"Man," Rutka said with a sly grin.

"Not an elf either, apparently." Rutka's wife looked at Morton again, analysing him more thoroughly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Rutka said. Rutka's wife's muzzle contorted into a subtle-yet-not-so-subtle snarl.

"And he's not a street whore?"

"Goodness no… I think." She glared at him for a moment, then walked up, tugged him down by the collar, kissed his cheek, and returned her attention to their guests. Rutka grinned and cheekily brushed his tail against her as she passed. This made her turn her head back for a moment and narrow her eyes in a gesture that silently insinuated, We will be having a talk later. Then she said, "I believe you. Cheating on me would be one thing, being a… never mind. We have company. I won't say that." She took a deep breath.

"Alright… gentlemen, my name is Nerra. This store has been in my family for nearly two hundred years. I am granting you permission to look around. No bending any spines or you're paying for them, no dripping water on anything… that should be it, yeah." Tahir looked around, becoming distracted by the books.

"I reckon it might be nice to have a map," Morton said.

"I can show you some," Nerra said.

"Where are you heading?" Rutka wandered off into the back to do this or that. Tahir grabbed a sheaf of paper and a bottle of ink and tucked them beneath his arm; he would be needing them later. He was itching to write some poetry. It had been too long. He then went back to looking at the various books. He came across one and smirked at the title: The Dutiful Husband's Guide to Graceful Household Management. Morton might need that, Tahir thought, and snuck it beneath his arm.

As he continued looking around, he came across an atlas published only ten years earlier. With curiosity, he took it and began flipping through until he found a map of the known world. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Avion occupied most of the page, with its cities, roads, and royal boundaries rendered in highly detailed, albeit charcoal-smudged, illustrations.

Beyond it, the cartographer's artistry greatly diminished, with roads, cities, and boundaries rendered only vaguely. The territory of the Elvin tribes was divided into broad, uncertain regions, while the orc-held lands were represented by little more than shaded coastlines dotted with small question marks. It was a pretty good map, all things considered. But that was not what Tahir was interested in; he was looking for a particular place. He scanned it over and over, but he did not see it.

That made sense, given how nobody had ever heard of humans or Texas. And yet still… Tahir's ears dropped. Just where in Seroth's name was Morton's homeland? He really did wish to visit this realm of Morton's, to get out of Kharani society. Perhaps he could live a full life there, away from all this madness. He remembered an old ekphrastic poem he had read, inspired by a painting of a grassy landscape beneath an enormous crimson sky.

What that painting was, or where he had read the poem, he could not recall, but he remembered the imagery, and that imagery was how he imagined Texas to be. Somewhere beyond the shelves, Tahir heard Nerra unfolding maps while Morton attempted—and miserably failed—to pronounce the names of several ports along the northeastern coast. Tahir cracked a slight grin and wiggled his ears.

He pictured a little log house beneath an enormous red sky, Morton's hat hanging beside the door, the two of them sitting together while unseen insects stirred within the tall grasses and sang their choruses, proclaiming that the sun was setting and the gibbous moon was about to rise. He pictured himself leaning against Morton's side, with Morton's arms wrapped around him as the heat of the evening dissipated into a cool breeze. Perhaps Tahir would rest one paw against his chest.

Perhaps Morton would look down at him, piercing him with his black-hued eyes, and Tahir would reach up, and— What was he saying! No, no, get those wayward thoughts out of your mind! He shook his head, sighed, and stacked all the items neatly in his paws. Tahir and Morton went up to the counter. Morton was about to take out his coins, but Tahir put one hand on his arm and insisted that he would pay.

Tahir dropped a handful of gold coins onto the counter, enough, by Nerra's estimation, to purchase every book in the store. Nerra stared at the coins for a moment.

"Sir, this is far too—""Keep it," Tahir said, already gathering his purchases. Nerra looked down at the coinage, dumbfounded, then flicked her ears and said, "Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen." Rutka walked them to the door and wished them luck. Tahir pulled on Morton's sleeve, instructing him to kneel so he could whisper.

"Alright, remember how I wanted to talk to you in private earlier?"

"Yeah," Morton said.

"What is it you want to discuss?"

"We are in the territory of House Seran."

"I'll be honest, kid, that name doesn't mean a thing to me."

"They are royalty," Tahir said.

"Remember what Rutka said?" Morton nodded, his mouth slightly open.

"Oh yeah, right, the punchin' contest."

"And they will be travelling to the same place we are going. If they have not left yet, we can ask to get a ride. We won't have to travel in disgrace anymore!" Morton looked Tahir directly in the eyes and said, "Why would they do that?"

"Because we are both royalty!" Tahir said.

"Then aren't ya like, rivals or somethin'?" Tahir shook his head.

"No, no. I am but a humble man who was forsaken by the Great Mother and forced to trudge these horrid streets. Any woman with a semblance of morals would sob at that story; they would, by their feminine instincts, wish to help that poor man." Morton raised an eyebrow.

"…And how exactly are ya gonna prove you are royalty? Do they know you?" Tahir flicked his ears.

"I have been saving this for emergencies only." He opened his luggage and took out a narrow oilskin sleeve hidden deep within the briefcase, pulling the piece of paper from inside. The parchment was tremendously thick and a vibrant cream colour, and the emerald wax seal of House Orien was impressed into its lower corner. Zahra's signature was written messily across the bottom.

It read: To whoever this may concern: The person to whom I have given this letter of recognition, Prince Tahir Orien, is, in fact, of my bloodline, and I hereby request that you treat him as a member of the royal lineage. Below, you may find my personal seal, proving that this is not a forgery. With best regards, Lady Zahra Orien. Morton looked at Tahir silently.

"You know, I reckon that might have been handy a while ago." Tahir shook his head.

"I do not like telling the peasantry of my lineage. Given that it is only the two of us, knowledge of my royal status only puts us in far more danger, but it will be useful for this plan." Morton looked at one of his maps. He could see where the estate of the Seran household was located. Surprising that they would reveal that, he thought. He tipped his hat.

"Alright, you lead the way, kid."