Cinnamon Bun - Chapter 406

Chapter Four Hundred and Six – Bookmouse

“I can’t believe that just… worked,” Amaryllis said.

“Really?” I asked. “Did you think we’d have trouble?”

We were walking along the sidewalk. It was actually a bit past mid-day, and I suspected that a number of the people on the road were off from work already. Hopefully the bookstore wouldn’t be closed when we got to it.

“Broccoli, we almost always get into some sort of trouble,” Amaryllis said.

“Not… uh… hmm,” I said. “Okay, maybe, but we never faced any trouble that we couldn’t handle.”

“Because of luck,” Amaryllis said.

“No, because of the magic of friendship,” I replied.

She rolled her eyes. I think we’d had this exact debate once, and Amaryllis was adamant that there was no such thing, and that if there was, then, someone from a magicless world like me would certainly not be able to prove it.

“I think that was refreshing,” Awen said. “Um, not having to fight, or run away, or sneak out, or blow up a wall or something to escape.”

“Did ny’a ever have to blow up a wall to get outta something?” Calamity asked.

“Not yet,” I said.

“Yet?” Caprica repeated.

I considered it for a while, then looked at Awen. “Could you?” I asked her.

Awen blinked back, caught a bit flat-footed by the question. “Blow up a wall? Um … hm. I’m a Mechanic, not a Demolitionist. I mean… maybe I could? I made explosive arrowheads for my bolts, I guess, but that’s not the same thing.”

I turned back to Caprica. “It’s basically inevitable,” I said.

“You know, my intentions when leaving home were to see more of the world and to accelerate my advancement. Not so much to do crime in literally every place we visit.”

“We didn’t do any crime in Codswood,” Calamity said.

“Oh… so we didn’t. I stand duly corrected,” Caprica said magnanimously.

We chatted about this and that and not much at all as we continued down the road. I noticed a lot of eyes glancing our way, but we weren’t even the only group from Mitytea Academy, so we didn’t stand out that much. Besides, of all the places I’d visited, Inkwren was one of the ones with the greatest variation in species present. All the big ones were around in decent numbers, harpy and sylph and grenoil and cervid and of course lots of humans, seeing as we were so close to the western side of the continent.

But there were dwarves and elves and more mousefolk, and some ostri people too. Not to mention catfolk and buns and even some drolls and some people whose race I’d never seen before, but I didn’t have time to stop and gawk.

We did have to stop and ask for directions, and I chose to ask a very nice walking flowerpot. The bonsai-like tree above it pointed to an intersection a bit further down with a branch and I thanked it kindly before heading that way with my friends.

I had a certain image in mind for what Pecorina’s bookstore would look like. It would be something like the homes around us, all brick and mortar, maybe in the basement of an apartment building. Something tight and cozy and warm, with lots of books and an owner that loved to read.

Instead, Pecorina’s was its own building. It was jammed in between a butcher’s shop and a small store that seemed to sell candies and pastries, but the bookshop was so large that it looked ready to burst, like it was only the brick and stone that made up the building keeping it from exploding out onto the street.

It reminded me of a bag of luggage packed so full that someone had to sit on it to clasp it closed.

A sign at the front simple read “Pecorina’s” in big, bold letters, and the windows probably didn’t let in much natural light since they were blocked out by stacks and stacks of books.

“Well,” I said. “If we can’t find something for Booksie here, then we’re not going to find it anywhere,” I said.

I tried the front door, found it unlocked, then opened it up for my friends to slip in.

The entrance was surprisingly pretty clear of books, with a small area with a pair of low tables surrounded by comfy, plush couches. A counter was to the left, with a register sitting proudly atop it before a wall of carefully stacked books. The counter actually had a miniature catwalk-like set of ramps in front of it, all sized so that a mousefolk reader could climb up to see over it.

For some reason, the ceiling was actually quite low, and the tips of my ears were almost brushing the beams above.

One of the clients glanced up at our arrival, but they went back to reading quickly enough.

“Okay,” I said as I took in a deep breath. “How do we do this?” I didn’t feel the need to lower my voice as much as I did in a library, but it still felt wrong to talk too loud. People were reading, after all.

“Search the stacks until we find something good?” Caprica suggested. “Only… Calamity and I haven’t met this Booksie friend of yours. We won’t know what to look for.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

I jumped, then looked down. There was a mousefolk person walking our way from around the back of one of the couches. They were towing a tiny handcart behind them, painted a bright red and with a few books stacked onto it.

“Hi,” I said before squatting down to be at the lady’s height. She might have been small, but she seemed older than Cottage by quite a bit, with some white around the whiskers, and she was dressed very sensible, in a teeny knit sweater and skirt with large glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “We’re looking for something special for a friend of ours.”

“Are you, now?” she asked. “What sort of special?”

“Well, we’re looking for a book for someone who really loves books. Her name is Booksie, and she’s getting married, so we wanted something to get her as a gift.”

“With a name like that, I’d hope she enjoys books,” the lady said. She bent down herself, then leapt up into the air, gaining a surprising amount of height. Then one of the books on the cart behind her shot up and forwards, coming to a dead stop right under her just at the apex of her jump so that she landed on it with a dainty step, then the book continued to rise, and so did I, standing from my crouch as she came to my eye level. “I’m Pecorina, the owner of this shop. I hope you understand that no matter what you say, I don’t give discounts to academy students.”

I glanced at the spine of the book she was standing on. Impressing Others with Casual Magic – Fifth Edition. I had to hold back a giggle. It had certainly worked on me!

“So, what kind of books is your friend into?” Pecorina asked. “And if you don’t know that, what can you tell me about her?”

We followed as Pecorina started to float deeper into the store, standing straight and poised atop her book.

“Um, well, she’s a bun, about… how old do you think Booksie is?” I asked Amaryllis and Awen.

“Early twenties, I’d guess,” Amaryllis said. “Maybe a bit older. It’s hard to tell with buns and humans, they don’t have big changes in their plumage that gives away their age.”

“Um, I’d guess later twenties?” Awen tried.

“Okay, so around that age,” I said to Pecorina. “She’s a bun, like me.” I wiggled my ears for emphasis.

Pecorina nodded. “I see. I see, anything more? Preferences? What does she do?”

“She runs a bookstore in Port Royal,” I said. “It closed down for a little while, but it’s running again. And I think it’s doing well. Or I hope it is! It’s very cozy and small though. Um… she’s not much of an adventurer, but she is adventurous. She’s marrying someone called Rhawrexdee. He’s a dragon.”

Pecorina paused. “You mean that metaphorically?” she asked. “A large man, maybe?”

“No, I mean that literally. He’s, uh, about thirty paces long. Not counting his tail. Big wings. Claws. I don’t know if he can breathe fire?”

Pecorina blinked a few times. “And this Booksie friend of yours is… about your own size, give or take?”

“Yeah, about,” I agreed. “Why?”

Pecorina shook her head. “No, nevermind,” she said. “Let’s just find something suitable for your friend.” Pecorina’s book continued floating into the maze-like stacks at the back of the store.

Pecorina’s selection of books was as vast as it was eclectic, with ancient, dusty tomes slotted in next to shiny new books. All the paper and leather around us did a great job of muffling the noise, though the floor did creak, but it was less a dangerous creaking and more the comfortable sound of an old home settling in place.

“Your friend sounds a little difficult to shop for, but I think I have an idea of something she might enjoy. It’s a book that I’ve never quite been able to find a buyer for. The Art of Being Majestic. By Shemikholun Khlozing Paren Thesys.”

“That’s a mouthful of a name,” I said.

Pecorina nodded. “They’re a rather famous anthropologist. A dragon one, of all things. They travelled the world, took notes about various cultures and peoples, then ate them. The… latter part is a little distasteful, admittedly.”

Calamity snorted. “Distasteful, heh.”

Amaryllis swatted him with a wing. “That’s interesting. A book written by a dragon, of all things.”

“There are a few copies floating around, but what I have is the original. His actual, unedited notebook which he kept with him on his travels and which he eventually gave to one of the Academies of Inkwren in order for them to turn it into a book.”

“That must be fantastically rare,” Caprica said.

“It’s certainly unique. The contents of the book are interesting, though no more than the edited, more popular version. It’s the book’s pedigree that makes it worthwhile.”

I could almost hear the coins clinking together as the cost added up.

After a few twists and turns, Pecorina stopped in front of a locked glass cabinet. She rummaged in her pocket and withdrew a large (for her), antique key which she used to unlock the cabinet. Inside, carefully cradled on a plush pillow, lay a thick, leather-bound notebook.

It was the size of a bed.

“Um,” I said. The book was as wide as my armspan, and half a foot thick, though the pages looked particularly thick already. “That’s a big book,” I said.

“Do you have any idea how much space this takes up?” Pecorina said with a huff. “I’ve been trying to sell it for some time. It’s too valuable to let go for nothing, but too cumbersome for most collectors.”

“Sounds expensive,” Amaryllis said, sounding a bit guarded.

Pecorina smiled. “I have cheaper options of course. But the price of this one’s reasonable. It’s–”

Just as she was about to reveal the price, and as Amaryllis prepared to bargain, a loud crash echoed through the bookstore. We all turned towards the noise to see that a whole stack of books was spilling to the floor with a wash of old dust.

I almost covered my mouth against the dust before remembering my Cleaning magic and whisking it away.

“Oh, not again,” Pecorina grumbled. She waved, and a few books came flying up and around her. I had time to read one of their titles as it zipped by. A guide to Proactive Self-Defence. Then she paused and eyed us. “How would you like a small discount?” she asked. “In exchange for a bit of easy ghost hunting?”

***