Love Crafted - Chapter 22

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“What are you missing?” Daphne asks Abigail as the three of you, four if you count the bird, move deeper into the city. You’re pretty close to where you’d been shopping the day before you think. It’s hard to keep track of places, what with everything being squished together.

“Ah, not too much,” Abigail says. “Just the main course books now.”

“Oh,” Daphne says. “I have all of those. Just one copy of each I’m afraid or I’d let you borrow mine. In the worst case we can share a book in any elective classes we share.”

Abigail shakes her head. “They’ll be verifying all of my things. I’m not you, so they’ll probably be a bit more stringent with the requirements.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“Ah,” Abigail says. “Well, I said that you need all the equipment in order to be allowed into the Academy, right?” You nod and she goes on. “Well, that’s true, but there’s a certain amount of, uh, leeway when it comes to some students. Especially those with noble titles like Daph.”

“Is Daphne a princess?” you ask. You aren’t one of those silly lizards that likes collecting princesses, so you really can’t tell at a glance.

Daphne laughs into her palm. “I’m not. I’m actually a Baroness, though it’s more of a pat on the back sort of title. My mother is the one with all the political clout in my family, when she retires or passes on, which I hope is a long time from now, I will inherit her title of Viscount.”

“That sounds silly,” you say. “If I become a queen then no one else will become one because I’ll never die. Your mortal system makes no sense.”

There’s a pause as the two girls look at each other, then Abigail pats your head. “Well then, you’ll just have to avoid becoming a queen,” she says.

You harrumph. “So I’ll make Abigail a queen instead, that way people will… no, she can’t be a queen because I won’t share her.”

Daphne giggles again. “On that we can agree. It would be a shame if our dear Abigail’s time was monopolized by politics.”

Abigail huffs and crosses her arms, which means that she’s not playing with your hair anymore. “Anyway. To return on topic, the Academy isn’t supposed to discriminate because it’s run in part by the Inquisition which doesn’t need to acknowledge most noble titles. But the truth isn’t that easy. It’s expected that richer students can get away with more, like not bringing all their equipment with them all the time.”

“To be fair, there’s some logistical reasons for that. My house is quite close to the school, so I hardly need to bring all of my things over every day.”

Abigail rolls her eyes. “Your house is a mansion in the richest part of the city, Daphne.”

“More of a mansionette.”

Abigail frowns and tilts her head to the side, then reaches up to adjust her big glasses. “Is that actually a word?”

“I’m rich, therefore it is.”

Abigail pushes Daphne’s shoulder and glares at her, but then she breaks out into giggles and Daphne soon follows. You’re having a bit of a hard time understanding the joke, but seeing Abigail happy makes you happy too, so it’s okay.

“This is the only shop I know that sells course books and is open on Lastday,” Daphne says as she points to a tall but narrow shop set in the middle of a busy street. “Inkpot and Scribeswell’s Emporium for Literary Works,” she reads the sign above the doorway aloud. “We should find everything here.”

“Isn’t this place a bit expensive?” Abigail asks.

“A little, but don’t worry, I have a tab here,” Daphne says, waving Abigail’s concerns away. She’s about to move into the store when she pauses and looks down across the street.

You can’t quite see what she’s looking for until you climb the first couple of steps leading to the front door. A ways down the road is a familiar store, the one you and Abigail had visited just yesterday and where you got all that shiny alchemy stuff.

Now the store is closed. There are poles hovering horizontally in the air that prevent people from crowding in too close and men in long black coats with metal plates sewn into them stand behind the line, big rods with fork-like heads held by their sides. They’re wearing hats that look like very fancy buckets with bits of fluff on the front and a silver crest that you can’t quite figure out with your mortal eyes.

“Inquisitorial guardsmen?” Daphne asks.

“I like their hats,” you say.

Abigail joins you and gasps. “What are they doing there?” she asks.

You notice that she’s not looking at the big guys in black, but at two people in red robes and even taller bucket hats who are waving brass thingies at the shop.

“We were there yesterday,” Abigail says.

“Let’s go inside,” Daphne says before placing a hand on Abigail’s shoulder.

You follow after them, giving the weird people that made the girls so nervous one last look. They don’t look so tough. You could take them.

A bell jingles when you enter, causing a tall, skinny man stacking books onto a shelf to turn and look down on you. He stares for a moment, then his expression brightens. “The Honourable Miss Daphne!” he says. “Welcome, welcome! How can I assist?” he hops off his stool with more grace than you’d expect from someone so skinny and bony and moves closer.

“Ah, my friend here needs some assistance finding her first year Academy books,” Daphne says. “And my smaller friend here,” she places a hand on your head, “will look around and not steal anything because if she wants something she just has to ask me.”

The man blinks, then smiles. “Well then, come along, we still have a good stock of Academy texts left.”

You watch at the girls move ahead, then turn to the floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books all in neat orderly rows. Shiny lettering sparkles at you from thousands of leather spines and posters about different books are held in neat frames on every wall. It even smells like paper and parchment and books and knowledge.

This place, you decide, is nice.