Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Second Conjuration
Seal XII
The auction house didn't look like something that was imposing, but nonetheless, I felt a bit nervous. It was quite possible--more than possible in fact--that the seventh edition of the Liber Tutelarm was inside right now. How did people feel when they met family after a long separation? It was like meeting a stranger.
Apparently everyone called the place Greenglass Auction House although officially it was called Severin's, after the proprietor. But for some reason, no one called it that even though it was shorter and easier to say. Perhaps people found it not descriptive enough.
"Actually it was called Greenglass Auction House before Otto Severin purchased this place," Rhys said as I voiced my thoughts. "The city inhabitants are just more used to the old name."
"It's inertia, then. What does the owner think?"
"From all appearances, he doesn't seem to mind, however my only interactions with Severin have been in a professional capacity." He walked up the two steps to the front door and pressed on the buzzer. "He is an easy man to work with and there is nothing I've heard about his reputation that is bad."
"But is he helpful?"
Before he could respond, the door opened revealing a rather short and stocky man, perhaps in his thirties, dressed in a pin-striped suit of black and powder blue that was one size too big for him. There was something about his cautious expression that immediately made me feel more alert myself.
"Good morning, sir. Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm Rhys Lattimore. I'm here to see Mr. Severin about a transaction that has recently passed through his hands."
"One moment." The door closed.
"I noticed that you neither confirmed nor denied that you had an appointment," I said.
"That's the trick of it. You have to be assertive and make people think you are entitled to something to actually get it. If you appear unsure, people will just take it as a liberty to deny you access to whatever you're trying to get into."
"It probably also helps that the proprietor knows you as an associate."
"Well, there is that."
The door opened again and the short man gestured us inside. "Mr. Severin is in his office. I'm Jethro Mayhew, Mr. Severin's assistant. If you need anything, you can call on me."
Rhys just nodded and purposefully strode down what looked like a long foyer which was wallpapered in some sort of beige and red crisscross pattern that reminded me of a certain era several decades before when women were required to wear hoop skirts that were too large to fit in the doorway.
Past two doors, Rhys stopped and knocked. Someone from within bade us to come in. Inside was a thin man in an old fashioned burgundy jacket. Under the electrical light, there was a sallow cast to his skin. His thinning gray hair was brushed over a bald spot and his chin was as smooth as a baby's. I doubted that he even needed to shave.
Otto Severin was surrounded by a heavy wood desk that was not only littered with papers for auction transactions, but also small knick-knacks. With a little closer inspection, I realized that these knick-knacks were all snuff bottles--jade, stone, glass, porcelain. Large and small. Different shapes. The rest of the office was surrounded by shelves, but none of them held books. Instead, they contained odd looking artifacts and sculptures.
"Lattimore, what a pleasant surprise," Severin rose up from behind his desk and extended his hand to shake with Rhys'. "Who is your lovely companion?"
"Ana Talbot," I cut in, shaking the auction house proprietor's hand. Severin's skin felt papery and dry.
"So what may I owe to you're unexpected visit?" he asked as he gestured to us to sit down. "It is quite a journey from Colchester. Did you take the train or did you come by automobile?"
"By train," Rhys replied. "We were fortunate enough to obtain tickets on the day we wanted to travel."
"Indeed. It is about this time of year that everyone is going on holiday. Well, not everyone, I should clarify." Severin gave a rasping laugh. "Many people, I should say."
"At the stations, it does seem everyone is there even though it is only part of the populace. At any rate, to the point of our visit."
"Please."
"Miss Talbot is a friend of mine..."
Severin raised an eyebrow, clearly thinking about something else entirely. I found myself scowling. Couldn't he have said client instead?
"And she came to me with an inquiry which I hoped I could help her with. She is looking for an item that may have passed into your premises?"
"The auction house does acquire many things," Severin conceded. "Too many for my poor mind to keep track of as you can see." He swept an arm over his desk, indicating his haphazard organization of papers. "I'm in the process of training my latest assistant--you have met Mr. Mayhew have you not? I am hoping soon that he will be taking over all of this paper work. In the mean time, what exactly are you looking for? Perhaps it will jog my memory."
"It is a rather old book," I said. "I'm not quite sure how large it might be or the details of how it looks like. It might be made of vellum since it dates back to the thirteenth century. It is called the Liber Tutelarum, and it is the seventh edition."
"The Liber Tutelarum, hm?" Severin took on a pensive expression. "I do seem to recall getting a shipment of books not too long ago. My back was acting up so I had Mr. Mayhew store it. Yesterday, one of the auction house's most frequent customers came by and bought the whole lot. He is a rather avid book collector and he tends to prefer the old volumes. I'm not sure if the book you are looking for was included in that purchase. But tell you what, you can look in the storage rooms yourselves to check. I'll have Mr. Mayhew show you the place."
As Severin made his way around his desk, we got up from our chairs. Rhys held the door open for the rest of us.
"Who is this book collector?" I asked. "If he indeed has the volume I am looking for, perhaps I can contact him to see if I could purchase it from him. Or at least to take a look at it."
"Oh, the book collector." Severin tilted his head thinking. "Ah, I remember now. Archibald Chesterfield. He's a rather elderly gentleman who used to own a bookshop himself. His address is in Fairmont, about half a day's drive from here. I have his contact information somewhere in my office. I'll get it to you as soon as I find it."
We walked down the hallway and turned into what looked like a showroom filled with classical busts sitting on pedestals. Mayhew was holding a feather duster and wiping down what looked like Julius Caesar's head.
"Mr. Mayhew! May you be so kind as to show Mr. Lattimore and Miss Talbot to the storage rooms? They are looking for a book that Archibald Chesterfield may or may not have bought the other day."
"Of course, sir. May I inquire to which book you are looking for? Perhaps I can help."
"The Liber Tutelarum," I said. "It's the seventh edition. But I'm afraid I don't have a physical description."
Mayhew shook his head. "The name does not strike any recognition with me. But it may be in storage anyway."
As Severin wandered off back to his office, Mayhew motioned towards a small, unadorned doorway at the end of the display room.
"The storage rooms are upstairs. One of them is entirely dedicated to books the auction house receives from booksellers or estates dismantling their libraries." Severin's assistant took out a ring of keys and opened the door. He flicked on a switch which turned on an overhead light that illuminated a narrow stair which angled up towards the floors above.
"How often does Severin's receive books from booksellers?" Rhys asked. "Are there any particular booksellers who often send their inventory here?"
"Every so often," Mayhew replied vaguely. "Of course, I can't disclose exactly who these booksellers are. They all like to remain anonymous. The auction house merely makes the transaction for them."
"One would imagine that the booksellers could sell their own books without a middleman," I remarked.
Mayhew stopped on the second floor landing to wait for us to catch up before proceeding down a hallway. "Some booksellers don't have the resources to reach certain customers. The auction house, however, does."
"Severin caters towards more high end clients," Rhys murmured.
"To be bluntly put," Mayhew agreed. "Ah, here it is. The book storage room." He took another key from his key ring and unlocked the door at the end of the hallway. "Take your time looking through all of this. I'd have to warn you, though, that we will close at three. If you have any problems, I will be downstairs."
As Mayhew stepped out, I moved to the threshold of the storage room and found a switch near the door. Light flooded a room filled with boxes and shelves.
Rhys glanced at the place with a resigned expression. "Even if any of this is in any order, we're going to have quite some time trying to find anything in here."
I moved to the nearest shelf and scanned the titles on the spines. These were newer books, apparently arranged by the author's last name. But a little further down the shelf, it was a jumble with no order in the titles, the authors, the subject matter, or the dates. He looked through the nearest box and sneezed.
"This place is a dust trap."
I looked at the end of the room and noticed that a few trunks were stacked against the wall. There were tags on them, indicating that they had been shipped from elsewhere. Was that a tag from Abu Dhabi?
"There has to be an easier way to sort through this mess," I said out loud.
He looked up at me, eyes a colorless gray. He blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. "If you do find out an easier way, don't hesitate to tell me. I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather do." His lips curved up at a stray thought. "You know, we could have called this place and had them try to sort through all of this."
"What, and let them take their time about it and give us the answer six months from now?"
"I suppose you do have a point. I haven't had to work with Severin on actually finding anything. Judging from his organization, it would be a miracle if he found anything at all."
As I pulled out a book to glance at its title, a thought came to me. "Rhys, exactly what sort of spells do you know? I know you're a Key and you're the Clavis Umbrium, but that's not particularly descriptive."
He turned from his searching to regard me warily. "I told you before that some of my spells aren't particularly nice."
"Do you have a spell for finding things?"
"Do you?" he shot back.
I raised my empty hands. "I'm a book of protection, written by a monk. I only have defensive spells. And some other random useless ones like turning water to wine."
"I'd like to see you do that."
I shook my head. "Well, I do have finding spells but they're very specific. They might be helpful if you're wandering around in the desert thirsty."
"You sound like a survivalist." He got up to sweep a gaze around the room. "I do have a rather general finding spell, but it only works in a short range capacity."
"How short?"
"About the size of this room."
"Great. Then we can cast your spell and see if the book is here."
"There's only one problem."
"What?"
"I can't exactly cast the spell without any idea of what the book looks like."
"Look, this book is simply another edition of me."
"Sure, I see you, but you're in a person form."
I paused for a moment. "You're not suggesting what I'm thinking you're suggesting, are you?"
He crossed his arms. "Maybe I can tell you the spell and have you cast it since you know what you look like as a book."
"That's ridiculous. I don't know what I look like as a book--even if I'd been placed next to a mirror. In that form, I don't have eyes. You know as well as I do that being a book is a fairly limited existence. You can sense things, but not as how a human would."
"Then I suppose we'll have to search the hard way."
"Wait." I bit my lip. "I'll turn into my other form. But promise me you won't do anything--like sell me."
"Well, since you didn't throw me away as rubbish when I was a book, I think I can manage that."
I turned my back on him and willed myself to change. It was disorienting for a moment, but then my senses simply converted from sight and hearing--to something else. I was aware that I was on the floor amidst a pile of clothes.
I could sense someone picking me up, his hand slightly rough and warm against me.
"Impressive."
That I turned myself so quickly?
"I was thinking of something else, but yes, there is that." A finger ran down my spine, tracing the binding. It felt pleasant and mildly narcotic. "There is no title on the cover or your spine." A finger stopped at a corner. "There's blood here."
There was blood on you too.
"On my spine," he confirmed. "But it just seems so, I don't know. You'd be an impressive volume without the stain. A book of your type in pristine condition would fetch a substantial sum."
And now I'm cheap because I'm damaged goods?
"No. This adds character. Especially if there's a story behind it."
So you are thinking about selling me.
"Oh, I'd never do that." He opened my cover. "Ah, so you are the Liber Tutelarum. Tenth edition. Written by Brother Francisco Manatelli in 1252." He flipped several pages. "You're blank." I could sense the frown in his voice.
I'm blank because I only show my spells when I choose to, I explained. It's either that, or the person has to know a spell to force me to show the writing on the pages.
"Very ingenious. I suppose the monk who wrote you was very paranoid."
I don't think so. This was the work of one of my later owners.
"I see." I could feel him turning me about in his hands. "All right. I think I've got a pretty good idea about what the seventh edition looks like--if it looks anything like you."
Fine. Put me down then and let me change. When I felt myself on the floor, I added, And turn your back please.
"Oh come on, Ana. What's a bit of transformation between books?"
A lot.
"All right. Keep your modesty. My back is turned."
I stretched myself into form and once I was finished, hastily got back into my clothes before Rhys decided he had waited long enough.
"So are you ready to cast that spell or is there still something you haven't told me about?"
Rhys turned, his eyes tinged green. He held up a hand showing me black markings running along the skin of his palm. "I've cast it while you were dressing. Let's see if it's here."
He walked around the room with his arms outstretched, sweeping the shelves and boxes. I waited, letting him do his work. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Finally, he swept the last box and he shook his head.
I let out a breath and I could feel my shoulders slump. I thought I was so close to finding the seventh edition! I didn't realize I would feel such disappointment for not finding what I was looking for.
"Oh, cheer up, Ana." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tucked my head under his chin. "It's not the end of the world. As someone might say, it would be too easy for you to find it here."
"I like the easier way rather than the harder way." I reluctantly stepped out of his hug. "We should go down and see if Mr. Severin has found the contact information for that customer. I guess we'll have to make a trip out to Fairmont."
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