A Chat at the Bookstore

After graduating from the academy, Regis Aurick joined the marquis’s army. In two and a half years, he had learned his job well, even becoming a fifth-grade administrative officer. His good fortune, however, would not last forever. On one fateful day, the news broke that Marquis Thénezay had died in battle.

“...He was such a good man, too.”

It was the first time Regis had cried since his parents’ funeral. He had been given some time off until the Ministry of Military Affairs finalized his next assignment, though he wasn’t allowed to leave the capital. Doing so risked him being labeled a deserter, so in essence, he was being forced to sit and await his sentence.

He would presumably receive a demotion. One thing he was absolutely certain of, however, was that his next deployment would be near the border, on the Empire’s front lines. Belgaria was currently at war with all its neighbors, barbarian invasions were becoming increasingly common, and civil wars continued to break out in the outer provinces; there were countless battlefields to choose from, and it was simply a matter of which one they picked for him to die on.

“Well... when you boil it all down, there’s nothing I can do regardless of where they send me. As Girėnas wrote in Merlot’s Adventure, ‘No matter what trouble tomorrow may bring, why stop and lament it today?’”

And so, Regis headed to the bookstore as he usually did. It was a splendid two-story building facing the main road, its countless shelves holding as many books as would reasonably fit on them.

Just a few decades ago, books had to be copied by hand, making them valuables that only the upper echelons could ever lay hands on. The widespread distribution of paper had since brought about astounding advancements in the printing industry, however, to the point that books were now a form of entertainment accessible to the masses.

That said, those like Regis who spent all their time reading were still quite rare. While he claimed to be no more than an avid reader, he was quite certainly an eccentric book rat—le rat de bibliothèque, as they came to be known.

“Oh, it’s good to see you again, Regis.”

“Ah, the pleasure’s all mine.”

It was the woman behind the desk who had called out to him. She had pale skin, her black hair was styled in a shoulder-length bob cut, and she wore an indigo-blue apron over her clothes. Her name was Carol, and she managed this large bookstore that she had inherited from her predecessor.

“Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

“I was wondering if you had any peculiar books...”

“Peculiar? How so?”

“I’m in the mood to read something... different. Something novel.”

“Oh, so that’s what you mean. In that case, how about this one?”

“What’s different about it?”

“Well, the protagonist turns into a dog.”

“Hm... Oh, it’s a mystery novel...”

Their conversation was cut short by the sudden entrance of a man with a cape over his shoulders. He was a peddler, as was immediately identifiable by the large bags he carried and his shabby leather boots worn down by days upon days of nonstop walking. Those who lived in the city wore shoes, not boots, and normal travelers kept their bags small so they were easier to carry.

The peddler first bowed to Regis, who had come to the bookstore in his military uniform, and then to the shopkeeper. “Oh, it’s been quite some time, Mrs. Carol.”

“My, my! Trepner! Last I heard, you were heading north.”

“Yes, but I’m back now.”

“I hear they’re embroiled in pretty sizable battles up there these days. I was wondering why you’d opted to go.”

“Well, that’s precisely why! There truly is no better opportunity.”

“You never change, do you, Trepner? I’m glad to see you’re in one piece.”

“Yes, well... I almost came back in two.”

“What?!”

“No need to worry, though—I haven’t been decapitated just yet. And I have the money to pay for your wares. Wahahah!”

“Fufu... You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

It seemed this was not a tale to be shared while standing among the bookshelves. Carol ushered the man to the café space in the corner, even inviting Regis along as well.

“Care to join us? If you have the time, of course.”

“So long as I’m not intruding on anything...”

As it turned out, Trepner had been a good friend of Carol’s father. He traveled about selling a wide assortment of goods, having come to the bookstore to stock up on oddities.

✧ ✧ ✧

Three coffees were promptly brought out.

Back when books were expensive luxury items, there were two types of bookstores: those that displayed their books along the walls like art pieces in a gallery, and those that were essentially just cafés with bookshelves. For the latter, the books were simply a curious novelty to bring customers in, with the drinks being the main source of income. Custom orders and door-to-door sales were also common practices.

Likewise, Carol’s store had been predominantly a café before the books took over, and while its priorities had shifted, it had still retained some of its original functionality—although Carol prohibited people from taking books there before they were purchased.

Carol took a sip of coffee. “So, Trepner, why did you nearly lose your head?”

“Well, you see,” began the peddler, “a funny little thing happened while I was dropping off my wares...”

Regis listened in silence, taking the occasional sip of coffee himself. A box of expensive wine had been stolen from a certain warehouse—that much he understood. There was apparently even a dangerous individual present who threatened to execute everyone involved.

“But of course, as an experienced merchant, I knew it was only a joke. I didn’t panic in the slightest!”

“Fufufu... I see. How peculiar, though, for a whole box of wine to disappear. In a case like this, I think it’s more likely that the bookkeeper made a mistake.”

“I thought so too, you know. There was a similar uproar about missing goods the last time I was there. I don’t want to be the one to say it, but I don’t think that knight is particularly suited to keeping books. Wahahahah!” Trepner’s whole body shook as he laughed, jolting the table slightly and disturbing the coffee in all their cups.

“What do you think, Regis?” Carol asked, evidently passing the buck.

“Well... I’m not a detective, by any means.”

“Don’t be so humble. You’re a strategist, aren’t you?”

“Oh? Is that true?”

“It is! Regis here is a brilliant strategist,” Carol declared, proudly puffing out her chest. “He became the staff officer of a marquis right out of the academy.”

“O-ho! That’s incredible!”

“Oh, please... I’ve already lost that position. I’m just an administrative officer now...”

“But you did such a wonderful job taking command in that battle the other day. I heard as much from quite a few people, you know.”

“Ah, that’s... I only made a few small proposals. I didn’t take command or anything...”

“Hah. I’m not sure what I expected. Well, let’s not talk about the battle for now. I’d really like to hear your thoughts on the disappearing wine though, if you’re up for it.”

Carol was looking at him with eyes full of expectations, while Trepner appeared sterner and more appraising. The issue was that Regis didn’t have even a shred of self-confidence; over his many long years in the military academy, he was continually reminded just how incompetent he was. He had ultimately grown so used to being mocked that compliments made him sick to his stomach.

Regis struggled when put on the spot, but he also didn’t want to disappoint Carol after all she’d done for him. “Do I know of any books that might help at a time like this...?” he mumbled to himself.

He closed his eyes and examined the humble library in his head, wildly flipping through page after page of all the books he’d ever read. He had definitely seen a story like this before.

Then a thought crossed his mind.

“Um... I don’t think the bookkeeper is in the wrong here. High-class wine doesn’t arrive on the front lines that often, so I’d expect him to remember it. In fact, that’s precisely why the knight noticed it was missing to begin with.”

“Oh, good point!” Carol exclaimed. “Of course he’d remember something that rare, otherwise he never would have noticed it was gone in the first place.”

“Those were my thoughts exactly,” Trepner chimed in. “That’s why it has to be the sentry, right?”

“I’m not sure about that, either. The sentry was probably right when he said that he’d be the one punished if something went missing...” Regis replied.

“R-Right. Of course. He couldn’t have done it.” Trepner’s head seemed to be swimming as he tried to mentally work through the situation.

It was clear from Carol’s expression that she was thinking things over carefully. “That just leaves the soldiers who helped out, then... and perhaps even the peddler?” she suggested.

“What?!” Trepner cried out. “But the peddler... I’m the peddler!”

“Ahaha! Don’t worry. I was only joking.”

“Even so, it certainly wasn’t Mr. Trepner, else he wouldn’t go around spreading the story.”

Relieved as the peddler was, that left only one other option. “The culprits must be the soldiers who helped out, then!” he exclaimed.

“Hold on, hold on! Can we even really consider them in this?” Carol asked.

“The guilty party has to be among those directly involved in this situation,” Regis continued. “Military goods are stored in wooden boxes marked only with a registration number, so it would be hard to tell that one contained expensive wine simply by looking at it. The fact that they stole an expensive item without opening the other boxes means they needed to have already known the boxes’ contents, and those who helped carry them in certainly meet this criterion.”

“Ah, I’m starting to see what you mean!”

“Hm...” Trepner raised a contemplative hand to his chin. “But even if those soldiers who helped me were the perpetrators, we still don’t know how they managed it.”

That certainly was the biggest question on everyone’s minds. In an attempt to shed some more light on the situation, Trepner began describing the fort’s storehouse in more detail.

“Ahem. To begin with, the stone walls are 27 palms (200 cm) thick. They extend all the way up to the wooden roof, which covers the storehouse and keeps its contents shielded from the sun. The outside is patrolled by sentries, so it’d be difficult to approach without being stopped by at least one of them.”

“Quite the sturdy place they have there,” Regis commented. “It’s practically like a treasury.”

“Why, I reckon it wouldn’t even crumble under cannon fire.”

“What about the floor?”

“Oh, I did consider the possibility of someone sneaking in from underneath, but the floor consists of giant stone slabs made to hold no matter the weight placed on them,” Trepner said. He was now looking at Regis just as expectantly as Carol.

I wish I could give them an answer, but...

“Speculation can only get us so far,” Regis conceded. “As I said, I’m not a detective. It would probably be faster to speak to them personally.”

“Eh? Are you going to interrogate them?” Carol asked. “There’s no real guarantee they’re the ones who did it.”

“That’s no good, my boy. Torture does not a sincere confession make,” Trepner added.

“Even if you don’t ask directly, there are plenty of ways to get someone to talk. ‘He who gains without toil never forgets the taste; and so he repeats, even as its sickly sweetness brings him to ruin.’ That’s a quote from The Dog and the Wolf: Of Virtue and Vice, if I remember correctly.”

Regis had never even considered that this idle banter over some coffee would end up shaping his fate.