Darkness. Ever present, sweeping over the seas and skies. An ignorance to the world and it’s wonder and mysteries. Secrets kept, minds closed. Deep, ugly, unyielding darkness.

And then. . .

A glimmer of light.

It was cold, and not just that regular chill that slipped through stone walls and called for lit fireplaces or a sweater to be worn while you went about your day. It was a type of cold that cut through the clothes and grabbed the bones in an attempt to slip a slight tinge of what death might feel like under the skin. It was the type of cold people talked about over their tea and coffee in parlors alongside conversations of the governor’s latest quiet woman or chats about neighboring state’s relationships going awry. It was cold that somehow made itself news, as if it were a foreign dignitary that had descended, unwantedly, upon the sweet and unsuspecting region of Kar

.

It was totally and utterly unnatural.

As young Gil walked through the snowy streets towards the import store the cold was all he overheard the people in the city chattering about. Nothing more interesting had left a single person’s mouth since he had gone to retrieve the books from Saint Wilshest’s Imports, books that the young Lord had ordered from a sketchy seller on the continent across the sea. 

He agreed, at least to some point, that the cold was worth talking about but not so much so that he believed it needed to head the newspapers and be called in the town center like a crier in some dramatic comedy. 

A chill swept swiftly down the street guided by the walls of the buildings, rushing past the young man’s body like a pack of wild dogs. He shuttered, grumbled, and pulled the fur lined cape closer to his body. He turned down an ally between a small bakery known for its rum bread and a florist shop that appeared to be out of business. Snow crunched between his boots and the cobble stone as he made his way towards the dimly lit and somewhat disheveled looking building at the far end of the lane.

A bell jiggled in the shop as the heavy oak door was pushed open. Wind and snow tried to force its way in with Gil but he put his whole weight onto the door to force it closed behind him.  With a heavy thud the latch closed between the outside and the warm, if somewhat dusty, haven of escape. 

“It’s as if the sun itself turned her back on us today!” 

The crackity old voice bounced the best it could off the walls of the shop, muffled by stacks of parsels and lines of books.  From behind a tower of paper wrappings shuffled an elderly man. He hobbled to the counter between the door and the towering city of stacked packages that made up the rest of the small store. 

“That’s what people are saying,” Gil responded, shaking the snow from his cloak and hanging it on the rack by the door. He slipped off the leather gloves and tucked them into his pocket. Gil turned to face the man again as he dusted off the blue velvet of his suit jacket. “You’ve foregone your cane again,” he commented, watching the old man shuffle, unaided, to his seat behind the counter. 

The old shop-keep’s unsteady gait, coupled with the unkempt hair  and tattered wool suit would leave you to believe he might sleep above the shop but despite his appearance, he had just as much coin lining his pockets as he had bric-a-brac lining the walls. 

“Canes are for the elderly,” He responded, motioning over the young gentleman. “Would you care for a cup of tea? I’ve had it brought all the way from the Green Isles,” He reached for the gold leaf pot from the edge of the counter and poured him some of the light pink drink without concerning himself with the answer.

Gil knew better than to pay the elderly gentleman any mind at this point. After so many errands on his master’s behalf he’d gotten to know the self proclaimed procurer quite well. There was a sort of quaint eccentrism you learned to ignore. He took the cup of tea to warm his hands at the very least.

“So Lord Salphus has sent you on a mission in this weather? You must be quite the respectable retainer, Gilbert,” The keep said, lifting the cup to his lips with shaky hands.

Gil shrugged a bit, turning the cup in his hands. The liquid was pungent and he was reluctant to try it. “Warren’s whims get the best of him when it comes to books. If I were to let the order pile up simply because the weather was a bit unpleasant I’d need a cart to bring them back with me come spring.” 

“You’re a strong lad to consider this hellish storm just ‘unpleasant’,” he retorted.

Gill shrugged yet again, as was common to the apathy of boys his age. He could feel elderly eyes on his cup, taking note of the fact he hadn’t tried it yet. To keep from offending Gil lifted the cup to his lips, held his breath, took a sip, and nearly gagged.

Despite that, a wry smile came to the shopkeeper’s thin lips and he seemed satisfied with the attempt. “Well let’s go see what it is he ordered this time.”

The two rose from their seats, walking behind the counter and down one of the small halls created by the piled procurements. There didn’t seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to the manner in which they were ordered and yet somehow the old shopkeeper knew what each wrapped box was without having to take a look.

“Let’s see here… let’s see…” He muttered to himself as he scanned each of the parcels, looking for the order. “Ahh yes... that’s right,” He took a sharp turn around a corner, almost losing his tagalong. Gil wasn’t quite sure how he moved so swiftly for a man in such need of a cane.

“You should tell young Lord Salphus that he’s quite lucky with this one. The package had to change hands three times to get here. With the weather so bad none of the delivery services wanted to bring it in. You can't take a horse out in this much snow after all, and the delivery fees aren’t worth a few frozen toes,” He said, reaching up on top of a stack in a dark corner near the back door. “But it found its way here nonetheless,” he said, taking the paper protected book and offering it to the Lord’s servant. ”Here you go, keep that one safe. The Lord got his money’s worth with that one,” he said. 

Gilbert took the package, turning it over in his hands. It didn’t look like anything special to him, but then again it might not have been. Warren had an odd taste when it came to literature and Gil had picked up all sorts of books for him before, both prized first editions and tattered throw-aways. It wasn’t his place to question or, more precisely, he wouldn’t have gotten an answer if he did. Warren always claimed that these items were treasures worthy of his library no matter what condition it was in. 

After retrieving the book the pair walked back to the front of the shop. Gil collected his coat and gloves, donning the fur lined cloak and leather gloves once more.  Bidding farewell to the shopkeeper, the young man headed back out into the dark, snowy streets of the city, clutching the book and the edges of his cloak to his chest, leaving that funny old man to return to his own devices.