The kitchen door of Cedarwake Manor seemed miles away from the gate by the time Gil made it back to the estate. He was half frozen and completely worn out.

It was quiet when he arrived. No men and women conducting the business of the state, no servants bustling to keep the household moving, no cooks scurrying about the kitchen to prepare dinner. Then again, since the Governor and most of his faculty were away on business, that left only his son, Lord Warren Salphus and Gil in need of the household staff.  With the weather only getting worse as the day sank into night Gil could only guess that Warren had sent the staff home to their families. Several of the servants lived at the Manor, himself included, but the old cook and most of the maids were not counted amongst them.

Gil pulled the cloak from his shoulders and placed it absentmindedly on the empty countertop and tossed his gloves to the side with the ease only someone who had grown up in the house and was used to being chastised by the housekeeper could. 

Out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the grand foyer, Gil moved with the blind grace of a boy who had been running the halls since he was strong enough to discover his legs could be used to get him into trouble. His mother had been an aide of Governor Salphus, and his father was a lawman from a neighboring state. While he hadn’t always lived in the Cedarwake Manor, he was only a few years Warren’s Junior so they had been assigned playmates when he was still very young. 

Gil climbed the grand staircase that flowed from the second floor down to the entranceway like some sort of stained wood and red carpeting waterfall. Gold paint trimmed the delicate details of the handrail, small flowers bloomed softly in the oak. The stairs were solid, well made and expensive like everything else in the Manor. He turned his eyes from the blood-colored floor to the top of the stairs. Most of the doors were closed. The only hint of life in the large, empty manor came from the other end of the hall.

A cracked door let out a faint flicker of light and the soft smell of burning wood felt warm and welcoming.  Cresting the staircase, Gil walked towards the beckoning glow and into the young Lord’s private library, and what a library it was. Bookcases lined the room from floor to ceiling leaving room only for the windows and doors. The shelves were brimming with all manner of literature, from informative texts on nature and medicine to the brave tales of fantastical adventures to the musings of philosophers and poets. Warren Salphus had an insatiable appetite for the written word and spent nearly all of his free time in this room. His father often worried he spent too much time caressing the spine of a book and not that of a future wife.

The library door creaked, welcoming Gil as he entered. He smiled a bit at the familiarity of the scene. Amongst the piles of pages and the soft glow of the fireplace was the young lord of Cedarwake Manor. A bright-eyed young man in his  mid-twenties, tall with the build of someone who played sport more often than he did and blond hair that often fell out of its tie and into his face. Gil had always thought of him as handsome, though he had never really put much thought into whether that was his own opinion or if he was just nodding along with the coos of the housekeeper and maids.

“I should keep this stupid text for the pain I had to endure to obtain it,” Gil announced loudly, an attempt to rouse Warren’s attention. He pulled the book from underneath his arm and walked towards his friend, presenting him with the absolutely ordinary brown paper package.

Warren’s head shot up and he locked eyes with Gil for just a moment. His gaze seemed to sparkle with more anticipation than they did over the last bundle of tales Gil had brought back. Whatever was in here must’ve been more exciting than the compiled histories of Ocular Fungal Endophthalmitis. 

“Gil Greaves, you are a hero amongst men!” Warren proclaimed as he leapt from his seat and took the book. He swiftly strode to the door, closing it and locking it. The key was in the breast pocket of his silk vest before Gil even had a moment to register the fact that in nearly a decade he couldn’t recall Warren ever locking the door.

“I’d like to know just what it is that is in there that you made me go out in that forsaken snowstorm for,” Gil asked, following Warren over to his desk at the far end of the room. Perhaps it was a particularly expensive first edition, after all the shopkeeper had implied this parcel was special compared to the others. Even if it was expensive he couldn’t imagine there was a need to lock the door, not while they were in the room with it. 

“Come here Gil, and keep your voice low,” He said, ushering his companion to his side. “This, my friend, is the finest piece my collection will ever see,” He said softly, untying the string that wrapped the package with the same sort of delicacy Gil imagined one might untie the laces of a lady’s corset. He noted that Warren’s hands were trembling. 

As Warren peeled back the parchment, however, all that was unveiled was the plain cover of a completely humdrum, run-of-the-mill, ordinary leather bound journal. The leather didn’t even seem particularly exceptional. It was beaten with brown bindings just like you might find in the bag of anyone who was walking about the streets. 

    Gil began to wonder if Warren understood that there was nothing particularly interesting about the book in his hands. He cocked his head a bit in an attempt to catch Warren’s eye, but it didn’t work. The young Lord was captivated by the book.

“What’s so extraordinary about this? It just looks like your average day's journal,” Gil said, going to grab the book from him. The tease ended abruptly as Warren snatched Gil’s wrist before his fingers even had a chance to brush the cover.

Gil was a little caught off guard with the suddenness and severity of being grabbed like that. His grip was tight.  

“You don’t understand,” Warren pushed, slipping his grasp from Gil’s wrist to his hand. He pulled the two of them further from the door, practically against one of the shelves as he opened the book.