Chester took the heavy, cedar stamp in his hand and plunged it into the back cover of a thick, green book. The moon cast white slants of light that cut through the glass dome in the center of the library and fell gently onto the floor.
He had just finished taking stock of the books and took his side bag, and flipped it over his shoulder. One of the oak doors at the front of the library opened, ringing a small bell and bringing in a draft of frosty air that tickled the oil lamps that stood next to each doorpost.
"Sabastre." Chester nodded at the head librarian who had walked in. Sabastre glared. The elder had worked in the Blackstone library for over fifty years and claimed to have seen everything. He said he knew every type of fish, and beast. He claimed to see patterns in the stars. His solemn demeanor was only broken when painting his tall tales to the towns children, but it would come back when their mothers came and took them out of the fantasies he could conjure back to their chores and duties. Sabastre only nodded back.
Chester looked down at his bag. A large, black book bound in leather with floral impressions peaked out from under the folds of the satchel. He straightened his sweater and picked up his personal lantern. Then striking a match, he lit the stump of a candle inside, casting a warm light that turned the grey sweater a light gold.
Chester was sweeping out the door when Sabastre shot out his arm and caught him. "What's that?"
Chester gulped. "I'm sorry?"
"No need to apologize. The book. In your bag. Why are you taking it?"
Chester retrieved the tome from his satchel and held it up to the lantern. The shining letters read, A History of The Unknown. "I was...Interested."
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
Sabastre's eyes bore into him. "Why are you interested in these topics? Astral projection? Foretelling? Dreams? Don't you have something better to do with your time?"
Chester broke eye contact. "You know my fascinations. I've been your assistant for five years now." He wasn't comfortable telling the elder the whole truth.
After a moment that seemed to last an hour, Sabastre let go of Chester's arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Yessir." Chester shut the heavy door behind him and tugged his scarf tighter around his face. The moon hung like a broken spirit in the sky. Chained to the black blanket that held down the land. He stepped out into the cobbled town square, lit by warm street lamps made of twisted iron that stood above passersby in spaced rows. Fresh snow was still embedded in the nooks of stone and hidden corners and alleys behind houses. The town was forged around mounds and hills, resulting in jagged, confusing passages, but Chester, having lived in Nivistalg all his life, could navigate the streets like an expert sailor amidst a storm of stone fire.
After taking a final turn around a harshly slanting turn, He came upon his home. All the lights were out. Chester pulled his scarf down from his red nose and hit the knocker on the door. Several moments later, his nana opened the door, creaking and heavy. She was a small, fragile woman under her nightgown.
“Well look who’s late again.” There was no twinge of comedy in her voice.
“Forgive me, Nana. Sabastre was-”
His nana scoffed. “I won’t stand here in the cold and hear another word of that self important crook.” She turned to hobble away and rubbed her arms to keep them from freezing. “And close that door.”
“I really am sorry, Nana.” Chester walked into the small home and unwrapping his scarf, hung it on the hat rack in the small foyer.
His nana lit a lamp and placed it by a plate of food, presumably cold by then. “Your supper. I’m sorry if it’s cold, but it would be your fault.” She turned back and fumbled her way up the rickety staircase.
“Thank you.” Chester called after her. He sat down on a stool who’s paint had long since faded. When he picked up one of the silver forks his nana had inherited as part of a set of silverware, there was a scratching at the door.
Picking up his plate in one hand and the lamp in the other, he found his way to the door and pulled it open letting a chill in. There stood two hounds that shivered against the howling night wind. Their eyes were pleading, but he knew his nana would never allow him to keep strays. Not for one night. Taking a deep breath, Chester set the plate down on the doorstep for them. “You need this more than I do.” and he closed the door.
