Section 16: The Second Job

Martin, wearing a strange expression, passed Annan, who wore the same expression, and asked Evelyn, who looked no less strange, for a bottle of wine to take to the equally strange-looking customer.

Faster had guessed wrong.

The customer had come back after all. Unlike yesterday, he sat in a conspicuous spot in the tavern today, dressed in clean, neat clothes with a respectable-looking bow tie, and gazed at Annan by the counter.

"What's with that customer...?"

Annan stood behind a wooden pillar to escape the burning gaze.

“Even men can't resist our Annan's charm.”

Evelyn rested her chin in her hands on the counter. When she said “our,” she stole a glance at Annan's reaction.

Martin spoke with unprecedented seriousness. “Cousin, we have to start sleeping in separate rooms.”

"Good idea. Are you ready?"

"For what?"

“To have Aunt Susan make you sleep in the yard.”

The slender moon was gradually swallowed by ragged clouds. Worried it would rain late at night, the customers hurried onto the cobblestone road outside the tavern, where no moonlight fell.

That customer left too, looking utterly dejected.

The bard stopped his story and plucked his strings. As though that were an agreed-upon signal, Annan approached with a mug of rye beer.

"How's your new job going?"

"The interview isn't until tomorrow."

Wanting to make the most of the opportunity, Annan had visited the shops around the library during the day. At first, the neighbors' accounts matched Faster's description of "a knowledgeable mage apprentice." But as they went on, Mr. Victor acquired labels like stubborn, eccentric old man, and odd habits.

To verify this, Annan watched that morning as an old man with every strand of gray-white hair combed flat and an unwrinkled shirt beneath his sleeveless sweater entered the restaurant next door.

The old man frowned and pointed at a waiter's crooked bow tie. Only after the waiter straightened it did his brow relax.

If he saw Faster, whose top button was never fastened and whose collar was yellow with grime, he might throw a Fireball at him. If he could.

At noon, Victor left the library right on time again and went to the neighboring restaurant for mashed potatoes and broccoli. Sitting in a corner, Annan watched Victor frown whenever someone talked at length or raised their voice.

An old man who was a little obsessive about cleanliness and disliked noise.

"A place this small makes people interview?" the bard asked in surprise.

“Mr. Victor is a mage apprentice worthy of respect. His store of knowledge puts many mages to shame.” Faster came over.

"If you ranked the most knowledgeable mage apprentices in the Rikaner Kingdom, Michael would put him in the top hundred."

"Top hundred? And only among mage apprentices?" The bard thought it almost sounded like an insult.

"Michael told me to tell you that if you said, 'Only in the top hundred among apprentices?' I should explain that some mage apprentices know more than mages and are qualified to be mentors."

Knowledge was precious wealth, the foundation on which spells were built. Old hands who had spent years immersed in it could not be compared with confident young people who had only just become mages. The only things holding them back were aptitude and luck.

That also explained Victor's peculiar temper. After facing a door that had refused to open for him for decades, it would have been stranger if he remained calm.

There were also rumors that the old mage apprentice was looking for someone to inherit his knowledge.

That was why Faster had said he was only giving Annan an opportunity. There were other contenders: the sons of wealthy men, nobles, and members of mage families.

So Faster let Annan leave an hour early that day.

Annan said goodbye to his coworkers at the tavern, put down his apron, and went back to Aunt Susan's house for an early night.

The first rays of morning sunlight spilled into the room.

Annan woke slowly. The linen coat he had asked Aunt Susan to iron the night before lay neatly folded beside his pillow. Martin lay facedown on his bed, his backside bulging with the outline of the board stuffed into his pants.

Annan put on his clean, unwrinkled clothes. This time, he did not smear himself with ash. He set out in the morning light and entered the Library, where the scent of paper and ink hung in the air.

The clamor outside did not disturb this quiet place. The Library was different from what he had imagined, too. There were no lofty ceilings or shelves that required ladders to reach; it was more like a bookstore. But Annan liked it, without a doubt.

Annan soon spotted his competitors: a flashy young man wearing six gemstone rings across his ten fingers, a young man in the dark red, trimmed formalwear favored by nobles, and a girl in a mage's robe, her long brown hair tied loosely back.

The two young men took one look at the newcomer and dismissed him as a country bumpkin.

It certainly wasn't because his looks made them jealous.

"Who arrived first?"

Mr. Victor sat alone at another desk.

The young man in noble attire stood, straightened his collar, and approached the desk. He bowed respectfully. "My uncle Master sends you his sincere regards."

"Master?"

"Yes. My uncle often speaks of you..."

"What does he say?"

"Uh... how learned you are..."

Mr. Victor shook his head. "Who's second?"

The crestfallen noble young man stepped away, and the young man who reeked of new money came forward.

"...My father Chekxi sends you his sincere regards," he said cautiously.

"What can you bring to the Library?" the old man asked bluntly.

This question played to the young man's strengths. His confidence returned. "We could buy the land and the books."

"And what can you bring to the Library?"

"Uh..."

The young man had no answer. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he raised a sleeve to wipe it away.

He's out, Annan thought.

Sure enough, Victor looked disgusted. "Who's next?"

The girl in the mage's robe stood and approached Victor's desk.

The same question came again. "What can you bring to the Library?"

"Order," the girl said calmly.

Victor's brow eased slightly. "Do you know what matters most in a Library?"

"These precious books."

Victor was pleased with the answer and had nearly made his choice when he remembered something. He looked over. "There's one more, isn't there?"

And so Annan made his entrance last, like a protagonist, though it seemed he was already too late.

The old man reached for the kettle and watched Annan sit down across from him.

"Coffee or water?"

"Water is fine."

Annan was still thinking that the old man was not as difficult to get along with as he had imagined.

"Wrong. It's coffee."

Warm coffee gurgled into the cup. He went on, "What can you bring to the Library?"

At that moment, Annan abruptly abandoned his original plan and took a different approach. "A librarian."

The wrinkles on Victor's face spread like the petals of a daisy. "Do you know what matters most in the Library?"

"Shh..."

Annan put a finger to his lips and pointed to the sign hanging on the bookcase asking visitors to keep quiet. "Please lower your voice."

Victor abruptly rose, leaning on his cane, then sat back down and lowered his voice.

"You passed. Start work tomorrow."