We left the island—known as Royal Castle Island—and entered a castle town on the opposite side of a road that ran parallel to the river.
The construction of the castle itself had been impressive, and the town was no different. There were rows of buildings made from stone and brick, and tightly packed cobblestone formed the pathway beneath our feet. The city hustled and bustled with activity; it was quite the sight to behold.
Rook seemed at home in the city as he weaved through the roads and heavy foot traffic without a single wrong turn. After I’d followed him for ten minutes or so, we arrived at a bookstore.
The store was made of stone, just like the other buildings around it, but a sign that depicted a quill and inkwell upon an open book hung from its eave.
“They probably sell them here... Let’s take a look.” Rook opened the door to the store and stepped inside.
I entered behind him and found that I’d been wrong about it being a bookstore—it was actually something that resembled a stationery store. The wooden, handmade shelves were packed with various types of quills, parchment, brushes, and several colors of ink. At the rear there were folded easels and canvases that had been mounted onto frames. I could also see sticks of chalk and blackboards of various sizes. It made sense now—stationery stores were more likely to contain notebooks than bookstores. A bookstore was no place to buy a blank book.
“Shopkeep, we’re looking for an empty book with nothing written on the pages,” Rook said to an old woman who looked ready to fall asleep.
“Ah, yes, we do have those,” she replied. “They’re rather valuable, so we don’t put them out on display.”
I see. Now that she mentioned it, I realized that the more valuable items were placed closer to the shopkeeper. This old woman didn’t look like she’d be able to put up much of a fight against an armed robber, but it might have deterred shoplifting at least.
“Oh? Could we see them?” Rook asked.
The old woman bent down, opened some sort of box at her feet, produced a bundle from it, and placed it on the counter. “Here they are.”
The bundle was wrapped in what appeared to be a thin oilcloth, which when stripped away, revealed several beautiful books. She took each of them in turn and arranged them on the counter. These were the kind of items that would normally be kept in a locked glass case where the customers could still see them, but that didn’t seem to be an option in this era.
“Go on, pick one.” Rook lifted me up and let me stand on a nearby stepping stool so that I could see what was on the counter.
There were four books placed alongside each other. The smallest wasn’t an option because it really was pocket-sized. The next biggest was about B6 size—roughly as big as a manga volume—which was still too small.
Next was the fanciest of the bunch. It had a leather-coated cover with rivets, and its corners were reinforced with a metal that might have been brass.
The fourth book was about the same size, except it didn’t have such fancy binding. The cover was similarly coated in leather, but its wooden interior wasn’t as thick, and there were no rivets or anything. The leather on the cover included a strap that could be used to lock the book and prevent anyone from reading it.
“Could I take a look inside them?”
“Of course,” the shopkeeper said. “Go right ahead.”
Now that I had permission, I opened the covers.
Both had blank pages inside, making them essentially the same, but the fancy book had rather thick pieces of parchment for its pages. Each individual page was about as thick as a curtain cloth, which presumably reduced the total number of pages. The lower page count was beneficial if it were meant to be used as an ornamental piece on a shelf, but it was a major drawback for me.
Fortunately, the pages of the fourth book looked much thinner and therefore more numerous. When I opened the cover, the piece of wood backing looked to be of reasonable quality, and the hide had been expertly applied. I didn’t know much about bookbinding, but this one looked well-made.
“I’d like this one,” I said, pointing at the fourth book.
“Are you sure? It’s your choice, so why not go with this one?” Rook pointed toward the finest-looking book.
“I want this one.”
“You don’t need to hold back. Usually you end up better off in the long run when you pay more. It’s like they say: ‘You get what you pay for.’”
I doubt it.
“I don’t think that one has as many pages since the parchment’s so thick. Maybe it’s fine if you’re planning to do a lot of erasing and rewriting, but I’d rather have one I can fit a lot of writing into. That’s why I want the one with more pages. Besides, I don’t see any problems with the way this book is made,” I explained.
Finally, he accepted my decision. “O-Oh. Well, that’s fine then... Shopkeep, how much for this?”
“That will be two thousand eight hundred ruga.”
I didn’t know how much two thousand eight hundred ruga was worth, but it must have been a lot.
“I knew this wouldn’t be cheap,” Rook grumbled, sounding like he was having second thoughts. Clearly, it was a lot of money.
“Are you buying it for the boy there?” the shopkeeper asked.
“Uh, yeah. He said he wants it for a notebook or diary or something.”
“Oh, I see. What a wonderful idea. Though we all hold our memories dear, we’re also certain to forget them.”
“Are we?” Rook didn’t look convinced.
Likewise, I hadn’t kept a diary during my life in Japan, so I didn’t see the need. I shared dad’s skepticism.
“Yes, indeed. Once you reach my age, you’ll find yourself regretting the loss of all kinds of memories—the things your father said to you as a child, or the recipe for the soup your mother used to make. Yes, I think this purchase will be good for you too. Isn’t it sad to think that someday, when you die, your own son will forget all about you and the things you told him?”
That got a grunt of agreement out of Rook.
Grandma’s got a point there. Yeah, it really is a sad thought. Your own child forgetting all about you... I wouldn’t want anyone to spend their whole life mourning me when I’m gone, but if I’d raised them, I’d at least hope that they’d remember my face whenever they visited my grave. Not that I’ve ever raised a child.
“You know, I think you’re right,” Rook agreed, nodding to himself as if it had made quite the impression—her words seemed to have struck a chord with him. “All right, we’re buying it. Can you give me change?”
Rook took out three gold coins and placed them on the counter. They must have contained impurities because the color was a little dull, but they still glimmered like gold. I didn’t doubt that they were the real deal.
If he needs change, then I guess each gold coin is a thousand ruga, making this three thousand in total. I can’t believe a single book costs several gold coins...
“Yes, I can. Does this look right?” She placed five silver coins down on the table.
“That’s three hundred ruga too much.”
Now I know that silver coins are worth one hundred ruga.
“Well, the boy has a discerning eye, so I’ve decided to reduce it to just two thousand five hundred ruga. I’d regret taking the full eight hundred... Hee hee hee hee,” the old woman cackled.
Sounds like she’d be right at home stirring a cauldron.