Irritated, Gene considered shoving the book into the poet’s mouth, but restrained himself for fear of damaging it. Luke, on the other hand, was so shocked that Gene could read Elvish that he forgot his escape and began rambling.
“Oh, goddess. A patrol captain who reads Elvish. Is that like a talking tiger? Where does a fellow like me find any reason to exist now? Should poetry really be handed over to watchmen and patrol captains? Or is this gentleman an elf? His face doesn’t look like one. Or is Elvish not a particularly difficult language? Then why did it take me three whole years to learn it? And why do I still get confused over the completely irregular declension of fifth-group nouns? Something you can learn while extorting a few coins in the back alleys…”
The longer Gene listened, the less end seemed in sight. He struck Luke on the back of the head once more and spoke.
“Aren’t you curious why I’m treating you so kindly?”
“What?”
Luke shrank at once. The change was so swift that Gene nearly laughed.
“Because if I take your head off, I’ll have to find the books myself. Do you know how much trouble your bad habits have caused me? Half a year overdue. Are you in your right mind? Did you boil Kamahai Sastus’s Conversations with the Fairies in the Fire into stew and eat it?”
“Kamahai Sastus?” Luke considered with narrowed eyes. “Is that the book propping up a table leg?”
Gene tried to hit him with the book again, but Luke dodged quickly this time. Tossing it onto the table, Gene spoke.
“Oh, very good. Try losing a page. You’ll owe for the book on top of one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five pion.”
Only then did Luke recall the figure Gene had mentioned at the beginning. His face went ashen.
“Oh, that money… Wait, then surely that money isn’t… late fees?”
“Of course it’s late fees. What did you think, a charitable donation?”
While Luke stared open-mouthed, Gene tapped a table leg with his foot.
“Forty-seven books in total. For that many, the fee’s quite reasonable. Are the books at home? Lead the way.”
“I can’t go home right now.”
“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in your circumstances.”
“I really can’t. Couldn’t you wait just a little?”
“Am I supposed to sit at your house holding a dragon’s egg and wait for it to hatch? One more objection, and I’ll start by cutting off a finger. You can find books without a little finger, can’t you?”
Luke shut his mouth, returned to the table, and began gathering his belongings. When he had finished, Gene picked up an almond biscuit and put it in his mouth.
“And you keep trying to run. Running away will only make things a little inconvenient for me. The result will be the same. Oh, these really are sweet.”
Now meek, Luke piled books and manuscripts in his arms and went toward the entrance. The customers who had been watching stepped aside, throwing out remarks.
“Luke, going home at last? How many days has it been?”
“I’ll tell them to put your coffee on credit.”
“Don’t worry. If you don’t return, Lavinia will at least clear your debt out of respect.”
“If you come back alive, I’ll buy you a fine drink. At the Emerald Tavern. How about it?”
From their words, one might have wondered whether they were friends or villains. But that was typical of the artists who frequented the Blue Peacock. The painter Edan put on a show of mourning for Luke and spoke.
“Is this the end of our long friendship? I’ll tell Lavinia to put a plaque over that spot. ‘The seat where Lucius Quinto wrote The King of Mea.’ Good, isn’t it?”
Following behind, Gene raised one eyebrow. The King of Mea had once swept Delphinad with such success that even Gene had seen it. But he had known only that Leonis produced it, not who the playwright was.
Luke walked on without replying to his friends’ chatter. Just before he stepped out into the street, however, he suddenly turned back, pointed at the friend who had offered the drink, and shouted.
“Keneth, it’s the Emerald Tavern! Change your story later, and I’ll put a cigarette burn in your fiddle. Remember that!”
That sent the books and papers piled in his arms tumbling to either side. His friends chased after them, picking them up. Luke barely managed to support the whole stack with one hand, as though performing a trick, then took off his hat with the other.
“Then, everyone! Lucius Quinto goes to bargain with the god of death! May peace be upon all your necks! Delphinad, tell them a poet goes to die for the great library!”
Because Luke tried to make a splendid bow, his books fell again and his friends had to gather them once more. The others applauded and cheered unconcernedly. As Luke waved his hat and walked into the street, Gene followed at his leisure, thinking that this hopeless poet seemed slightly mad, but was somehow an amusing fellow.
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