Ash 70, 122
Braun & Bonson’s (est 74)
No clock ticked and tocked in the early morning as Valentin Valentin walked into Braun & Bonson’s (est 74). The venerable booksellers who lent their names to this store were long gone and dead, and their ill-chosen successor had been removed by the long arm of the Emperor’s state. Usual business for Valentin; the only strange thing about this visit was that he had nothing at all to do with the proprietor’s misfortune.
He was here to buy books.
The exact cause of this store’s closure wasn’t known to Valentin, which almost certainly meant that the proprietor had been seized for violation of the Imperial Mandate. He wasn’t incurious, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to stick his neck out by making enquiries. The owner’s indiscretions were his own problem, and no concern of the Imperial lawyer’s.
Yet, any time the ownership of a business was seized without a clear line of succession, there was an opportunity. In the countryside, minor officials–barely more than county sheriffs–would have taken possession of the materials inside and auctioned them off. These sales were hotspots for fraud and corruption; after all, an official and wealthy man could conspire to liquidate potential rivals and acquire their goods at a fraction of market cost. Even if charges were eventually dropped, well, the government could not return what had already been sold.
Decades past, the legislature had determined to put a stop to such scandalous abuses in the capital city. Here, liquidation would occur according to protocols involving an expert assessor, warehouses. Sales would occur only after final judgments, according to blind readings of proposals to ensure that no calumny or bribery was at issue. This meant in practice that the contents of this store could be in stasis for years to come, rotting in crates.
So, like any situation where well-intentioned but crushing bureaucracy had created an intolerable issue, the bureaucrats themselves created a work-around. The store had to be closed down and its contents taken for an assessor before it could be sold at a market price, that was the law. But how quickly did that have to occur? Did it have to occur all at once? Could the “assessor” review the store’s contents at point of sale? Could a “market price” also include sale prices? Could the convenience of early liquidation be factored in?
On these questions, the law was silent. Therefore, the Imperium had set up a fire sale for a full month before warehousing was scheduled. True, this was exactly what the law had been enacted to avoid, but since the law did not, in the strictest sense, preclude it from occurring…
(In the immortal words of Sir Humphry Applebee: “Almost all government policy is wrong, but… frightfully well-executed.”)
This fire sale was open to anyone, of course, it would be illegal for the government to offer its own employees first crack at the goods. On the other hand, the only requirement for advertisement was that the sales be published in the official government circular which were theoretically announcements of public record, assuming the public was interested in coming into the Imperial Printing Office twice a week and obtaining a copy. Few were.
So Valentin entered the store and found a light crowd, entirely composed of Imperial employees (and one young woman who was apparently a frequent shopper and had the great fortune to be wandering by at this time). Ordinarily, he would have gone straight to the locked stacks, to see if the assessors could be persuaded to part with any rare–and resaleable–tomes. That was not his aim today.
He was looking for books for children.
~~~
Valentin found the selection rather uninspiring, but he pressed on with his usual bloody-minded determination. His criteria for suitability were simple. A child’s book should:
- • Be easy to digest for its intended audience, but challenge them enough to encourage development;
- • Be memorable without being merely exotic. A book should open the young mind up to a new perspective on the world, but do more than peddle unattainable vistas;
- • Promote prosocial habits and behavior, and;
- • Exhibit sufficient patriotism
He was under no illusions that the intended audience was likely to be capable of reading even the books which fit these criteria; doubtless, they could not read. But the only way to remedy that was to interest the children in reading, and he was certain that a fulsome explanation of the many benefits of literacy in their adult lives would not work. No, he needed to captivate them.
It wasn’t easy, though. So many of these were little better than collated penny bloods, which would undoubtedly captivate the audience, but would hardly serve to inspire them. Speaking with the sympathetic assessor as he relayed his concerns, Valentin explained:
”-look, this one is my case in point. ‘A Pointless Battle’. It certainly is, totally devoid of character or useful context."
Valentin turned to the early pages. ”First, it’s overwrought, as though the author were trying to get the words out onto the page without editing them for style or clarity. ‘The shadow which stained her soul and froze her effortless mastery of form seemed, in the first instant, all-compelling, all-conquering, invincible’... pointless repetition, I call it! And here: ‘As soon as you cross the gloaming threshold,’? Who in blazes talks like that?"
“Admitted, sir, admitted.” the assessor said, holding his hands out in front of him as though seeking to pacify the angry lawyer. “But that is the kind of thing you get from authors on a tight schedule. The great masters of the craft sometimes spent years on a single work, but the publishing-houses have weekly deadlines.”
Unmoved by the clerk’s mollifications, Valentin flipped to another page. ”Fine, fine, but what do you call this, then? ‘Truly, crime not only paid, it had remarkable benefits for the community at large!’? That’s nothing but criminal propaganda!"
The assessor almost sighed, but caught himself. The visitor was one of those sorts, it seemed. “Rogues have been a popular archetype for centuries, as I’m sure you must know. They have a certain… conviviality of spirit, an enviable freedom. That’s not to say that the writer supports some sort of criminal anarchy through the text…”
”The heroine is a damned Ork, man! An Ecithian!"
Valentin felt a moment of smugness as the clerk winced, muttering, “Well, yes, some authors take their traditional liberties a bit far…”
Certainly, Valentin wasn’t going to let him get out of the conversation quite so easily. He pressed on. ”And look, she fights these ‘shadow beasts’--a convenient device to avoid actually describing the things–three against one, and we’re to accept she simply slaughters them without a scratch?"
“I-I see what you’re saying, but it does end with a cut across the brow-”
”Absolutely not, absolutely not! Unless the hero of your story is a kathar, you simply cannot pit them against three brutes the size of northern bruins and expect them to walk away, hale and hearty. This will not do, not from a literary standpoint, a cultural standpoint, or as a basic example of competent writing. I must insist that you promise not to sell this awful trash."
“Well if it were just me sir, of course sir, but the law.”
”The law? The law! Don’t talk to me about the law, sir, I know it all too well. You’ll get in no greater trouble if you see this rot on some warehouse shelf than if you let this fall into the hands of some poor sap."
The clerk mumbled something which sounded vaguely affirmative and took the book from Valentin, who would have been grinning with triumph if he were the sort of person who ever smiled. ”Good. Now, help me find another couple of books- proper titles, this time. I’ve got other things to do today."
~~~
Valentin Valentin approached the Kornblume Glassworks, this time enfleshed. He bore with him a heavy canvas bag, a manilla file folder, and a business card.
The OIR agent did not approach the Glassworks through the front or (perish the thought) the gift shop. Instead, he worked his way around to the back of the building, keeping clear of the smellier alleyways, until he found a back door bearing a small brass sign: “Kornblume Boarding-House. No Soliciting.”
Valentin rapped at the door three times, smartly, then waited a few moments before repeating himself. This he kept up until the door opened, and he found himself facing the thin matron from before, the one with the astonishing green eyes.
“Yes?” she snapped, “Do you see the sign?”
”Yes, I did. I am not here to solicit- I am here to offer your establishment my services on a volunteer basis. In this bag, I have a variety of books, suitable for children. I wish to read to them, once a week. I require no payment, but I will leave the books here on loan."
The woman blinked, then squinted at him. Valentin could see suspicion overcome her face; this was a bizarre offer, and certainly hid some sort of funny business she didn’t want in her establishment. “We don’t accept hand-outs, so you-”
”Well that’s dreadfully unfortunate, but of course, it is your right. Now, I am also a deputy of the Office of Imperial Revenue, and I have on me certain audit papers which I have also come to discuss."
The woman’s emerald eyes widened, suspicion chased away by sudden fear.
”Either way, you see, I am coming in."