Stacks: Moving Out

Stacks: Moving Out

Postby Tolleson » Fri Aug 19, 2016 5:49 pm

Within the Dagger and up the stairs, at the end of a long hall, where passers-by are infrequent and only the long-term tenants sleep, there is a room whose occupant is rarely seen. A caretaker of the Dagger, usually a tall fellow with scrappy red hair, is the only one in or out. He brings fresh linens every fortnight, a filled pitcher every couple of days. But the water is rarely soiled and the bed is always made.

For the better part of several years, a peek through the keyhole or a passing glimpse behind a door left ajar would reveal a good many items, evidence of being occupied. Or perhaps used as storage, as the items are books. Stacks upon stacks of books. They line the wall, carry the ceiling, and encroach towards the bed. Surely the ceiling of the room below sagged under the weight of it all.

But today, bright and early, the door is open wide. The room is being emptied.

Within the room is a desk, upon which no less than a hundred pins have been gathered. Their corresponding holes are constellations on the wall adjacent. Beside the desk stands the redheaded man, with a length of red string, tying shut a folio of assorted documents, missives, and drawings. Around him are a half dozen men, working to pack a dozen or more trunks with the massive wealth of volumes, tomes, and titles. It takes two per a trunk to carry them down the stairs and to the carts waiting outside.

“Thank yew fer le'in' us in, Ms’r Toll’son.,” one of the gruff fellows says as the workmen finish their task.

“Hm?” The redheaded fellow looks up from the red string and the folio in his hands, a smile finding his lips after being lost in thought. “Just Tennant, friend, and of course.”

“Ere’s a place on tha’ cart if’in yew comin' wiv us?”

“A generous offer, but the Lady has no need of my assistance,” he slaps the folio against his free hand with a wide grin and begins to leave the nearly emptied room.
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Tolleson
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