A Case of Breaking and Entering: Book Burglar

The woman with the corpse-like complexion paced the floor of the small study. Eyes focused on the small purple book in her hands. Only looking up for a moment to make sure she’d not walked from her path and wouldn’t run into one of the high backed chairs. Course correcting if that was the case. Not listening to the rapid fire questions from the man in the room with his arms crossed, seated on the edge of a table.

Now and then she’d look at him, with her eyes that never blinked quite enough. The man would shut up and lean back away from her, feeling a string of ice down his back. Once he was silenced she would return to the strange book that seemed too new for its age.

“Lana!” the male voice barked, trying to get her full attention.”

“Lanabelle.” she said in a near mumble.

She was still looking at the book, turning the page and she finally blinked again. How long had it been, the man thought.

“Why don’t you ever blink?” he asked in a clearly unsettled tone.

“I blink precisely when I need to.” she said, and from anyone else it would have sounded like a sort of joke, from her it was overly serious and she meant it even if it was an incredibly odd thing to say.

Lanabelle went back to the book, flipping pages, sometimes going back to the previous one. She was back to being distracted.

“Do I really have to be here for this?” he asked, “I’m getting tired of watching you just read and the pacing is making me dizzy.”

“You do in fact need to be here.” Lanabelle said, “Should something happen, You will need to stop it.” she explained in as simple of terms as possible.

She glanced up at him again. “You could always pick up a book for yourself.” She said, flicking her gaze to the bookshelf behind him, his eyes followed her’s, falling on the books.

“Pfft.” he said, blowing a raspberry in the air. “I’m a warrior, I don’t read books like you eggyheaded types.”

“The phrase is ‘egg head’ not ‘eggy head’, your phrasing would imply our heads are the texture of eggs, not the shape of eggs.” Lanabelle explained like he was a child.

He sighed, “Have you found anything?”

“Firstly Nathaniel.” Lanabelle began but was interrupted.

“Just Nate.” the man said.

“Nate.” she said, like saying it tasted sour on her tongue. Never liking nicknames or hypocorisms. “Firstly Nate, I am attempting to translate a language I barely understand from a handwritten book. A poorly handwritten book I might add, and you asking me every four minutes does not speed up the process as you seem to believe, Secondly if you open your mouth to complain you can find someone else who will translate forbidden texts.”

Nate threw up his hands, “Point taken. But can you go any faster?” he asked.

“No, no I can not.” Lanabelle said, flipping the page, making her way to the end of the book. “Besides, I don’t think you want to hear my theory.”

“Theory.” Nate said with a groan, “Don’t tell me…” putting his face in his hands.

Lanabelle silently flipped to the next page. After a short time of not Lanabelle not saying anything he looked through his fingers at her focused stare and pacing again. “You didn’t say anything,” he said.

“You said not to.” she said, barely paying attention going back to the book.

“Do you really not know what sarcasm is?” Nate said dryly.

Lanabelle looked up, and Nate nearly jumped again. “I know well what it is, but you’re too high strung, and you are beginning to annoy me with your questions.” she said flipping a page and looking puzzled. “A page is missing.” she said but quickly moved on.

“Anything important?” Nate asked.

Lanabelle shook her head, “Not that I can tell, but without the page I can’t know.” she continued to look at the book again before looking up again. “Where was this book found again?”

Nate shrugged. “I’m the middle man.” he said, “The book was located, and handed off to me via dead-drop.” he said, “They know who I am but I don’t know who they are but they’ll find me if I try to screw them over. My only job is to get info on the book and make the second drop.”

Lanabelle sighed. “What are you expecting this book to be?” she asked, her tone implied she knew his answer already given the subject matter but still needed to know.

“Something I wasn’t supposed to say.” Nate said. “They told me, but I don’t quite remember the name.”

“Did it start with an M?” Lanabelle asked, seeing Nate snap his fingers in recognition.

“Yeah it did.” he responded.

“Interesting.” Lanabelle said, flipping back a few pages. Eventually she closed the book.

“So did you find something?” he asked.

“I might have, but I need to know something.” Lanabelle asked. “Where was this book obtained?”

“A dead wizard’s collection.” Nate said.

“Dead how?” Lanabelle asked.

“He was murdered.” Nate said like it meant nothing, seeing her stare he put his hands up and laughed nervously “Not by me.”

Lanabelle pulled the book closer to herself. “Murdered how?”

Nate shrugged. “I was never told. I just knew he was dead.”

Lanabelle gave him an incredulous look. “Who was he?”

"He was some high muck a muck archmage or something." Nate said.

Lanabelle nods, “His name?”

Nate shrugged. “Never heard the name before, not a language I know so I didn't remember it.”

“Would you mind if I summoned a friend to assist in translating this book?” she asked. “He is an expert in dead languages.”

“By all means.” he said, and watched Lanabelle slip out of the room. He didn’t go to the door but listened only, catching pieces of the one sided conversation.

Eventually she returned. “He will arrive soon.”

Outside the room was what sounded like the dull roll of thunder and a flash of light.

“You are terrible at this.” a male voice said.

“Cut me some slack, I’m not used to moving three people at the same time.” a second voice shot back.

“Will you two stop arguing we have a job to do. But he’s right, your work is getting sloppy.” a female voice joined the others to stop the argument before it could start.

“Everybodies a critic.” the second voice said again.

After a short pause the door creaked open. A man in a long coat entered the room followed behind by two wizard looking types. One a woman with large round glasses and an appearance that spoke to ice and a very tall man dressed in brown robes and glowing green eyes.

The man at the front held out a hand, and Lanabelle passed the book over. And the man put it in the coat. “Nathaniel Cross. You are under arrest.”