Chapter Four: Rampant Piracy

The Stadt Library was one of the branches of the Bard Guild in the Kingdom of Louporta, situated in a coastal city with a considerable population of nobles. Fifteen years ago, when the elder Baron Stadt passed away, his son inherited both the title and the family’s trade. The library, now a flourishing enterprise, had always been their family business.

Inside, half a million volumes lined the shelves, mostly works of fiction. As the library’s operations expanded, Baron Stadt found it increasingly difficult to manage the growing number of bards under his employ. He began to hire editors—accomplished bards in their own right—while reserving his personal contracts for a select few distinguished bards and acquaintances. The trend was clear: the number of bards directly contracted by the baron continued to dwindle. Such, perhaps, was the mindset of one who had risen to high places; as the enterprise grew, Baron Stadt was no longer content with library revenues alone. He began to host noble balls, social gatherings, and networking events. Although only a baron, he was gradually gaining entry into high society. Good food, restful nights, and a sedentary lifestyle had rendered him increasingly rotund; but among nobles, a little girth was a mark of dignity.

Recently, however, rumors of hauntings had begun to circulate among the servants, persisting for over a month. The most obvious sign was the shifting arrangement of the bookshelves—books placed in one spot at night would be found elsewhere the next morning. Once or twice might be a mistake or a trick of memory, but after a month, it was difficult to dismiss.

“Baron,” the butler announced one evening, knocking at the baron’s door, “are you in?”

“Come in,” replied Stadt from within.

The butler entered with a slight bow. “Baron, this morning we discovered again that the bookshelves had been disturbed. Moreover, there appear to be scorch marks on the ceiling.”

“Scorch marks?” Baron Stadt frowned. “Why would there be open flames in the library?” After all, his father had died in a fire, and for a long time young Stadt had been deeply afraid of flames. He had strictly forbidden any open fire in the library, including candles and oil lamps; for nighttime illumination, he preferred to use the more expensive magical crystals and potted glowgrass. Though he himself had long since recovered, the rule remained, for paper abounded in the library, and fire safety was paramount.

The butler sighed. “I assure you, it wasn’t the servants. We have all been with you for years and are well accustomed to the rules.”

“I’ve already doubled the guard patrols,” the baron said, spreading his hands, “and even had some guards sleep in the library. Still, they wake to find things unchanged. I also brought in a priest from the church earlier today. He confirmed there is no trace of undead energy. So it cannot be the work of necromantic creatures.”

“Unless the undead creature is so powerful that it can mask its presence, even from a priest,” the butler suggested, unwilling to give up the notion.

The baron was incredulous. “Are you telling me some formidable undead breaks in at night just to read books?”

“Well… it’s not impossible,” the butler replied.

“Which book is moved most often?” the baron inquired.

“‘Chronicles of Assassins.’”

“That novel by that fellow?” The baron was surprised. “I recommended it at the last noble ball, but few would even read two chapters. Could it be… Go! Bring me that novel.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler departed, returning shortly with a somewhat battered volume. “Here it is, Baron.”

“Why is this book so worn?” Stadt was puzzled. “Hardly anyone borrows it.”

“It… might really be the work of the undead,” the butler said with a tremor of dread.

The baron frowned, leafing through the book, and found a sheet of paper and a gold coin tucked inside. The note bore a single line: “Ha ha, well written. Here’s a tip for you.”

Their faces paled. Misplaced books might be the result of confusion, but there could be no mistaking a gold coin. Though the Kingdom of Louporta was wealthier than smaller states, a single gold coin could feed an average family for half a year. Only a wealthy magnate or high-ranking noble would toss a gold coin as a gratuity. Yet Baron Stadt had no idea such a reader had taken interest in this book.

“It must be the undead! It’s the undead!” the butler stammered. “The undead have tipped us!”

The baron, rattled, leafed further through the book and found more written comments at the end: “I really liked this book; it’s so immersive.” “Some parts don’t quite make sense, but that doesn’t diminish its quality.” “I’d love to find the author who uses the pen name ‘K.’ Does anyone know who that is?” “Don’t worry, I can’t tip, but I’ll spread the word among our circle…”

Baron Stadt handed the book to the butler. “You should read this, too.”

The butler, even more unnerved, said, “This means more undead will want to come and read… this is…”

“Perhaps it’s not the undead,” Stadt said, regaining his composure. “But whoever or whatever it is, the fact that someone can come and go in our library without a sound is truly frightening.”

The butler was silent. The previous butler had died the year before, and the current one was young and inexperienced.

“Here’s what we’ll do. Tonight, I’ll watch the library myself.” The baron closed the book and returned the coin to its place. “Put the novel back where it was.”

“My lord,” the butler protested, “if the intruder is truly dangerous, this could be risky for you!”

“The comments show no malicious intent. If possible, I’d like to converse with them. After all, I am a baron and a somewhat notable noble in this region. They won’t harm me. Besides, our defenses aren’t exactly impenetrable; if they wanted to kill me, I’d be dead by now.”

“But, Baron, it’s not so simple!” the butler argued anxiously. “If those undead are conducting some illicit business and you happen to catch them, you might be…”

“Where do you get these strange ideas?” Stadt frowned. “You read too many ridiculous novels.”

“Yes, my lord,” the butler replied, bowing out.

Night fell. Stadt, fully armed, concealed himself in a hidden compartment in the library wall. Most noble estates had secret passages or hiding places for emergencies or to stash valuables. These had been designed by the late Baron Stadt himself, and only the young Stadt knew of their existence now.

He wore a set of enchanted steel plate armor of his own secret crafting. It provided excellent protection against both magic and blades, masked his presence, and was of the highest magical quality. If sold, it would fetch three or four thousand gold coins—enough to buy a small manor. Stadt himself was a second-tier warrior; though his skills had dulled with his commercial pursuits, he was still competent enough to discipline an ordinary guard.

By law, a baron was not permitted to own mid-grade magical equipment; if acquired, it was to be surrendered to the authorities. Only with elevated rank could one possess more powerful gear. All those tales of protagonists stumbling across divine artifacts and keeping them hidden were, in fact, illegal.

Still, among the nobility, there were unwritten rules—so long as one was not too brazen, things were overlooked. Tonight, facing the unknown, Stadt naturally donned his most formidable armor.

Time crawled by in the silent library, moonlight spilling across the shelves. The clinking of armor could be heard faintly from outside as patrolling guards changed shifts. Since the disturbances began, Stadt had borrowed twenty guards from the city lord, each a competent warrior. Such defenses should have made a silent intrusion nearly impossible. Yet night after night, with the library under watch, nothing was ever found. The library was too sensitive to let the borrowed guards roam freely, and family servants posted overnight always fell asleep, only for the events to repeat.

Stadt was not a particularly brave man, but if he didn’t investigate himself, the situation would never be resolved. It had already dragged on for a month. The compartment itself was warded, making it nearly undetectable from the outside.

As director of the library, Stadt was well read. Whether undead or abyssal demon, he intended to lay eyes on the intruder and judge for himself.

Clink, clink—the armor outside grew louder, mingled with voices. Another change of guard, perhaps? Stadt stifled a yawn; drowsiness crept in. No wonder his servants always fell asleep on watch—this was tedious work. He began to suspect there was no intruder at all, that the butler had concocted the whole story, deliberately damaging a book and planting a coin. But to what end?

Or was it something deeper? What role was he to play in this conspiracy?

His mind, shaped by years of editing and tens of thousands of novels, began to spin with bizarre theories. As an editor, he had a sharper eye than most bards, and after reading so many stories, he could often guess the plot from the title alone. When life mirrored fiction, it was hard not to get caught up in speculation.

He thought of a cliché: the protagonist hiding in the shadows, witnessing a duel between two masters, and then reaping the spoils—legendary artifacts and forbidden spells falling into his lap. For a moment, Stadt felt a thrill.

But the long silence dulled his excitement. He yawned again, realizing the futility of his vigil. Novels, after all, were full of lies. When formulaic fiction became wildly popular, many impoverished nobles really did go to the riverbank to look for chamber pots or buy unremarkable junk from weapon shops, but in the end, they remained poor nobles.

Yawning repeatedly, Stadt’s eyes grew heavy. He decided to rest his head and take a nap. After all, a few misplaced books were hardly a crisis.

“What’s your mission?”

A faint voice in the darkness startled him awake. Stadt’s eyes snapped open, his face draining of color, his body frozen. The voice was inside the room! Yet he had heard nothing—no door, no footsteps. The speaker had appeared as silently as a ghost, while outside, the patrol’s armor still clinked.

“Reconnaissance,” answered another hushed voice. “What’s your mission?”

“Reconnaissance as well,” came the reply.

Silence fell. Stadt, summoning his courage, peered through the observation slit: two black-clad figures moved soundlessly among the shelves, apparently searching for something.

Assassins? Stadt thought, recalling this shadowy profession. Even among nobles, few had ever encountered one; many doubted their existence altogether. Stadt had never seen nor heard of a real assassin, though bards wrote of them often—typically as grim, hired killers. Yet “Chronicles of Assassins” was a novel focused on assassins as protagonists.

Was this what was meant by ‘immersion’? Stadt’s nerves eased somewhat; if he could guess their intentions, perhaps he was not in danger.

Suddenly, a faint light flared—one of the figures crouched down, holding a book to the flame to read. The other flickered over like a shadow. “Is this your idea of reconnaissance?”

“Mind your own business—go do your own recon,” the crouched figure replied, eyes never leaving the book.

“But I want to read that book, too,” protested the other, crouching beside him. “It seems there’s only one copy in the whole library.”

“First come, first served—that’s the assassin’s code,” said the first, not looking up. “We’re of equal rank. If you want to fight me for a book… hmph.”

A pause. The second figure’s voice turned sly: “Heh, want to know who Ice Maiden marries in the end?”

Stadt, hidden in the compartment, was intrigued. He knew Ice Maiden was the heroine of “Chronicles of Assassins.” Anyone who read the book would likely be fond of her, and though her fate—marrying the protagonist—was clichéd, the question, here and now, carried a new tension. This assassin was using spoilers as a tactic to seize the book.

“Ice Maiden marries the protagonist,” the other replied calmly.

“Then do you know how the protagonist assassinates Marquis Lawrence?”

“Hmph! The protagonist tunnels under the marquis’s house with a spoon, collapses the foundation while Lawrence sleeps, and the house falls in, injuring him. But he lets Lawrence live.”

“And the head of the Assassin’s Guild—how did he assassinate the king?”

“Of course. The guildmaster ate the king’s excrement. The king thought him mad and paid no heed, so the guildmaster stabbed him to death at his chance.”

“You know everything?” the second figure marveled. “Then why are you even reading?”

“Because it’s so good! I’m reading it a second time,” the first said with disdain.

“You—”

“And you? You know the ending and still come back?”

“…Alright, I admit, I’m here for my third read,” the other conceded. “Fine, I’ll go. Enjoy.” With that, Stadt saw a blur—the figure vanished. Such skill was beyond comprehension, something out of a novel. Thank goodness for the warded compartment; otherwise, he would have been discovered by now.

One remained, reading silently by the faint light, turning pages without a sound. Stadt barely dared breathe, let alone confront him. Who knew what temper this assassin had? Alone in the library, a single stab could end him, and no one would ever know.

Nervously, he counted the pages being turned, estimating how long it might take. Luckily, the assassin had read before and skimmed quickly through some sections, but his pace was erratic. Would he read all night?

Outside, the guards changed shifts again; Stadt’s legs were numb, but he dared not move. The assassin was lost in the book’s world.

Suddenly, a shadow passed behind the assassin. “Hmph, you’re full of openings! If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“Save it. Weren’t you leaving?” the reader replied, barely looking up.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” the other pressed.

No response.

“Go on—sleep! You’ve read it already. Give someone who’s only read it twice a turn!”

“That line actually captures the book’s sense of humor,” the assassin chuckled. “Maybe I’ll learn from it—I’m going for a third read.”

“You—” The atmosphere shifted. Both assassins abruptly knelt on one knee, facing another direction. “Sir!”

A third black-clad figure appeared without warning, clearly of higher rank. He spoke coldly: “What’s your mission?”

“Reconnaissance,” they replied softly.

“Reconnaissance? Do you even know what that means?” The newcomer picked up the battered book. “You’ve made a shambles of the reconnaissance material! No care at all! You fools! Get out!”

“Yes, sir!” Without another word, the two assassins vanished.

The new arrival crouched, reading by the dim flame. Stadt was incredulous—was book piracy now so rampant?

“Baron Stadt,” the figure suddenly said, “I know you’re hiding in the wall. You’ve crouched there all night—come out.”

A cold sweat broke over Stadt, his limbs turning to ice.