Chapter 11

Lord Mitten was in heaven.

He was sitting on one of the tall trees next to the fisherman's house, staring into his pocket dimension.

Earlier, he had settled down in the pub to tidy up his dimension, but while he had been busy with his treasures, he had noticed that the baker's wife had been looking over at him more and more frequently and with increasing concern. So he had left just before the pub closed to continue dealing with the possessions he had collected, undisturbed. The stars shone above him in the clear spring night and his heart was happy.

Ahhh. Surrounded by treasures, he thought contentedly.

His mental representation sat on the ground surrounded by unrolled scrolls and opened books. In the past, he had randomly reached into his pocket dimension from time to time to be inspired by the poems, texts and paintings collected there alongside the melodies and knowledge he already knew. And then he threw them back in unsorted, the knowledge was stored in his head, after all.

For the first time in a long time, he was now calmly sifting through all his treasures, the known, the less known and the as yet unknown.

And the longer he surrounded himself with them, the harder it was for him to part with them, even the ones he knew inside out.

Not good conditions for opening a bookstore, he thought mockingly.

Lord Mitten reached for an unopened book and opened it at random.

Aaahhhh, so that's where this jewel was hiding, he thought delightedly and immersed himself in the 'Hymn of praise to the strong merman'. The piece had been written at the height of Sirenian poetry.

'Ooooh, what strength, what might you radiate, eternal hero. Golden is your chest and strong your fin!

Ooooh, what strength, what might you radiate, eternal hero. Your gaze is steely and your mouth soft!

Ooooh, what strength, what might you radiate, eternal hero!'

Lord Mitten couldn't help but join in - anything else would be a sacrilege in view of the legendary play, he decided.

"Oooohhh, what strength, what maaaaaaaaaaight you radiate, eeeeternal hero!" he belted out the timeless song from the tree.

"Ah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Olf was startled out of bed by a sudden scream and took a while to get his bearings. What had happened? Had they been attacked? He hastily reached for the extinguished candle next to his bed to light it again.

"Meeeoww, aaah meeeoooo...wwwaa. ...aiiiiihhhhh"

He paused and slapped his forehead with his outstretched hand instead.

"Lord Mitten be quiet! It's bedtime!" he called out into the darkness and went back to sleep.

Lord Mitten paused in his chanting instead of belting out the next verse. He exhaled slowly.

"Art philistines," he sighed, as he had done many times before, and reluctantly refocused on the actual task he had been happily distracted from over the last few hours.

His mental gaze wandered from the huge mountain of treasures that he had not yet seen to a meagrely stocked wall of shelves that he had created in his space in the meantime. If he continued at this pace, he wouldn't be finished sifting and sorting in half a year, let alone a few days. He had originally approached the mountain with the intention of just skimming the titles of the texts and categorizing them into one of the four categories:

Known & comparatively safe

Unknown & comparatively safe

Known & potentially dangerous (in the hands of ignorant beings)

Unknown & potentially dangerous (in the hands of ignorant beings)

He would keep categories 2 to 4 for the time being; after all, he couldn't deprive himself of interesting texts that were still unknown! And even if he was no longer active as a Guardian, that didn't mean that he deliberately wanted to plunge the continent into chaos.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The idea was good, but it failed due to reality. Whatever ability was necessary to avoid delving deeply into each book while sorting through them, Lord Mitten certainly didn't have it.

So far, he had immersed himself in every scroll and book he had opened without exception.

Whether it was because he was reminiscing about the discussions their contents had sparked in the past or because they were still unread documents that he had long wanted to read.

Lord Mitten sighed. He had suspected that a collection that had accumulated over several centuries could not be tidied up in a short space of time.

But an Ancient Being is still allowed to indulge in unrealistic hopes! he defended himself to his inner moral authority.

Wasn't the whole of life about cherishing hopes? How sad it would be if the protective, dreamy veil of 'what if' was torn from life and the naked truth came to light. After all, visions, dreams and hopes were what made life worth living - even over thousands of years.

For a brief moment, he admired his philosophical side.

I'm rambling, he realized, as he had many times before, and forced himself to get back to tidying up.

"Hm." Lord Mitten let his gaze wander over the huge mountain.

What in this collection pile can be easily monetized without feeling like I've lost precious artwork or unleashed an artifact with the potential of a powerful curse on the world in the wrong hands.

"Hmm." He turned his gaze to the shiny objects.

In fact, he found it much easier to part with artifacts, weapons, jewelry, and other valuable items. He had always preferred to focus on his own strength and regarded the swords, magical objects and materials more as souvenirs and necessary tools for less powerful beings.

And so a small mound of saleable items quickly emerged.

But the books.... he sighed again.

His heart bled at the mere thought of parting with his collected writings, however carelessly he had treated them.

I could duplicate them —

However, Lord Mitten lacked the magical understanding to duplicate the books in their entirety. So far, he had seen no need to bother with duplication spells. Who wanted more of the same? Boring!

So for the moment, he would have no choice but to write down the contents from memory or duplicate them page by page. At the thought of all the work that would entail, he wrinkled his nose and his tail twitched nervously from left to right. That sounded like a suspicious amount of work indeed, even with magical help.

Not acceptable! he decided and began to clean his white paw.

Fortunately, his ability to put things off saved him once again with a flash of inspiration.

I'll first check which books and scrolls I have more than once and ask Ashborn at the next tea party how I can duplicate the books more easily.

And then I'll sit down again in earnest and really sort through this mountain.

Until then, Lord Mitten decided, the sorted artifacts and multiple existing books and scrolls would do. The longer he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Indeed, a good idea!

His magical energy scanned the mountain, this time really only looking for titles with the same name. It carefully freed the relevant scrolls and books from the mountain and let them float onto the shelves.

That's a start, thought Lord Mitten with satisfaction at the sight of the mighty wall of shelves filled from top to bottom.

Now all that was needed was the right building and an official store owner.

I wonder where Kryll is at the moment.

*****

Kryll was in good spirits.

Shortly after leaving Brent Forest, he had come across a merchant column that was resting and on its way to Minthral. He had joined them for a fee and was able to sit on a wagon and rest his leg, which was still a little sore, for the rest of the journey. The company was pleasant and the rest of the time flew by.

No sooner had the first friendships been formed with other fellow travelers than they arrived at the city gates of Minthral and it was time to part and go their separate ways.

A silver coin bought him entry to the town and now he stood in the sunshine on the market square, gazing in amazement at the massive town hall building. What a building! How many stones were used in it?

Many, very many, he answered his question impressed.

Now let's see where I can find a place to stay. The sun was already setting and the day was drawing to a close. If he didn't want to sleep outside, he had to hurry and find somewhere to stay.

Kryll looked around. Many people were walking quickly and deliberately in different directions. Everyone seemed to know where they were going.

"Excuse me!" he stood in the path of a full-bearded man who was walking a little less hurriedly.

Before he could complain, Kryll continued briskly, "I'm from out of town and I'm looking for a place to stay. Do you happen to know where I could get a place to sleep?"

The man stopped his planned tirade and looked him up and down.

"A fortune seeker, eh? With a lot of hope in his heart and little money in his pocket, huh?"

With a deep laugh, he stoutly slapped Kryll on the shoulder.

"Then you'd best go to Madame Bootham, she's got a soft spot in her heart for washed-up characters like you. She runs the inn 'The Wild Rooster'".

He raised his hand and pointed to a small alleyway that started on Kryll's left and ran from the market square towards the fortifications. "Just walk down the alley and halfway down you'll see the metal rooster hanging outside."

"Good luck!" This time he didn't let himself be stopped a second time and hurried on.

"The 'Wild Rooster', let's see then," Kryll muttered to himself and entered the narrow alley. After a few minutes, he spotted a metal rooster, only partially attached to the wall of a house, hanging its head sadly.

Not very encouraging.

He knocked on the once red wooden door, as the scattered remains of paint suggested.

The door opened slowly and a plump woman in her 60s looked at him scrutinizingly.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for accommodation and was referred to you. Would you still have a place for me?" he asked politely, his hands clasped together in front of his stomach.

The door opened fully.

"Of course! Come in, come in!" the lady beamed at him.