GosickS
St. Marguerite Grand Library.
The academy was situated in spacious grounds, on gently-sloping plains between mountains. Standing quietly in the corner of the campus was a huge library that was over three hundred years old and one of Europe’s foremost bookhouses. Shaped like a polygonal tube, its stone-built exterior had been exposed to the elements for years, giving it a majestic appearance.
Clutching an Indian turban in one hand, Kazuya scurried along the white gravel path that led from the U-shaped main school building to the library.
“I’m later than usual because of that commotion,” he mumbled. “I hope she’s not mad…” Then he remembered that his friend wouldn’t really wait for him. “I guess it’s fine.” He frowned. She was rarely in a good mood anyway.
Kazuya arrived at the entrance of the library. A large, leather door with brass rivets loomed before him. He grabbed the the doorknob with both hands and pulled as hard as he could.
The damp, cool air that filled the library caressed Kazuya’s cheeks, carrying with it the smell of dust and dirt and intelligence. A solemn feeling rushed through him. He looked up.
The walls of the large library were filled with books. One might mistake them for some interior design, but it was all just books. The inside of the building was hollow, the ceiling covered in religious paintings. He glimpsed huge, bright, green leaves far above. Most people would assume they were just an optical illusion. After all, how could there be tropical trees at the very top of a library?
At the end of the hall on the first floor was a hydraulic elevator that had been installed during some restoration work at the beginning of the century, shrouded in an ominous shadow. Only faculty and one student were allowed to use it. He could not ride it.
Kazuya was about to climb a narrow, wooden staircase that connected the huge bookshelves on the walls. Like a giant perilous maze, the staircase led upward in a steep angle.
He sighed. “Such a long climb…”
There was something hanging down from the wooden railing near the ceiling. A golden sash. Her long hair.
“Looks like she’s up there. Fine. Up we go.”
Kazuya straightened his posture and walked up the narrow wooden stairs, his shoes clicking with each step. Looking down made him dizzy, so he told himself to keep his eyes forward.
According to one theory, the library was built in the early 17th century by the then king of Sauville. A henpecked husband, he built a secret room on the highest floor so he could indulge in the company of his young mistress. He designed the stairs to be a maze so that no one but them could climb it.
Yeah. Very few people would climb all the way up there, Kazuya thought. Unless they had a very good reason to.
He climbed. Up and up the stairs. Still going up. A little more. He was getting tired now.
When Kazuya finally reached the top floor, he called out the name of his friend with ragged breath.
“Victorique. Are you there?”
No reply. Like always.
Kazuya took a step forward. He was well aware of what lay ahead.
A conservatory.
The secret room at the top of the grand library was no longer a bedroom for the king and his mistress, but had been converted into a lush conservatory. Tropical trees, ferns, and garish flowers of striking colors were in full bloom, rustling in the breeze that flowed in through the open skylight.
It was a small paradise, quiet and full of life.
A lovely porcelain doll sat on the landing that led to the greenhouse. Nearly life-size, it was about 140 centimeters tall, garbed in an extravagant dress adorned with silk and torchon lace. It was wearing small shoes. Its long, magnificent, golden hair was not tied nor braided, cascading down to its feet, and coiling around itself like a velvet turban.
Its face looked as cool as porcelain. Its eyes, neither childlike nor mature, were only partly-open, as though in a dreamlike trance. The porcelain doll was smoking a pipe in its mouth. White smoke drifted toward the skylight.
“I’ve been calling your name,” he said. “Can’t you at least answer?”
The girl opened her mouth just a little. “Oh, it’s you.”
Her voice was low and husky, like an old person’s, a sharp contrast from her small figure. After saying a few words, the girl—Victorique—closed her mouth again.
Several difficult books were laid out in a circle on the floor in front of her. They came in different languages, including Latin, German, and a squiggly writing system that seemed to be Arabic. The contents were also diverse, ranging from curses and alchemy to chemistry, advanced mathematics, and ancient history.
“Of course it’s me. Who else would climb all the way up here?”
“Ms. Cecile used to come by from time to time. I haven’t seen her much since she started asking you to run her errands.”
“I see.” Kazuya nodded.
Ms. Cecile was Kazuya Kujou’s, Avril Bradley’s, and Victorique de Blois’ homeroom teacher. Six months after Kazuya arrived here as an exchange student and he still could not fit in with the noble children. Worried, Ms. Cecile started asking him to look after Victorique, a problem child who had not attended a single class since she entered the academy. Kazuya reluctantly began trekking to the library to see this mysterious girl, and as Victorique solved various cases that he got involved in, the two gradually got to know each other.
Every time he came to the garden, her blunt and snobbish attitude—a trait characteristic of the nobility—irked him, and he would vow never to return, but for some reason, he always ended up back here.
Kazuya cast a glance over at the space beside Victorique. A bunch of whiskey bonbons and macaroons lay scattered on the floor. Victorique was so absorbed in her reading that she seemed to have forgotten about the candies she had brought with her.
“What a mess,” Kazuya said. “You’re such a slob.” He gathered up the candies and put them in one place.
Paying no attention to him, Victorique said, “Do you believe in the existence of special races?”
Kazuya looked up in surprise at the sudden question.
“I mean people like the gods in mythology,” she continued. “The gods of Greek mythology, for example. Norse giants. There are legends of celestial beings in China as well. I’m sure there are some in your country, too.”
“Well, yeah… But they’re just myths.”
“Big, strong, almighty people, feared as gods by other races. Wouldn’t it be a little interesting if they really existed?”
Kazuya was focused in organizing the candies.
“If you look into the history of Eastern Europe, you will find a lot of references to the Saillune people. They’re a legendary race who had governed the war-torn lands of Eastern Europe since ancient times. They were small, powerless, and few in number, but they ruled the land with their brains. They fought bravely against the Khazars in the ninth century, the Pechenegs in the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Polovets in the twelfth century, and even defeated the Mongols in the thirteenth century. Their people flourished for a long time. The Saillune were like the gods of legend, defeating horsemen who invaded in the spring, and slaying ferocious wild wolves that lived in the woods. But now they are nowhere to be found. No nation named Saillune either. No matter what you read, there is no mention of them after the fifteenth century. One day, they suddenly vanished into thin air from Eastern Europe—no, from this earth. Where did they come from and where did they disappear to? One clue we have is that the fifteenth century was also the time of witch hunts and the Inquisition. Kujou, did you go to the village?”
Kazuya’s hands stopped. “Where’d that come from?” he asked, surprised. “Wait, how did you know?”
“I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.”
Victorique gave a small yawn. She reached for the candies that Kazuya gathered and rifled through the pile. Once she found a whiskey bonbon, she removed the wrapper and tossed it into her mouth.
Only her cheeks moved as she chewed, like it was a separate creature. Kazuya took the wrapper that she tossed aside and searched for a trash can, but when he found nothing of the sort, he shoved the wrapper into his own pocket instead.
Chapter 33: Volume 2 - CH 1.3
The academy was situated in spacious grounds, on gently-sloping plains between mountains. Standing quietly in the corner of the campus was a huge library that was over three hundred years old and one of Europe’s foremost bookhouses. Shaped like a polygonal tube, its stone-built exterior had been exposed to the elements for years, giving it a majestic appearance.
Clutching an Indian turban in one hand, Kazuya scurried along the white gravel path that led from the U-shaped main school building to the library.
“I’m later than usual because of that commotion,” he mumbled. “I hope she’s not mad…” Then he remembered that his friend wouldn’t really wait for him. “I guess it’s fine.” He frowned. She was rarely in a good mood anyway.
Kazuya arrived at the entrance of the library. A large, leather door with brass rivets loomed before him. He grabbed the the doorknob with both hands and pulled as hard as he could.
The damp, cool air that filled the library caressed Kazuya’s cheeks, carrying with it the smell of dust and dirt and intelligence. A solemn feeling rushed through him. He looked up.
The walls of the large library were filled with books. One might mistake them for some interior design, but it was all just books. The inside of the building was hollow, the ceiling covered in religious paintings. He glimpsed huge, bright, green leaves far above. Most people would assume they were just an optical illusion. After all, how could there be tropical trees at the very top of a library?
At the end of the hall on the first floor was a hydraulic elevator that had been installed during some restoration work at the beginning of the century, shrouded in an ominous shadow. Only faculty and one student were allowed to use it. He could not ride it.
Kazuya was about to climb a narrow, wooden staircase that connected the huge bookshelves on the walls. Like a giant perilous maze, the staircase led upward in a steep angle.
He sighed. “Such a long climb…”
There was something hanging down from the wooden railing near the ceiling. A golden sash. Her long hair.
“Looks like she’s up there. Fine. Up we go.”
Kazuya straightened his posture and walked up the narrow wooden stairs, his shoes clicking with each step. Looking down made him dizzy, so he told himself to keep his eyes forward.
According to one theory, the library was built in the early 17th century by the then king of Sauville. A henpecked husband, he built a secret room on the highest floor so he could indulge in the company of his young mistress. He designed the stairs to be a maze so that no one but them could climb it.
Yeah. Very few people would climb all the way up there, Kazuya thought. Unless they had a very good reason to.
He climbed. Up and up the stairs. Still going up. A little more. He was getting tired now.
When Kazuya finally reached the top floor, he called out the name of his friend with ragged breath.
“Victorique. Are you there?”
No reply. Like always.
Kazuya took a step forward. He was well aware of what lay ahead.
The secret room at the top of the grand library was no longer a bedroom for the king and his mistress, but had been converted into a lush conservatory. Tropical trees, ferns, and garish flowers of striking colors were in full bloom, rustling in the breeze that flowed in through the open skylight.
It was a small paradise, quiet and full of life.
A lovely porcelain doll sat on the landing that led to the greenhouse. Nearly life-size, it was about 140 centimeters tall, garbed in an extravagant dress adorned with silk and torchon lace. It was wearing small shoes. Its long, magnificent, golden hair was not tied nor braided, cascading down to its feet, and coiling around itself like a velvet turban.
Its face looked as cool as porcelain. Its eyes, neither childlike nor mature, were only partly-open, as though in a dreamlike trance. The porcelain doll was smoking a pipe in its mouth. White smoke drifted toward the skylight.
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Kazuya paused for a moment and gazed at what seemed like a still image. Then he returned to his usual expression and walked up to the beautiful, but very small girl—the girl that looked like a doll.“I’ve been calling your name,” he said. “Can’t you at least answer?”
The girl opened her mouth just a little. “Oh, it’s you.”
Her voice was low and husky, like an old person’s, a sharp contrast from her small figure. After saying a few words, the girl—Victorique—closed her mouth again.
Several difficult books were laid out in a circle on the floor in front of her. They came in different languages, including Latin, German, and a squiggly writing system that seemed to be Arabic. The contents were also diverse, ranging from curses and alchemy to chemistry, advanced mathematics, and ancient history.
“Of course it’s me. Who else would climb all the way up here?”
“Ms. Cecile used to come by from time to time. I haven’t seen her much since she started asking you to run her errands.”
“I see.” Kazuya nodded.
Ms. Cecile was Kazuya Kujou’s, Avril Bradley’s, and Victorique de Blois’ homeroom teacher. Six months after Kazuya arrived here as an exchange student and he still could not fit in with the noble children. Worried, Ms. Cecile started asking him to look after Victorique, a problem child who had not attended a single class since she entered the academy. Kazuya reluctantly began trekking to the library to see this mysterious girl, and as Victorique solved various cases that he got involved in, the two gradually got to know each other.
Every time he came to the garden, her blunt and snobbish attitude—a trait characteristic of the nobility—irked him, and he would vow never to return, but for some reason, he always ended up back here.
Kazuya cast a glance over at the space beside Victorique. A bunch of whiskey bonbons and macaroons lay scattered on the floor. Victorique was so absorbed in her reading that she seemed to have forgotten about the candies she had brought with her.
“What a mess,” Kazuya said. “You’re such a slob.” He gathered up the candies and put them in one place.
Paying no attention to him, Victorique said, “Do you believe in the existence of special races?”
Kazuya looked up in surprise at the sudden question.
“I mean people like the gods in mythology,” she continued. “The gods of Greek mythology, for example. Norse giants. There are legends of celestial beings in China as well. I’m sure there are some in your country, too.”
“Big, strong, almighty people, feared as gods by other races. Wouldn’t it be a little interesting if they really existed?”
Kazuya was focused in organizing the candies.
“If you look into the history of Eastern Europe, you will find a lot of references to the Saillune people. They’re a legendary race who had governed the war-torn lands of Eastern Europe since ancient times. They were small, powerless, and few in number, but they ruled the land with their brains. They fought bravely against the Khazars in the ninth century, the Pechenegs in the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Polovets in the twelfth century, and even defeated the Mongols in the thirteenth century. Their people flourished for a long time. The Saillune were like the gods of legend, defeating horsemen who invaded in the spring, and slaying ferocious wild wolves that lived in the woods. But now they are nowhere to be found. No nation named Saillune either. No matter what you read, there is no mention of them after the fifteenth century. One day, they suddenly vanished into thin air from Eastern Europe—no, from this earth. Where did they come from and where did they disappear to? One clue we have is that the fifteenth century was also the time of witch hunts and the Inquisition. Kujou, did you go to the village?”
Kazuya’s hands stopped. “Where’d that come from?” he asked, surprised. “Wait, how did you know?”
“I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.”
Victorique gave a small yawn. She reached for the candies that Kazuya gathered and rifled through the pile. Once she found a whiskey bonbon, she removed the wrapper and tossed it into her mouth.
Only her cheeks moved as she chewed, like it was a separate creature. Kazuya took the wrapper that she tossed aside and searched for a trash can, but when he found nothing of the sort, he shoved the wrapper into his own pocket instead.
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