GosickS
Chapter 91: Volume 4 - CH 1.4
Meanwhile…
St. Marguerite’s Grand Library.
The tall tower hidden behind the academy’s vast campus stood in silence, as it had for the past three hundred years.
Despite being one of Europe’s most prestigious halls of knowledge, not many knew of its existence because of the academy’s secretive nature. The stone tower, faded from exposure to the elements, had a small leather door, but not a lot of people used it.
Inside, the ceiling was staggeringly high, hollow all the way up, with gigantic bookcases on every wall. Tens of thousands of thick, leather-bound books filled the shelves. Intellect and silence—that was all there was in this place.
A maze of narrow wooden stairs led all the way to the beautiful ceiling covered with solemn religious paintings.
Something long and golden, like the tail of some strange creature, was hanging down, swaying occasionally then stopping, as though to lure those underneath it.
There were all sorts of stories about this library. It was said that the building was built in the early 17th century by the then King of Sauville, a henpecked husband, and that at the top of the maze of stairs, so complex that no one could make it to the top, was a small, luxurious bedroom that he had built for his lover. According to some, a small golden fairy lived at the topmost floor.
The owner of the golden tail, the origin of the fairy rumor, showed no interest in the pre-summer vacation fever of the world outside. Neither the blinding summer sun nor the passing shower surprised her. And just as always, today she was engrossed in reading in the library’s secret conservatory.
Between the garden, with its dense tropical foliage and garish red flowers, and the staircase landing, was a small, beautiful girl, lying on the floor.
Victorique de Blois.
Born to Marquis de Blois, a powerful nobleman in the Kingdom of Sauville, and Cordelia, a dancer of mysterious lineage, she was confined in the academy for reasons unknown. She was looking extravagant again today, wearing a pink ruffled dress with a floral design, and dainty laced shoes. She was smoking a pipe idly.
She had surprisingly handsome features, and at first glance, she looked more like a porcelain doll that had been painstakingly crafted by an artisan. She had a small nose and glossy, cherry lips. Her cheeks were the color of roses. But her pale emerald-green eyes gave her a peculiar, ruthless aura that was neither adult nor childlike.
Her long golden hair that reached her feet hung over the railing, swaying like the tail of some strange creature.
In her small hand was a ceramic pipe that she would occasionally bring to her mouth to puff on. A white wisp of smoke rose from the pipe up to the skylight.
Thick books lay open around her—esoteric academic books, books on sorcery, dictionaries, all of which seemed to take a long time to read. Victorique was reading them all at the same time. She turned the pages, ran her eyes over them, and then turned them again.
She was absorbed in her reading for a while, until eventually she raised her head and groaned.
“I’m bored…”
She flailed her legs like a child throwing a tantrum, sending books flying all over the place.
Victorique placed her pipe on the shoe-shaped pipe stand and lay down. Curling up into a little ball of frills, she began rolling from side to side, pushing the books even farther away.
“I’m so bored! What do I do? I’m going to die! Once the boredom rises to my throat, I will choke to death. It’s medically possible. Ah…”
She rolled from right, left, forward, and backward across the floor for a while. Suddenly, she bolted up. She stretched her small hand over the railing and stared blankly far below, at the entrance to the library.
There were no signs of life except for Victorique in this vast hall of knowledge. Normally, the leather swinging doors would flung open right about now, and an odd oriental boy would be running up the stairs screaming, “Victorique!”
“He’s late today,” Victorique murmured.
Sighing, she leaned against the railing for a while. Her golden hair hung down, swaying from side to side.
“Maybe I’ll just jump off. I’ll die, of course, but for a brief moment, it’ll feel exhilarating. Ow!”
Victorique let go of the handrail and held the back of her head with both hands. Tears slowly formed in her quiet, emerald eyes.
“Th-That hurt…”
She turned around slowly. A book was on the floor. The vibrations from her flailing had caused a book to fall from a nearby shelf, and it struck her head. It had a golden-colored cover and was oddly ostentatious. After glaring at it for a while, she moved closer, warily. Like some wild animal prowling around a trap, she leaned forward, sniffed, and backed away. She repeated this a few times.
After about ten minutes, Victorique finally let her guard down. She picked up the book, placed it on her lap, then slowly opened it.
Pop!
The moment she opened the large book, a strange sight appeared before her.
Four huge clockworks.
An equally huge pendulum.
A large man wearing a robe and a mask, and a boy lying beside him.
The boy’s stomach was ripped open, golden drops of water trickling out, as if a golden flower had bloomed fully from within him.
Somehow Victorique could sense that the man was laughing behind his mask. He was feeling triumphant.
But in his heart was anger and sorrow that he had held for years.
Slowly the man turned around and saw a huge girl wrapped in ruffles looking down at his miniature garden of a world. Staring into the girl’s huge, green eyes, he pointed to the ground, trying to say something.
Victorique snapped back to her senses. She stared at the book on her lap. It was large, with three-dimensional images of a pendulum, clockworks, a masked man, and a boy sprawled on the ground—a so-called pop-book that were often created for children. This was, however, no child’s plaything, but a storybook so elaborate that, for a moment, it seemed as if the scene itself was real.
Victorique looked at where the masked man was pointing. On the page was a passage handwritten in French. It looked like it was written by a child.
Victorique frowned. “What is this?” She moved her face closer.
To whom have acquired this book.
Written by Leviathan, 1899.
Victorique closed the book and returned it to its place. She sat still for a while, smoking on her pipe.
“Aaaaaah! I’m so bored!”
She curled up into a ball, rolled around, and sprang back up. Frowning, she grabbed the golden book and spread it open on her lap.
“Fine. I hate this, but I’ll try reading it. Between reading and dying of boredom, the former is the obvious choice.”
After practically insulting the author, she buried her face into the book and started reading.
“Hmm. So it is a memoir. Must’ve had a lot of time on his hands to create something this elaborate.”
I, Leviathan, am an alchemist.
With my occultic powers, I have succeeded in creating something out of nothing.
You, who have acquired this book in the future, must be surprised.
My power will keep me alive forever, and I will punish those who try to expose my secret.
Are you flummoxed?
Victorique frowned. “What an oddball. I can’t stand this guy.”
She sighed, but before she could close the book, the next words caught her attention.
You, from the future.
Are you a man?
A woman?
An adult?
A child?
It does not matter.
For my mystery will never be solved. Are you infuriated?
Victorique’s brow knitted. She was angry. Her golden hair swelled and her rosy cheeks turned red with rage.
“P-Preposterous! There is no mystery I can’t solve. What an insolent wretch!”
She flipped to the next page, but the entry was marked by a different date and looked more scrawled than written.
You, from the future.
I am a fool.
Speak for me and reveal my inane secret!
“What is this man talking about? First he says no one can solve his mystery, and now he asks me to reveal it. What a confusing fellow.” Victorique closed the book. “I’ve had enough of this.”
She tossed the book down on the floor. She then reached into the candy jar that was once a turban, peeled off the wrapper of a macaroon and chewed it happily, wearing a thoughtful look.
Munch, munch…
After finishing the macaroon, she took another one.
Munch, munch…
Her gaze was fixed on one thing—the book she threw on the floor.
The wind coming in from the skylight rustled the macaroon wrappers scattered on the floor. Victorique curled up again, rolling from side to side, thinking, and eventually rose with a sigh.
“I can’t beat boredom,” she mumbled. “It wouldn’t be my greatest foe otherwise.” She picked up the golden book again.
Each page featured a different scene. Glittering palace halls, a young queen with a shiny crown, people gathered in a solemn courtroom, a young man with long blonde hair, kneeling. Victorique became more and more engrossed in her reading that she had forgotten to put her pipe in her mouth.
After a while, a familiar sound came from the hall far below. The door slammed open, followed by the sound of footsteps running in.
“Victorique!” called a familiar voice.
Victorique twitched. But she didn’t respond, and instead continued reading.
Far down below, a small boy appeared. His footsteps echoed as he ran up the stairs, panting along the way.
“The scoundrel’s finally here,” Victorique muttered without lifting her head.
Smoking her pipe, Victorique kept on reading. The rhythmical footsteps of the boy, Kazuya Kujou, reverberated in the quiet garden.
But the stairs were long.
It would take a few more minutes before he would appear.
St. Marguerite’s Grand Library.
The tall tower hidden behind the academy’s vast campus stood in silence, as it had for the past three hundred years.
Despite being one of Europe’s most prestigious halls of knowledge, not many knew of its existence because of the academy’s secretive nature. The stone tower, faded from exposure to the elements, had a small leather door, but not a lot of people used it.
Inside, the ceiling was staggeringly high, hollow all the way up, with gigantic bookcases on every wall. Tens of thousands of thick, leather-bound books filled the shelves. Intellect and silence—that was all there was in this place.
A maze of narrow wooden stairs led all the way to the beautiful ceiling covered with solemn religious paintings.
Something long and golden, like the tail of some strange creature, was hanging down, swaying occasionally then stopping, as though to lure those underneath it.
There were all sorts of stories about this library. It was said that the building was built in the early 17th century by the then King of Sauville, a henpecked husband, and that at the top of the maze of stairs, so complex that no one could make it to the top, was a small, luxurious bedroom that he had built for his lover. According to some, a small golden fairy lived at the topmost floor.
The owner of the golden tail, the origin of the fairy rumor, showed no interest in the pre-summer vacation fever of the world outside. Neither the blinding summer sun nor the passing shower surprised her. And just as always, today she was engrossed in reading in the library’s secret conservatory.
Between the garden, with its dense tropical foliage and garish red flowers, and the staircase landing, was a small, beautiful girl, lying on the floor.
Victorique de Blois.
Born to Marquis de Blois, a powerful nobleman in the Kingdom of Sauville, and Cordelia, a dancer of mysterious lineage, she was confined in the academy for reasons unknown. She was looking extravagant again today, wearing a pink ruffled dress with a floral design, and dainty laced shoes. She was smoking a pipe idly.
She had surprisingly handsome features, and at first glance, she looked more like a porcelain doll that had been painstakingly crafted by an artisan. She had a small nose and glossy, cherry lips. Her cheeks were the color of roses. But her pale emerald-green eyes gave her a peculiar, ruthless aura that was neither adult nor childlike.
Her long golden hair that reached her feet hung over the railing, swaying like the tail of some strange creature.
In her small hand was a ceramic pipe that she would occasionally bring to her mouth to puff on. A white wisp of smoke rose from the pipe up to the skylight.
Thick books lay open around her—esoteric academic books, books on sorcery, dictionaries, all of which seemed to take a long time to read. Victorique was reading them all at the same time. She turned the pages, ran her eyes over them, and then turned them again.
She was absorbed in her reading for a while, until eventually she raised her head and groaned.
“I’m bored…”
She flailed her legs like a child throwing a tantrum, sending books flying all over the place.
Victorique placed her pipe on the shoe-shaped pipe stand and lay down. Curling up into a little ball of frills, she began rolling from side to side, pushing the books even farther away.
“I’m so bored! What do I do? I’m going to die! Once the boredom rises to my throat, I will choke to death. It’s medically possible. Ah…”
She rolled from right, left, forward, and backward across the floor for a while. Suddenly, she bolted up. She stretched her small hand over the railing and stared blankly far below, at the entrance to the library.
There were no signs of life except for Victorique in this vast hall of knowledge. Normally, the leather swinging doors would flung open right about now, and an odd oriental boy would be running up the stairs screaming, “Victorique!”
“He’s late today,” Victorique murmured.
Sighing, she leaned against the railing for a while. Her golden hair hung down, swaying from side to side.
“Maybe I’ll just jump off. I’ll die, of course, but for a brief moment, it’ll feel exhilarating. Ow!”
Victorique let go of the handrail and held the back of her head with both hands. Tears slowly formed in her quiet, emerald eyes.
“Th-That hurt…”
She turned around slowly. A book was on the floor. The vibrations from her flailing had caused a book to fall from a nearby shelf, and it struck her head. It had a golden-colored cover and was oddly ostentatious. After glaring at it for a while, she moved closer, warily. Like some wild animal prowling around a trap, she leaned forward, sniffed, and backed away. She repeated this a few times.
After about ten minutes, Victorique finally let her guard down. She picked up the book, placed it on her lap, then slowly opened it.
Pop!
The moment she opened the large book, a strange sight appeared before her.
Four huge clockworks.
An equally huge pendulum.
A large man wearing a robe and a mask, and a boy lying beside him.
The boy’s stomach was ripped open, golden drops of water trickling out, as if a golden flower had bloomed fully from within him.
Somehow Victorique could sense that the man was laughing behind his mask. He was feeling triumphant.
But in his heart was anger and sorrow that he had held for years.
Slowly the man turned around and saw a huge girl wrapped in ruffles looking down at his miniature garden of a world. Staring into the girl’s huge, green eyes, he pointed to the ground, trying to say something.
Victorique snapped back to her senses. She stared at the book on her lap. It was large, with three-dimensional images of a pendulum, clockworks, a masked man, and a boy sprawled on the ground—a so-called pop-book that were often created for children. This was, however, no child’s plaything, but a storybook so elaborate that, for a moment, it seemed as if the scene itself was real.
Victorique looked at where the masked man was pointing. On the page was a passage handwritten in French. It looked like it was written by a child.
Victorique frowned. “What is this?” She moved her face closer.
To whom have acquired this book.
Written by Leviathan, 1899.
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Victorique’s brows furrowed. She stared at the masked man. “Leviathan?” The weird alchemist who supposedly lived here in the academy…? So is this your memoir?” She snorted. “Do you really think I’m going to read this? I’m afraid not.”Victorique closed the book and returned it to its place. She sat still for a while, smoking on her pipe.
“Aaaaaah! I’m so bored!”
She curled up into a ball, rolled around, and sprang back up. Frowning, she grabbed the golden book and spread it open on her lap.
“Fine. I hate this, but I’ll try reading it. Between reading and dying of boredom, the former is the obvious choice.”
After practically insulting the author, she buried her face into the book and started reading.
“Hmm. So it is a memoir. Must’ve had a lot of time on his hands to create something this elaborate.”
I, Leviathan, am an alchemist.
With my occultic powers, I have succeeded in creating something out of nothing.
You, who have acquired this book in the future, must be surprised.
My power will keep me alive forever, and I will punish those who try to expose my secret.
Are you flummoxed?
Victorique frowned. “What an oddball. I can’t stand this guy.”
She sighed, but before she could close the book, the next words caught her attention.
You, from the future.
Are you a man?
A woman?
An adult?
A child?
It does not matter.
For my mystery will never be solved. Are you infuriated?
Victorique’s brow knitted. She was angry. Her golden hair swelled and her rosy cheeks turned red with rage.
“P-Preposterous! There is no mystery I can’t solve. What an insolent wretch!”
She flipped to the next page, but the entry was marked by a different date and looked more scrawled than written.
You, from the future.
I am a fool.
Speak for me and reveal my inane secret!
“What is this man talking about? First he says no one can solve his mystery, and now he asks me to reveal it. What a confusing fellow.” Victorique closed the book. “I’ve had enough of this.”
She tossed the book down on the floor. She then reached into the candy jar that was once a turban, peeled off the wrapper of a macaroon and chewed it happily, wearing a thoughtful look.
Munch, munch…
After finishing the macaroon, she took another one.
Munch, munch…
Her gaze was fixed on one thing—the book she threw on the floor.
The wind coming in from the skylight rustled the macaroon wrappers scattered on the floor. Victorique curled up again, rolling from side to side, thinking, and eventually rose with a sigh.
“I can’t beat boredom,” she mumbled. “It wouldn’t be my greatest foe otherwise.” She picked up the golden book again.
Each page featured a different scene. Glittering palace halls, a young queen with a shiny crown, people gathered in a solemn courtroom, a young man with long blonde hair, kneeling. Victorique became more and more engrossed in her reading that she had forgotten to put her pipe in her mouth.
After a while, a familiar sound came from the hall far below. The door slammed open, followed by the sound of footsteps running in.
“Victorique!” called a familiar voice.
Victorique twitched. But she didn’t respond, and instead continued reading.
Far down below, a small boy appeared. His footsteps echoed as he ran up the stairs, panting along the way.
“The scoundrel’s finally here,” Victorique muttered without lifting her head.
Smoking her pipe, Victorique kept on reading. The rhythmical footsteps of the boy, Kazuya Kujou, reverberated in the quiet garden.
But the stairs were long.
It would take a few more minutes before he would appear.
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