SML Ch 84

Chapter 84

“Whoa… what is all this…?”

Serna’s voice was caught somewhere between wonderment and disbelief. Understandable—one entered expecting a library, but instead the eye was seized foremost by countless mirrors.

Ceilings, walls, even the sides of shelves—all plastered with mirrors, packed like tiles by some desperate hand. Even the windows were blocked, so little natural light entered.

The mirrors were mismatched: gilt-framed full-length panes beside tiny handheld compacts. It looked less like design, more like hasty hoarding—every mirror snatched and glued where it could cling.

Reynald raised a lamp, casting faint glow through the darkened space. His reflection—and a hundred reflections at skew angles—stared back. Dust dulled them, but clarity enough remained to show the room.

What in the world…? The thought formed, but before he gave it voice Volant whispered nervously, eyes fixed on scrawl across one mirror.

“My lord… those red letters… what are they?”

Reynald turned to the mirror opposite the library’s door. There indeed, crude red script was painted across its glass. Volant, illiterate, stared as if in dread. But Reynald, reading, found only simple words:

“Library rules: Do not remove. Do not cover with cloth or board. Do not take books outside this room.”

“That’s it? Not some cursed spell?”

“No curse—only rules. Likely important, else it wouldn’t be written so boldly.”

He glanced toward Heide, who nodded and explained:

“Those words have been there since before memory. We never knew why, but thought better not to test. We refused to take the mirrors down—even when tempted.”

“In a countryside like this, mirrors are precious. Surprised no one sold them.”

“Who would dare? Folk see it as taboo. We felt sure disobeying might bring calamity.”

“A prudent instinct. Whoever placed them did not do so without cause.”

“Yes… and so long as one obeys, no trouble. Uneasy feelings, sometimes, but no harm. Yet tell me, my lord—are no other libraries… like this?”

“Of course not. A library holds books, not mirrors.”

Heide sighed with relief. Reynald now understood his fright. To study a book here alone, encircled by countless staring panes, windows blocked, exit forbidden to carry volumes outside—enough to unnerve any man.

“I tried coming in the past week, in spare time. Found it unbearable. The room… smothers. I cannot read a word for fear. Worse, I was never fond of books.”

“I understand. Few could study calmly here. But in company it may be easier.”

“I hope so. Alone—impossible. At least many eyes together may push back… other eyes.”

Other eyes, Reynald mused. Was that it? Glancing into a dozen half-seen reflections and feeling yourself watched? Understandable. He nodded faintly.

“Still—now we have readers enough. Few in the village can, but with you all… it eases my burden.”

“You could have asked me before, Uncle Heide.” Alex scolded gently.

“You and Volant were busy enough helping my lord. I would not heap more toil on you.”

Heide glanced toward Reynald and the princes. Indeed, they were more practiced at books. Serna already wandered inside, peering about with eager eyes despite the eerie air.

“No one fills a room with mirrors for nothing,” Serna muttered. “Maybe to hide something among the shelves—or a secret passage, disguised with reflections! Don’t you think, doll? Could it be?”

[…X?]

The clockwork doll wobbled, hesitant, then marked an X. Reynald thought that answer natural: hidden treasure and secret passages hardly befit a poor domain’s study. To design illusions by mirror from the start requires careful architecture; these were clearly added later, messy and fast.

“Best not meddle with mirrors, Prince. Focus on the books. Perhaps when Lady Theophras arrives—”

“Yes. You’re right. If traps exist, only a mage could disarm them.”

“So. Let us concentrate on the volumes first. There are many.”

Indeed, the shelves were crowded beyond expectation for such a village castle. Hundreds of tomes at a glance. That alone explained why Heide’s attempts had yielded little.

“None have titles,” Arun observed, flipping open a few. “No covers, no spines, even the inside has no preface or table. Only raw text. One must read in full to learn the subject.”

“Then best we begin.” Reynald sat and cracked open the nearest volume. Soon Heide, Alex, Arun, Serna followed.

Volant lingered, glum and restless—until the doll perched his shoulder, nudging him toward patrol. He paced the stacks, searching for clues away from the unreadable print.

So began a strange reading circle—uneasy, but peaceful.

After an hour, Reynald had grasped the tenor of these books.

“Mostly copies of other works. Some thinner notebooks—mix of logs and diaries. All in the same hand… a single writer.”

The hand was neat, careful. The journals mentioned no lord, no overseer, seemingly written by choice. The scribe had lived here a century ago—exactly when the last Selection was said to be. A find of worth indeed.

Yet… one problem gnawed.

Why do I feel… watched?

Something pulling at his nape. Now he understood Heide’s words before. This was no trick of reflection. Not just meeting his own double in glass. These eyes pressed from his back—even though behind him lay only mirrors.

“What…?”

He spun. Nothing. Only his companions bent over books. Only his mirrored self meeting his stare.

“…My lord—you feel it too?” Heide whispered.

“Yes. From behind. As if watched.”

“That dread left me unable to read. When I cleaned this place, I never felt it. But as soon as you commanded I search for ship records—it began.”

And still the eyes pressed. First only one. Then, as Heide spoke, another. Now he swore two sets of eyes. The second above—peering from the ceiling mirrors.

Reynald closed his book. He could not ignore it any longer. Chasing the records of the past was one thing—but solving the question of who was watching felt suddenly far more urgent.