Josse would have wished for happier circumstances, but a chance to disappear into his study and read up on some obscure topic or other was always welcome. What better reason than trying to help a resident faced with some arcane trouble? When it came to werewolf woes, one of the medieval bestiaries on his shelves might actually hold clues.
He knew from experience that some crisis or other would unfold the second he sat down with a first load of books, so there was only one thing for it… He had locked himself in with Minuit and given strict instructions that he couldn’t be disturbed unless someone’s life was at risk.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Adelphine had replied. “We keep you in the loop as a courtesy, but it’s not like we can’t function without you!”
Charming, he thought, but he let her have the last word. It was a small price to pay for a rare moment of peace and quiet.
He was trying to remember where he’d seen lycanthros referenced as he settled at his Art Deco desk, whose sleek, modern lines clashed with the elaborately carved shelves he’d had fitted when he bought the house all those centuries ago.
Books had been a rare, costly commodity back then; the carpenter had thought he was mad to plan for so many. But of course, while they argued over the quote, Josse already knew he’d have all the time in the world to collect volumes.
With hindsight, he should have allowed fewer compartments for scrolls, though. He did have a few rolled-up parchments sticking out between the rows of spines, but in truth they had soon seemed as antiquated as floppy disks do today.
Not that it really mattered… One way or another, the shelving he had initially thought of as ample would never have sufficed. Collect books and records and notes and articles and letters and maps and ledgers and drawings and curios and whatever else strikes your fancy for a few hundred years without ever throwing anything out and you’ll develop a whole new understanding of how many bookcases can and should be crammed into a room.
His collection included priceless treasures; selling even a single one would have secured the hostel’s finances for many a year. And yet, how could he ever bear to part with them? He still remembered the day when Gerardus had gifted him a copy of his Orbis Imago, and the beer-fuelled evening when Frisius had tried to explain his new method for pinpointing locations. Josse wasn’t getting it, and so Gemma had ended up doodling on a spare scrap of paper in the hope of getting his point across.
His triangulation doodle was safely stored alongside a drawing of that glyph John Dee had kept going on about, as were cherished possessions such as a letter from Florence Nightingale to Adolphe Quetelet extolling the power of statistics, and a now-forgotten Renaissance inventor’s sketches of a proposed flying chair hoisted by trained geese.
To Josse, that particular idea had seemed ridiculous – why fiddle with fowl when you could just import a magic carpet? Such as the one that adorned his wooden floor?
Sadly, this soft, handwoven rug was no longer safe to fly since that summer when the carpet mites got at the spell-bearing motifs. The infestation had long since been quelled, but it had left gaping holes in the magnificent fabric’s alignment with the weft of reality, as Josse was soon to find out.
His beautiful, once dutiful conveyance was now wont to lift off unbidden, which transport textiles are clearly not meant to do. If it managed to take flight, it would soon flap about wildly in an attempt to dislodge imaginary insects, with dire consequences for its passengers and anyone or anything positioned nearby. A single chaotic experience had been quite enough for Josse to keep it grounded.
He kept meaning to have it serviced. Really. The repair was very high on the endless to-do list he kept on his desk, on top of the stack of invoices and letters permanently in need of attention. The iguanodon tooth he used as a paperweight held the pile firmly in place.
And a large display case kept the confused carpet safely pinned to the parquet, where it provided an opulent setting for the spectacular masterpiece under the glass: a complete, if well-thumbed original of the world’s first modern atlas. Josse had acquired the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum in 1570 upon first publication and later invested in several subsequent editions, as well as all Additamenta.
“So, would you like me to help with some research, or would you prefer to focus on reminiscing?”
Minuit had curled up on his corner of the desk, next to Josse’s ultra-thin laptop.
Josse smiled as he poured himself a generous dram from a bottle of wonderfully peaty whisky he kept for special occasions. In theory, AI cats didn’t do hidden levels of meaning – Minuit’s sarcasm was usually obvious.
“Are you experimenting with passive aggression, or are you just being neutral?”
“Experimenting. Is it working?”
“It’s very unsettling. If you have something to say, you might as well say it. It’s hard enough trying to second-guess the weres and trying not to offend the vampires and the lutins; I won’t be tiptoeing around you too.”
“Noted.”
“OK, let’s roll. I have three good sources on were-beings to go through. As for you, could you please check any relevant online archives you can find? Digitised copies of ancient bestiaries or spellbooks. Or some old tome on folk medicine? Look for the processes and mechanisms associated with transformations, and for were maladies in general.”
“Great idea, boss! And there I was planning to look up recipes for raspberry jam.”
“Aaaaah. Much better!” Josse winked at his furry assistant and squeezed past the display case, towards the moisture-controlled cabinet where he kept the really ancient titles. The ones he only touched wearing soft white gloves. The ones that might well be the only copy left, and which he definitely needed to scan before they fell apart and were forever lost to all.
Needless to say, this task also featured prominently on his inexhaustible to-do list. Really.