Seanfram Manor

III

The Seanfram Archive was one of the largest rooms in the Lord's House, which was not too sizable, and it held twenty long bookcases containing fifteen hundred books each, fifteen hundred per side, that made sixty thousand books, and she had yet to dust half of them. The archive had a view east through thick, spectacular windows that shone with white light. During the summer, giant curtains were pulled over the windows to protect the books from sunray exposure. In other seasons, only the early morning light was amber. That amber had switched to the temperate white of the afternoon.

The sage elder who had a study, and lived in it, too, next door, had always pictured paradise as a library, glorious and impenetrable. There were even more books in his study than in the Lord's library, and Nickel Gadolinium doubted that a lifetime was enough to finish all of that material. Of course, the elder was devoted to his books and not much else. She, instead, would never have that much time, she was always needed somewhere, but so what if she would never open the books she was dusting at that moment, in fact, how much could the elder really know, she could believe that he had read everything in the section of History, Linguistics, Dictionaries, Antique Philosophy, Essays, Poetry, Theology, but how knowledgeable was he in Natural Sciences, Spiritual Doctrine, Obscure Magic, Biographies, Astronomy, Astrology, Political Sciences, Enlightened Magic? Did he understand any of that? Had he shown any interest in all of those subjects, did his paradise include the volumes that for mere disinterest he would never read? She would have to ask him the next time she aided him at the latrine. When she arrived, the man could still assist himself, but at his incalculable age he could not stand for too long nor get up as easily, so she was ordered, on top of all her other responsibilities, to sit him on the throne and afterwards walk him back to his study, no further nursery duties necessary. Apparently, there was no one else to do it, she complained to her husband Lanthanos, who giggled at the tale. At first she would prefer not to, it is not possible to see God shitting, what a shameful jest, but the man could not resist to engage in conversation and she learned to appreciate being the lone presence of his current days. She could not imagine herself reaching that age and having no family. She had not been told she would be doing that when they offered her the job. She used to be a potato harvester and vendor, working day in and day out to earn just enough so her baby Rhenium would be properly nourished, until one day Lieutenant Palladium, of the Lord's chivalry, heard her singing a motet at the Main Market.

"You, there! I fancy your tune. Who is it by?"

"It is of my own creation."

"We need people like you at the Lord's court. Would you come work under him, providing him with composition and song?"

It was the happiest day of her life. She went back to her house to tell her husband everything about the employment offer, she would no longer be tired all the time nor worry to make ends meet, he would not have to tutor the serfs' children, and the serfs, for scraps. She could dedicate her time to polishing the madrigals and motets she sang when she cooked, swept or lulled Rhenium to sleep, and allow her talent to flourish. She arrived at the Lord's House with a bag of possessions, but she was clarified that she needed not move, that instead she would leave at moonrise and return morrow at sunrise. She was put in charge of the sweeping of every room, the dusting of the books, the washing of the silverware, the dishes, the clothes, and the preservation of the family oil paintings. She was never acquainted with the Lord and she was never requested a composition. Her earnings were more than enough to support her family, she bought them better pots, grains, greens, furniture, Rhenium moved from a crib to a bed, and chickens. The only other maintenance worker was Samaria Gold, the cook, who prepared the meals of the Lord's guests and took care of the kitchen almost entirely by herself. Other people she saw often were Osmio Lawrencium, the court mage, Antimony Copper, the court singer, and Niobium Curium, a tutor assigned to the Lord's kin, but it was long since she had had anyone to teach, the chivalry kindly rejected her services and the intellectuals needed no additional instruction in reading and writing, so she spent the day loafing, sleeping in the chapel, eating at the Lord's family room, usually in front of her as she did the cleaning, and reading.

Finally she was close to finishing dusting the books, she was at the Literature section, if it were up to her she would get lost in the worlds of story they held, a new bookshelf had been commissioned for that section and it could not come soon enough, she fantasized about reading all of those authors she had heard were so good, what was this, the feathers of her duster met an intriguing collection of letters, Italo Calvino, The baron in the trees, she took it out and examined it, first edition of the original version, how did something so old make it into the archive? She opened it and turned a few pages, then she listened carefully. If she came back before the end of the shift, she could take it home, so she did, any anomaly could be blamed on Niobium, she walked out the entrance hall with the book wrapped around her sleeve, held firmly under her arm, the guards at the door did not suspect a thing.

Europium Potassium sat on his chair at the center of his study, near a low table which displayed a chessboard abandoned midgame, surrounded by books, the walls were covered with books, there were no bookcases, there even were books on the ceiling, secured there by a spell that Osmio was kind enough to cast, a few steps away from the chess table was his bed, which had a roof where more books rested, and to his left was his work table, that study was built for him by the Lord's grandfather and it had become progressively more stacked over the years, inadequate for the walking but comfortable for his decreasing mobility, at that moment the study looked its best, hermetic, hermit, peaceful. The ceiling had a purple crystal dome that cast an artificial light on the place, because a candle could end with all of its contents, him included. He had been working as a researcher and essayist in Yte, a village in Alamor, with money from his father as a youth, until King Gorin ordered that the kingdom had its own official translations of classic tales. He started to work on new versions of Beowulf, Gilgamesh, Cid, The Divine Comedy, The Republic, Theogony, and he presented his Highness with all of them at once. What King Gorin wanted was an exaltation of territorial identity, so all of his pitches were rejected. A court flatterer suggested he rendered them to a Lord from a northern manor who the King exchanged books with. This directed him to a different set of private hands who would commission his writings, the then Lord did not care for the original ancient tales too much but he financed the print of the youth's translations, which became so popular that they made their way back to King Gorin, who pleaded he returned to him, now that he was a renowned scholar and language specialist, but he refused, the then Lord did not only pay him to write but also granted him access to the family archive, in fact, he even installed a study in his House just for him, and the House had not been modified in three hundred years, as his output grew in size and fame, his research material increased, his personal library expanded, all of that knowledge invaded his room, Europium Potassium, the most celebrated translator and ancient literature expert of the century was not living in the Castle of the High Water Lilies, how ridiculous, what a humiliation for King Gorin, the mandated translations of the ancient tales with a territorial quality eventually came out, they were imposed but not read with pleasure, and Europium criticized them as 'soulless, overwrought and fictitious', that was a long time ago. When the then Lord passed, his son still employed him, just to rub it in to Gorin and the rest of them, the new Lord had villeins transcribe his works to sell copies to fellow aristocrats as originals, but one court mage found out that his mistress' copy was falsified and the word spread, so handwritten copies were ordered, despite the existence of prints, for the replicas could be kept in the author's study and the originals could be sold for exorbitant prices. Europium could not care less about external business, he was content with adding more books to his library, more stories to his name, more words to his brain.

He reached for a teacup on the low table, brought it close to his lips, gripping it with both hands, sticking out the tongue first, and drank the tea, which had cooled off. He had to continue his reread of the Kalevala, since the Lord, the heir of the new Lord, had resurrected the tradition of commissioned translations with the intention of making the Seanfram Manor a translation powerhouse. He had no interest in market competition or territorial reputation, he would translate, like he always had, trying to make the best out of a classic, getting in, getting out, unearthing new epics from within. His apprentice, Astatine Yttrium, had been commanded to translate his translations and original texts into Ænglish, a form of English that the Lord was trying to push as the official language of the manor. He had no time for politics nor for commodification, everything that he wanted to hear from as an elder living alone, lived alone, was there in the page of the Kalevala.