Chương 13: Order from Dust

The smell welcomed her back as she stepped back into the library. For a moment, she did not move, watching the sunlight filter through the high, narrow windows, catching drifting motes that hung like a slow-falling curtain. The room was vast, far larger than the office inside the bookkeeping tower, yet it felt more claustrophobic somehow. Lira stepped forward, her boots stirring faint tracks across the floor. The paths she had cleared before were gone, as the dirt reclaimed the space after a week of neglect.

Lira decided to observe… really observe the gravity of the task she had committed herself to. Broken shelves leaned at awkward angles. Tables sat with uneven legs. Book carts with missing wheels had been abandoned where they had failed. Torn curtains sagged from their rods, and old tapestries gathered dust in heavy folds against the walls. And books… books everywhere. Stacked, scattered, collapsed into piles that had long ago lost whatever order they once held. Lira exhaled slowly. Cleaning would not fix this.

She had known it before… now she understood it. If she continued as she had, wiping dust and clearing small spaces, she would spend years here and change nothing. Lira stepped deeper into the library and turned in a slow circle, forcing herself to see it differently. She walked to the nearest shelf and pressed her hand against it. The wood shifted slightly under her touch, one leg shorter than the others, the frame strained from years of uneven weight. Broken, not just dirty. She moved to a nearby cart.

One wheel was missing entirely. The frame was intact; salvageable with a bit of work. Her gaze shifted again. Curtains, threadbare and sagging. They had no purpose but to gather dust; they needed to be removed. A table with a cracked leg, too unstable to hold anything of weight; disassemble and reassemble with another table, or turn it into firewood. Books stacked without a pattern. Her thoughts slowed, then sharpened. The work separated itself into smaller pieces.

No longer seeming endless, it would still take her a lot of time. Lira crossed back to the entrance and dragged one of the lighter tables into a space near the windows. It scraped loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the empty space. She climbed onto it and pulled down the nearest strip of curtain. The fabric tore under her grip, brittle with age, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She coughed, turning her face away, then pulled again until the length of it came free.

She dropped to the side and repeated the task until all the curtains were on the floor. She decided to turn a space near the western wall, closer to the entrance, into a dumping ground where everything bound to be discarded would be piled, starting with the ratty curtains. Next, she emptied one of the book carts and started using it as a cart, stacking it high with loose pieces of wood, tapestry, broken chairs, rusted lamps, and more junk.

Everything went into the dumping ground, making the space clearer, opening pathways that had been closed. Then came the bookshelves. Most of them were still solid and probably only needed a new coat of wood varnish; the few that weren't, either rotted or splintered, were marked in her ledger to be disassembled later. She let out a breath she had not realized she was holding and continued. Piece by piece, she broke the tasks down. What could be reused, she stacked on the furthest side of the door.

What could not, she pushed into the growing pile. By the time she stopped, her hands were rough with splinters, and dust clung to her skin. She stepped back. It was not much. A single cleared section, the one nearest the entrance, but the room already looked different, more open and welcoming. And for the first time, the change was not temporary. It would not return to chaos overnight. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Lira wiped her gloved hands against her apron and looked across the room again. There was still too much to do, too many shelves, too many books, and too much work for one person. Her gaze lingered on a stack of boxes, half-collapsed into a pile of loose papers. That would be next. She crossed the room and crouched beside them, lifting the top ledger carefully. The binding creaked, but held. Names filled the first page. Estates, accounts, and ledgers. Her fingers stilled for a fraction of a second.

Those looked familiar: the same documents she had seen in the scribe's tower, but dated between five and ten years ago. Lira closed the ledger and set it aside, more carefully this time. This could be important information… she thought maybe, if she could gain time, or magic, she could probably go through it all, but as of now, she barely had time to do anything. She began separating the pile into smaller stacks, grouping by date. Well, mostly. She approximated most of it, not caring much if a few were mixed up.

It was slow work. But Lira didn't think she had it in her to carry more beams of wood today. She worked until her arms ached. The first pile became three. Then five. Ledgers over ledgers, and loose pages were gathered and pressed flat, weighed down beneath intact volumes so they would not curl again. Dust clung to everything. To her gloved hands, to her sleeves, to her scarf covering her nose, reaching even the back of her throat.

By the time the light shifted from pale white to a warmer gold, she had cleared a second path through the room. A line that connected one section of the library to another without stepping over broken wood or scattered paper. Lira straightened slowly, pressing a hand to the small of her back. The ache there had settled into something steady. This was not work meant for one person. She could plan. She could organize. But she could not move a room like this alone. The door opened behind her. Lira turned.

Celene stepped inside. She did not walk in too deeply, probably not wanting to dirty the hem of her pristine dress. Her gaze moved across the room, taking in the cleared paths, the stacked books, the absence of hanging cloth along one wall.

"This is different," she said at last. Lira nodded, choosing to remain silent.

"You started organizing rather than cleaning." A small pause. Then Celene nodded once.

"Good." Lira let out a breath she had not noticed she was holding.

"It is not enough," Lira said.

"Not like this." Celene glanced at her.

"Some shelves are broken. The carts cannot move. And the weight is too much for one person." Lira gestured lightly toward the growing, dismantled refuse piles.

"I can sort. I can plan. But I cannot move everything alone." Celene followed her gesture, her gaze lingering on the heavier pieces.

"That is true." Lira hesitated, then continued.

"Can I get help?" Celene's expression shifted slightly, not refusal, but consideration.

"For this kind of work?" she said.

"You will need the footmen, and they do not fall under my authority." Lira stilled.

"Then whose?"

"Dalwin," Celene replied.

"Most footmen answer to him." Lira had not considered that. Celene continued, "I can assign you a few maids for a short time. A few days, perhaps. They can help with sorting, cleaning, and lighter tasks." She nodded.

"That would help… but not immediately. I still need more time to plan the cleanup."

"Understood," Celene said.

"If you want more, you will need to make your case to Dalwin yourself." Another layer of politics, another gatekeeper she would need to cozy herself with. Lira wasn't above associating with scammers and thieves; what was a fat, vain, self-important man compared to that? Lira lowered her head slightly.

"I understand." Celene studied her for a moment longer.

"You have done well," she said.

"You may continue." Then she turned and left as quietly as she had come. Celene's approval lifted something out of Lira's chest. Unlike Hesta, who micromanaged, Celene would leave her to her own devices, giving her freedom to do as she pleased. That didn't mean she could completely slack off, but still, it was better. Speaking of Hesta, it didn't take long after Celene's departure for her to show up. Lira heard her before she saw her. The sharp rhythm of her steps, the faint shift of fabric.

She did not look up immediately. She finished placing the last ledger in its stack, aligning the edges with care. Only then did she turn. Hesta stood near the entrance, her gaze sweeping across the room. The cleared paths. The stacked books. The dismantled cart. The piled-up wood. Her expression tightened, just for a moment. Then it smoothed.

"That's a lot of work," she said.

"Yes." Unlike Celene, Hesta didn't hesitate before stepping forward a few paces, watching the sorry state of the library.

"Celene told me you were put in charge of fixing this dump," she said after a moment.

"Even Harwin seems to approve of this plan." Lira said nothing. Hesta's frown deepened.

"I will still be sending a girl here as a punishment duty. Will you make sure they work extra hard?" Lira blinked, her mind firing up. This was Hesta, a petty tyrant who abused the modicum of power she had. What kind of response would she want? Lira decided to act cruelly.

"Believe me," Lira snorted, "any girl you send here would regret the day she was born. I want this place fixed as soon as possible, and Celene told me she can't give me much help." Hesta's eyes lit up at that. Lira decided to continue.

"Since you are in charge of discipline, I wouldn't mind serving as your jailer." To her surprise, Hesta smiled at that, actually smiled. The gesture looked horrifying on her stern face.

"I am glad we are in agreement," she nodded cordially and left, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. Lira watched the doorway for a moment longer. Then she turned back to her work. Hoping against hope that she hadn't accidentally made friends with that evil woman. By the time the light began to fade again, Lira had expanded the cleared space further. She walked around, observing her work, cataloging what needed to be done tomorrow. Her gaze drifted toward the windows.

She wondered if opening them all would help with the dust situation. The air was dry enough, so she didn't fear humidity damaging the wood and the papers. Still, the room was already cold, and she doubted she could survive if it were completely open to the elements. Maybe she could learn a spell to push away the wind. She had seen it done once at a festival. She couldn't help but imagine herself directing a gust of wind, moving the dust and loose paper at will. That settled it.

It was time to take a break from working and go back to studying magic. Dust could wait. The Call to power was too strong.