Chapter 172: Underground Taboo Songs

"Richard?"

Charlotte stood in the aisle between two rows of bookshelves, clutching a few volumes to her chest.

She looked surprised as the young man suddenly emerged from behind the shelves.

"Miss Charlotte."

"You're back in Briston? I thought you were still doing your internship up north."

"I just got back yesterday."

Charlotte looked him up and down but didn't press the matter.

"Oh, right. Since you're here, what about that submission to the Northern Literary Review I mentioned before..."

Richard's polite smile froze.

"How is it coming along?"

His gaze shifted away.

"Um..."

"You haven't started?" Charlotte finished for him.

"Yeah," Richard admitted honestly. "I've been so busy with the internship lately that I haven't had a moment to breathe. I haven't even had time to look at the reference journals you gave me."

Charlotte looked at his awkward expression, having anticipated this exact response.

"I figured," she said with a smile, her tone softening. "Don't worry too much about it."

"The editor-in-chief's deadline is February fifteenth, but it's not a strict cutoff."

"Give it a try if you have time. If not, don't worry."

"..."

Her leniency only made Richard feel more embarrassed.

If Charlotte had pressured him with a stern face, he might have felt justified pushing the task to the back of his mind.

"Since you were kind enough to introduce me to this opportunity, Miss Charlotte, I'll definitely write something."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"All right then. Bring it for me to look at when school starts and you come to the house for tutoring."

With that said, her gaze fell to the two books tucked under his arm.

"Gaelic?" she read the spines, giving him another look. "Are you planning to check those out?"

"Yeah, I want to take them home and read them properly."

"Then you might be out of luck," Charlotte said, frowning slightly.

"Language and religion books are for in-library reading only.

They can't be checked out. Even local residents with library cards can only borrow regular books."

Richard paused.

"They can't be checked out?"

"You need the librarian's approval to take reference books outside."

Charlotte tucked her own books under her arm.

Richard weighed his options.

The twelve sets of inscriptions on the Boundary Stone needed to be cross-referenced word by word against the Gaelic alphabet, followed by annotation and translation.

That absolutely wasn't something he could finish sitting in the library for a day or two.

And running back and forth here every day wasn't realistic.

A hint of difficulty likely showed on his face.

Charlotte looked at him, then at the books under his arm, before suddenly turning and heading downstairs.

"Follow me. I know the librarian."

The woman behind the circulation desk noticeably warmed up when she saw Charlotte.

"Miss Dawn."

"Mrs. Harriet."

Charlotte placed her two books on the counter to return them, using the opportunity to speak up. "My friend here would like to get a library card to borrow some language books."

Mrs. Harriet glanced at Richard.

"Reference books cannot be taken out, Miss Dawn. You know this."

"I know, but he's an exception."

She stepped aside to let Richard come forward.

"This young man took second place at the Cicero Cup Latin Speech Contest last autumn."

"He currently works as a Latin tutor at my house, and I can vouch for his character.

If he loses or damages the books, you can hold me responsible."

Mrs. Harriet hummed in thought and pushed up her glasses.

It was a rare thing for a place like Briston to produce a teenager who could place in a competition in the Imperial Capital.

Moreover, Charlotte Dawn was a regular.

Not only did she come from a wealthy family, but she was also someone the librarian trusted.

Mrs. Harriet pulled a registration card from her drawer.

"You can borrow up to three reference books for a limit of two weeks.

It's a fine of one penny for every day overdue.

I'll register your language and religion books for 'special checkout.'"

Richard turned to look at Charlotte.

"Thank you very much, Miss Charlotte."

"It was no trouble." Charlotte waved it off.

She glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I have some things to do, so I'll be going now."

She wrapped her scarf around her neck and looked back at Richard before leaving.

"There's no rush on that submission, but if you do write it, write something of your own."

"Something of my own?"

"Yes." Charlotte pushed open the door, letting a blast of cold air sweep in.

"Don't write what you think the judges want to see. Write what you really want to say."

The door shut behind her.

With the card Mrs. Harriet provided, all that was left was to browse.

Richard spent another half hour tracking down the rest of the books he needed.

For the church liturgical terms, he headed to the religion section on the east side of the first floor.

This section was even more deserted than the language section, with a thin layer of dust coating the shelves.

Most of the collection consisted of sermon compilations, saint biographies, and parish almanacs.

But Richard patiently sifted through them until he finally pulled a copy of the Glossary of State Church Liturgical Terms from the bottom shelf.

It was a reference book meant for parish deacons and seminary students.

It listed the Latin terminology used in services, baptisms, funerals, and communion, complete with Albion definitions.

Richard opened the table of contents and skimmed it.

"Patron Saints," "Consecration," "Sacraments," "Holy Relic Revelations"...

The entire set of vocabulary that Edmund had mentioned in Whitcom, translated as extensions of the liturgy, could basically be cross-referenced in this book.

With this book, he had the key to deciphering the layer of ritual Latin annotations left on the Boundary Stone by medieval monks.

Three books—exactly at the borrowing limit.

He carried them to the circulation desk.

Mrs. Harriet registered each one, meticulously writing down the titles, checkout dates, and return dates on the card.

Her handwriting was slow but extremely neat.

"Two weeks," Mrs. Harriet said, sliding the registration card back to him. "One penny for every day overdue."

"Got it. Thank you."

After checking out his books, Richard didn't leave right away.

He remembered a thought he'd had the night before.

Could the Municipal Library also have steganographic texts?

He walked back into the stacks.

According to Mr. Hutton's logic, books that actually hid something wouldn't be displayed conspicuously, and their titles would be so dull that no one would want to give them a second glance.

He focused on a few specific areas—local history, regional gazetteers, and natural history.

Tucked away at the very back of the second-floor mezzanine was an inconspicuous little bookshelf labeled "Local Materials of Briston and Surroundings."

It was a shelf that hardly anyone ever touched.

Richard pulled the books out and flipped through them one by one.

Most were genuine local materials: the history of the local parish, the development of the textile industry, and the genealogies of several old families.

But when he reached the third row, his hand stopped.

It was a thin booklet with a cardboard cover.

The title read A Collection of Folk Songs from the Western Suburb Mining District of Briston, credited to a local elementary school principal and published in New Calendar Year 1871.

A collection of folk songs—the quintessential "so boring no one wants to read it" title.

Richard pulled it out and opened it.

The first half genuinely consisted of ordinary mining songs.

Miners' work chants, nursery rhymes, and little tunes sung during weddings and funerals were all recorded in the local dialect, complete with phonetic annotations and definitions by the compiler.

But when he reached the last third, a set of songs categorized as "Underground Taboo Songs" felt off.

On the surface, the lyrics sang about things you couldn't do down in the mines.

No whistling, no mentioning certain animals by name, no going down the mine at specific times, staying perfectly still if the headlamp went out...

The compiler had recorded them as "miners' superstitions," even making a point in the preface to state that this section was "pure folklore with no practical significance."

But once Richard started breaking it down word by word, he discovered quite a few interesting things.

Another layer lay hidden within the lyrics of these songs.

Certain recurring phrases, like "when the lamp dies," "the thing behind the wall," and "answer not its call"...

They were embedded so naturally into the lyrics that they read like filler words used to complete a rhyme.

But if these filler words were extracted from each stanza and read in sequence...

Richard closed the booklet, deciding not to dive any deeper right then.

He glanced at the three books in his arms.

Gaelic, a cross-reference dictionary, and church liturgical terms—he couldn't put any of them back.

Richard could only find a desk by the window and meticulously copy down the entire set of "Underground Taboo Songs," including the compiler's phonetic notes and definitions.

The decoding work could wait until he was home.

Once finished, he put away his pencil stub and folded up his stack of notes.

It was almost noon. It was time to head home for lunch.

..................

Leaving the library, Richard swung by the pastry shop in the middle of Central Avenue.

Pushing the door open, he was met with a warm interior smelling of butter and caramel.

"What can I get you?" asked the clerk behind the counter.

Richard's gaze swept over the display case.

He remembered his younger sister's favorites perfectly.

"Two caramel walnut tarts, and... I'll take four of those almond crisps."

He thought for a moment before adding, "And a packet of mints and a small bag of candied peanuts."

The clerk briskly wrapped the treats in parchment paper.

"That'll be six pence."

Richard paid and took the small package of sweets.

The parchment still carried a bit of warmth.

When he reached his front door, Evelyn was the first to greet him, as usual.

Her eyes immediately locked onto the paper package in her brother's hand.

Her gray eyes tracked over the wrapping before darting up to Richard's face.

"...For me?"

"Here's the sincerity you asked for." Richard handed the package over.

Evelyn took it and gave it a squeeze, guessing what was inside with near certainty just from the shape and weight.

She unwrapped the paper.

Caramel walnut tarts, almond crisps, candied peanuts, and mints.

Everything she loved.

The corners of the girl's mouth twitched uncontrollably upward.

But she tried hard to hold it in, putting on a show of reluctant acceptance.

"Hmph!"

"Do you forgive me?" Richard teased.

Evelyn picked up an almond crisp and took a bite.

"Well..." She dragged the word out on purpose. "Seeing as you've shown at least a little sincerity..."

"Uh-huh?"

"I'll think about it."

Richard just smiled, not calling her bluff.

Munching on the almond crisp, Evelyn stepped aside to let him inside.

"Oh, right," she said, suddenly remembering something. "Did you manage to borrow your books from the library today?"

"I got them."

"Then..." Evelyn blinked. "Does the library have any books about desserts?"

"There are a few on traditional pastries."

"Really?" The little girl's eyes immediately lit up.

"Then next time you go, could you borrow one for me..."

"Get your own library card."

"Why do I have to get my own?"

"Because my three slots are already taken." Richard took off his scarf.

"Besides, I only got my card because Miss Charlotte vouched for me. You'll have to figure yours out on your own."

"...Miss Charlotte?" Evelyn's ears perked up. "The older sister from the Dawn Family?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she vouch for you?"

"Because I tutor her younger brother and my character checks out."

Evelyn gave an "Oh," holding the almond crisp in her mouth as she shot her brother a thoughtful look.

Richard knew her little gears were turning again, but he couldn't be bothered to entertain it and headed straight upstairs.

"Richard!"

"What now?"

"That Miss Charlotte..."

"She's twenty-two and unmarried."

Without looking back, Richard quickly rattled off a string of information.

"She's an editorial assistant for the Northern Literary Review and graduated from the Imperial Capital School of Political Science and Economics."

"I didn't ask for all that!"

"You were going to ask eventually!"