Mother of Midnight

Chapter 78 – Pressed into Printing

Vivienne stepped out into the bustling streets, the hum of the city washing over her like an unrelenting tide. The chaos of the marketplace was intoxicating, alive with the mingled scents of spices, roasted goods, and sweat. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd as she moved with a measured pace, not hurried, but not lingering either. Despite her attempt to blend in, her strange presence and the stark black of her eyes made blending impossible.

People parted for her like water before a ship, some casting fearful glances, others openly staring. A child gasped as she passed, tugging on their mother’s sleeve and pointing. The woman grabbed the child’s hand and pulled them away with a whispered warning.

Vivienne smirked, undeterred. Fear was a language she understood intimately, and its resonance in the air around her was almost comforting. But not everyone reacted with terror. Some, like Ardyn, simply watched her with curiosity or fascination. These were the people who intrigued her most.

As she wandered deeper into the market, her attention was drawn to a small cart with a brightly colored awning, where skewers of sizzling meat smoked over an open flame. The vendor, a stocky man with a bushy beard and a stained apron, called out to passersby in a booming voice.

“Fresh Pokopoko bird! Grilled to perfection, seasoned with my secret blend of spices! Get it while it’s hot!”

The aroma was undeniable, a mouthwatering blend of smokiness and tang. Vivienne approached the cart, her shadow falling over the vendor as he looked up. His confident grin faltered for a moment when their eyes met, but he recovered quickly, his tone warming.

“Ah, miss! You’ve got a good nose on you—drawn right to the best in the market, eh?” He gestured to the skewers. “You won’t find Pokopoko this juicy anywhere else.”

Vivienne arched an eyebrow, her grin sly. “Pokopoko bird, you say? Is it as tender as it smells?”

“Better,” the man declared, puffing out his chest. “Raised and butchered fresh from the highlands—none of that stringy city-bred nonsense.”

Reaching into her coin pouch, Vivienne retrieved a silver piece and placed it on the counter. “Then I’ll take your best.”

The vendor’s face lit up as he handed her a skewer wrapped in parchment. “Here you go, miss. If it’s not the best you’ve ever had, I’ll eat my own beard.”

Vivienne chuckled, taking a bite. The meat was succulent, the spices perfectly balanced, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on her tongue. She made a satisfied hum, her grin widening.

“You’ve done well, my friend,” she said with a playful lilt. She pulled out a few silver coins and placed them on the counter. “Perhaps I’ll come back.”

The vendor laughed, his confidence bolstered. “You’re welcome anytime, miss. Just don’t scare off my other customers, eh?”

Vivienne tilted her head, mock innocence dancing in her gaze. “Oh, I’d never dream of it.”

Vivienne strolled away from the skewer vendor, savoring the tender Pokopoko meat. The smoky spices lingered pleasantly on her tongue, and she hummed softly to herself. Renzia followed in her usual silent, deliberate manner, her mismatched movements drawing occasional curious glances. The market thrummed around them, the clamor of haggling, laughter, and the occasional shout blending into an ambient symphony of life.

As they turned down a quieter street lined with modest homes and carts selling trinkets, a small group of children came into view. They were playing a spirited game of tag, their laughter carrying on the breeze. When one of the children—a small boy with a mop of dark hair—noticed Vivienne, his laughter cut off sharply. His wide eyes took in her towering form, her black eyes, and the faint smile curling her lips.

“Monster!” he shouted, pointing a trembling finger.

The other children froze mid-play, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright terror. One little girl clutched a stuffed toy tightly and started to cry, her small shoulders shaking.

Vivienne sighed softly, crouching down to make herself less imposing. She offered a warm, disarming smile. “I’m not here to hurt you, little ones. I promise.”

The crying girl sniffled, hiding her face in her toy. A braver child—a boy a little older, perhaps eight or nine—stepped forward, though his legs trembled. “Are you a monster?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Are you going to eat us?”

Vivienne chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “I am a monster,” she admitted, “but not the kind you should fear. I’m the monster that eats children-eating monsters.”

The children exchanged uncertain glances, her words slowly sinking in. The older boy’s face lit up with a mix of wonder and relief. “You eat the bad monsters?”

“That’s right,” Vivienne said, resting her chin on her hands. “The ones that sneak around in the dark, scaring good children like you? I make sure they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

The crying girl peeked over her toy, her tears slowing. “Really?”

“Really,” Vivienne said, her tone earnest. “And you know what? You’re very brave, facing me like this. It takes courage to stand up to a monster, even a friendly one.”

The boy’s chest puffed out a little, and he stepped closer. “Do you fight big monsters? Like really, really big ones?”

Vivienne grinned, spreading her arms wide. “Big ones, small ones, fast ones, slow ones—I’ve fought them all.”

The children crept closer, their initial terror melting into uncontainable curiosity. A girl with wild red hair and freckles practically bounced on her toes as she blurted, “What’s the scariest monster you’ve ever fought?”

Vivienne tilted her head thoughtfully, her dark eyes glimmering with mischief. She tapped a finger against her lips for dramatic effect. “Let me think... Ah, there was a beast—a terrible one. It had six heads, each one its own serpent, and shadows clung to it like a living shroud. It was big enough to blot out the moon when it roared.”

The children gasped in unison, eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe.

“What did you do?” a boy asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Vivienne smirked, her fangs flashing briefly. “What did I do? I ate it, of course! It wanted to make a meal out of me, but I showed it who was boss.” She winked at the boy. “And now, I can take on its shape.”

Another child, smaller and braver than most, piped up with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you show us? Please?”

Vivienne chuckled, her laugh low and melodic. “Maybe another time, little ones. It’s a very big creature, and I wouldn’t want to accidentally knock over your houses or scare the chickens.”

The children burst into giggles, the tension finally breaking. Even the crying girl wiped at her face, a shy smile creeping in. A young boy with a gap-toothed grin edged closer and tugged at the hem of Vivienne’s toga. “Do you have a name, Miss Monster?”

Vivienne crouched slightly to meet him at eye level, her grin softening into something warm. “My name is Vivienne. And what about all of you? Surely such brave children have names.”

One by one, the children introduced themselves, each more eager than the last. They huddled closer around her, the barrier of fear long gone.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” a freckled girl asked bluntly, tilting her head as she stared into Vivienne’s quintet of pitch-black irises.

“Wrong?” Vivienne replied, feigning mock offense. “Nothing at all! These are special eyes. They help me see the monsters hiding where no one else can.”

“Wow…” the girl breathed, clearly impressed. “They are pretty!”

Another boy pointed at Renzia, who remained a silent and enigmatic figure a few paces away. “What about her? Is she a monster too?”

Vivienne glanced at Renzia, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “She’s my friend. A quiet one, but sometimes the quiet ones are the bravest of all.”

The children buzzed with excitement, asking question after question about monsters, battles, and what it was like to be a “good monster.” Vivienne answered each one with patience and a touch of humor, her voice weaving a spell of fascination over them.

As the chatter grew more animated, one of the children’s parents appeared at the far end of the square. A woman with a tightly wrapped shawl and an anxious expression scanned the scene, her gaze landing on the cluster of children gathered around Vivienne. Her eyes widened in alarm.

“Therrin! What are you doing?” she called sharply, rushing forward. The children turned, startled, as the woman approached. Her expression shifted from concern to fear when she got a clearer look at Vivienne. “Get away from her!” she barked, pulling the closest child behind her and glaring at Vivienne as if she were staring down a wild beast.

Vivienne stayed perfectly still, her demeanor calm and unthreatening. “They’re fine,” she said gently, her voice a soothing melody. “I promise, no harm has come to them.”

The woman clutched the child protectively, her distrustful gaze never leaving Vivienne. “They shouldn’t be talking to... to someone like you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Come along, all of you! Now!”

The children hesitated, glancing back at Vivienne. One of the bolder ones, the freckled girl, tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “But she’s not scary, Mama! She’s nice! She’s the monster that eats child-eating monsters!”

The woman paled at the statement, her grip tightening. “That’s enough, Elen. Let’s go.”

Vivienne offered a small, understanding smile, though her sharp eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “It’s all right,” she said to the children. “Listen to your parents. But remember—if there are monsters out there, you know who to call.”

The children giggled nervously, casting lingering glances at Vivienne as the woman hurriedly corralled them away. The freckled girl gave her a tiny wave over her shoulder, and Vivienne lifted a clawed hand in return, her smile bittersweet.

As the group disappeared into the crowd, Vivienne sighed softly, the moment lingering in the air. She glanced at Renzia, who remained as silent and still as ever. “Well, that went about as expected,” she murmured, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of weariness.

Vivienne wandered through the busy streets, her eyes flicking over the various stalls and buildings. She came across a narrow street where the scent of old paper and ink filled the air. The building was modest, but the sign outside—a weathered wooden plank with intricate carvings—read, “The Gilded Page.”

Curious, Vivienne stepped inside. The shop was cozy, with rows of shelves stacked high with books of all shapes and sizes. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint musk of old leather. Warmth radiated from a small fire burning in a hearth at the back, its flickering light casting playful shadows over the rows of carefully arranged volumes. The faint crackling of the fire was the only sound breaking the silence of the room, adding to the peaceful, almost sacred atmosphere.

Behind a counter made of thick oak sat a small goblin, her green skin dotted with dark freckles that gave her a well-worn, lived-in appearance. Her small nose, adorned with round spectacles, perched just so, allowing her to peer over the rim with an air of quiet intelligence. Her long, sharp ears twitched at every sound, always alert. When Vivienne entered, the goblin looked up, her yellow eyes bright with curiosity as they took in Vivienne’s towering form and the curious absence of shoes.

"Ah, a customer," The diminutive woman muttered to herself, her voice low and raspy but with an underlying sharpness that hinted at both wit and wisdom. "Don't get many customers these days with the war happening." Her gaze flickered over Vivienne's frame, pausing as she took in the unfamiliarity of her presence. "Not exactly the typical customer, are we?"

Vivienne flashed a wide grin, her teeth glinting in the firelight. “I think no matter where I tread, I am not the typical customer.”

The goblin chuckled softly, the sound like a dry leaf rustling in the wind. "I suppose so. I am Mizzra, what brings you into my humble little shop then? Looking for something specific, or just browsing?"

Vivienne shook her head, letting her gaze wander over the rows of books with an air of fondness. "Not really. It's been a while since I last held a book. Do you sell any fiction?"

"Fiction?" Mizzra raised an eyebrow, the amused glint in her eyes softening into a thoughtful expression. "That's a rare taste, especially with how expensive books are these days. Most people want something useful—something practical." She tilted her head as she studied Vivienne.

Vivienne grinned wider, a playful glimmer in her dark eyes. “Sometimes there is nothing like losing yourself in a world of someone else's own creation.” Vivienne giggled knowingly.

Mizzra’s lips curled up in a sly smile. "I like your attitude. But fiction is a bit of a treat around here, given the state of things. I do have a few pieces here and there, though I will warn you, their price is high."

Vivienne’s eyes softened, a wave of nostalgia sweeping over her. She paused for a moment, her fingers brushing gently across the spines of the books. “Maybe as a little treat for myself it will be fine. Back where I’m from, books were cheap. One was the price of a meal or two.” Her voice carried a wistful edge, the memories of simpler times almost slipping from her control. She caught herself quickly, though, and masked the vulnerability with a small smile, letting her fingers wander across the shelves in a practiced way, as if the motion itself was a ritual.

Mizzra blinked, her sharp yellow eyes widening slightly. “I can’t imagine books being that cheap. Were they... made by slaves or something?”

Vivienne chuckled, the melodic sound filling the air like a warm breeze. "No, not slaves. They were made with artifice, not by hand.” She continued browsing, her mind distant for a moment as her thoughts flickered to a place long gone.

Mizzra leaned in a bit closer, her interest piqued. Her large ears twitched, betraying her curiosity. “Artifice, you say? Is it the designs of my sisters?” Her voice carried a touch of surprise, though it was mixed with the guarded skepticism of someone who had seen much of the world’s workings.

Vivienne’s lips curled into a grin, a flash of humor lighting her gaze. “No, it was humans, if you could believe it.”

Mizzra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowing in disbelief. She settled back, adjusting her spectacles with a knowing air. “I doubt humans would be capable of any artifice as advanced as this.” She wasn’t dismissive, but more bemused, as though trying to process the idea of such a thing from a species she likely saw as primitive in comparison to the mastery of her own kind.

Vivienne’s grin widened, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. “It’s true!” she said, her voice light and confident. “In fact, the humans there were so talentless with aether that the only thing they could really do was artifice.” She gave a small, almost affectionate shake of her head, as if fondly recalling an era that was both familiar and distant. "No magic for them—just a lot of clever mechanisms and clever minds."

Mizzra considered this, her yellow eyes flickering with a blend of skepticism and fascination. She let the silence stretch, her gaze flitting over Vivienne as if trying to gauge the truth in her words. It wasn’t often that a traveler walked into her shop with such tales of distant lands, and certainly not someone who seemed so comfortable in their own skin. She opened her mouth, then paused, a sudden thought crossing her mind.

“So, these humans,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “did they... did they work alone, or did they have help from, say, people like myself?” She gestured at herself with a flourish, clearly proud of her lineage, but there was also a flicker of wariness. "You make it sound like they were more... practical than magical, and that’s rare. Artifice requires a certain finesse."

Vivienne leaned on the counter slightly, her gaze focused on the shelves but her mind clearly still on the conversation. "In a way, it was the artifice that gave them their magic,” she said thoughtfully, her tone now reflective. “It wasn’t like the magic you’re familiar with—no weaving of aether or command over the elements. It was more about invention. A machine’s pulse was its magic. They built books like that—fast, efficient, simple." Her eyes twinkled at the thought, a gleam of excitement flashing in her gaze as she spoke of a long-lost world that seemed as distant as a dream.

Mizzra’s expression softened, her skeptical edge giving way to a more genuine interest. “That sounds... remarkable,” she said slowly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. “I suppose if you put it that way, it’s not all that different from what we do. We goblins... we understand the subtle art of crafting what others might call invention, though we do it through our tools. A great machine built by clever minds is not unlike a spell. Perhaps this is the lost art of your people.”

Vivienne's lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps.” She ran her fingers absently over the oak of the counter, a glint of something more calculating flickering in her eyes. Then, as if the idea had only just taken full shape, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping a little lower, though still warm and inviting. “I was never an artificer myself, but I do have approximate knowledge of many things. I might be willing to share some of the principles of that rapid book making, for an eventual return.”

Mizzra raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though her caution was still present in the careful way she observed Vivienne. “An eventual return, you say? And what exactly do you have in mind, my tall friend?” Her voice had a sharper edge now, as if she was assessing the weight of Vivienne’s offer, weighing the potential risks and rewards.

Vivienne gave a slow, thoughtful nod, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “I’m not asking for anything immediate,” she began, choosing her words carefully, as though constructing an offer that would appeal to Mizzra’s practical, profit-driven nature. “But if you’re interested, I can share what I know about the process of mass-producing books. How to do it quickly, efficiently—how to make a press that can create hundreds of copies in the time it would take you to write one by hand.” She paused, letting the idea sink in, watching Mizzra’s eyes flicker with interest. “It would be an investment at first. There are materials and tools involved, and you would need to develop the right machinery. But once you’ve perfected it… well, you could sell books by the dozen, and they could be sold at a price affordable to those who can’t even dream of paying for the ones you keep in here.”

Mizzra didn’t speak right away. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, eyes scanning Vivienne with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “That’s a pretty big claim, even for a creature as... impressive as you,” she said slowly, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You’re talking about changing how books are made, changing how information is shared. In a place like this?” She gestured around the shop, a touch of cynicism creeping into her tone. “Books are already a luxury. People here can barely afford them, and you want me to make hundreds of copies? For what—more customers who’ll never be able to pay?”

Vivienne tilted her head, her voice growing more persuasive. “Not necessarily more customers. But think of the future. A single book for the price of a meal? Imagine the potential markets. Imagine selling to scholars, merchants, those who need knowledge but can’t afford to commission a scribe to do the work. You could have books on everything: histories, tales, spells, or simply the mundane trades. And the more books you produce, the less expensive each one becomes.”

Mizzra’s eyes narrowed, her fingers tapping against the wood of the counter, but her expression was no longer one of skepticism. She was thinking—planning—calculating. “You make a good point. And this press you’re talking about... how long would it take to get up and running? And more importantly,” she added, her yellow eyes glinting with sharpness, “what’s your angle in all this?”

Vivienne’s smile was unflinching, her confidence unwavering. “I’m not a businesswoman, if that’s what you’re asking. But I have an interest in the spread of knowledge, and I also think there’s profit to be made in new ideas. I’m offering you the key to this press, to setting up the machinery. In return, when you start selling your books, I’d like a small percentage of the profit. Nothing too steep—a share of the earnings once you’re up and running. Think of it like a partnership, where you have all the control and I offer the foundation to get you there.”

Mizzra’s yellow eyes flicked from Vivienne to the bookshelves, then back to her, as if trying to judge the worth of the proposition. “So you’re looking to stake a claim on knowledge. Get a share of the profits from something that could change the way this city—and maybe even more—sees books.” Her lips curled into a smile. “I like it.”

Vivienne leaned back slightly, her posture casual, though she knew she had Mizzra’s attention now. “I’m not asking for much, just a fair share for providing the groundwork. And who knows,” she added with a sly smile of her own, “perhaps in time, we could discuss other... inventions. Ideas for automating other processes, for making even more money. And if you’ve got the skill for it, and I’ve got the knowledge to help make those ideas a reality.”

Mizzra stroked her chin thoroughly. “I suppose I could talk to some of my sisters about this. What about initial capital? WIll you be investing money into this?”

Vivienne nodded. “I can offer some. Perhaps more in future. I am in the process of gaining more funds as we speak for various projects.”

Mizzra’s yellow eyes gleamed with interest, her fingers tapping lightly against the oak counter. “Ah, well, if you can secure some funding, then I think we can make something of this.” She leaned forward slightly, her wrinkled green face full of consideration. “I’ll need to consult with my sisters, but this—this could be something big. New processes, automation…” She trailed off, her thoughts clearly already racing ahead.

Vivienne watched her, pleased to see the wheels turning. “You’ve got the right mind for it, Mizzra. And a fair share is all I ask. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.”

Mizzra finally straightened, offering a small, but genuine smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. You’ve intrigued me, Vivienne. Now, tell me—your people must have been something truly remarkable, to have created such a thing. Where are they now?”

Vivienne’s expression softened, a subtle sadness clouding her eyes. She glanced down at her hands, her claws gently tapping against the counter in rhythm. The weight of the question hung in the air for a long moment before she spoke, her voice steady but distant.

“They sank into the sea,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, drawing upon the fact she’d never see her children again to improve the efficacy of the lie. “I’m the only survivor I know about.”

Mizzra blinked, taken aback by the simplicity and finality of the statement. For a brief moment, she seemed at a loss for words, as if trying to grasp the magnitude of what Vivienne had just revealed. The silence stretched on for a heartbeat, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just heavy with understanding.

“I’m sorry,” Mizzra said softly, her voice gentler than before. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like. To lose everything like that…”

Vivienne met her gaze again, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s been a long time. I’ve made my peace with it.”

Mizzra nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Well, I’m glad you’re still standing. And I’m even more glad you found your way here. There’s a lot to be learned from you, Vivienne. And I’ve got a feeling we’ll be working together more than once.”

Vivienne chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in her smile. “I look forward to it. But for now, let’s focus on getting this printing idea off the ground, yes?”

Mizzra grinned back, the spark of excitement reigniting in her eyes. “Right, right. One step at a time.”