A book of silences

Chapter eight - off to see the wizard

"Yeah," said Bee. She'd been here before and recognized the doorman, or at least his amazing moustache. "Is there anything good being sold?"

"Couple of house clearances. Lawnmowers from a business that went bust. And books. Lots of books."

Bee recognized a good segue when she heard it and dug out the receipt for the book she'd bought Cat. "Talking of books," she said, "I got something here a while ago. Any more from the same lot left?"

The man took the slip from Bee and examined it carefully. "We're not supposed to give any information out about the identity of our clients." He looked at the three young woman over his glasses, who tried to look hopeful, friendly and non-criminal at the same time. He shrugged. "But it's a deceased estate sale, so there's not really a problem." He pulled out a tatty accounts book from a desk drawer and flipped back a few pages. "Oh yeah, Dr D. Tir; I remember, huge number of books, in the end we just sold them off in job lots; guess that what you bought. Funny thing is two days after the sale someone turned up and bought everything we had left. Paid top dollar, brought a truck too and just took everything away. You're out of luck."

Seeing the disappointment on their faces, he added. "Mind you, there were so many crates, and our computer system is so bad there could still be a few boxes left about the place. Also, he pissed us off, insisting we transfer everything at once. The boys might have chucked a few random boxes in and ignored those that were a long way from the truck. Try the far corner," he shouted after the girls as they hurried into the warehouse. "Away from the current sale!"

                                                                                   .....

After two hours of searching, they were all fed up. There were boxes and boxes of books scattered about in random piles, some opened, with their contents scattered about, others collapsing from a combination of the weight of the books and some chewing due to rats.

"Yuck," said Bee, brushing dust off her top. She'd managed to slip between two huge wooden crates and inserted herself into a tiny space behind them. Here there were stacks of older boxes, faded and covered in dust. There was more evidence of rodents and most of the boxes bore teeth marks, as well as having a faint odour of rat urine. One box, however, looked newer, lying on its side with its contents spilling out.

"Must have fallen off the crate," said Bee. She picked up a book off the floor and opened it. The ex libris in the front was an etching of three huge stone heads, crumbling and damaged, but with crowns visible on their brows. Dimitri Tir, Ph.D said the label, in beautiful handwriting. There was a date below the name.

Three people could not get into the space that Bee was in, so she passed handfuls of the books to her two friends, before emerging to join them in searching through them. They quickly checked the bookplates on each volume and made three piles. One was of books belonging to Dr Tir and written in English, the second were those belonging to Dr Tir but written in foreign languages and the third were those that came from the fallen box but did not have the name Dimitri Tir in the front. Bev quickly picked the English pile as it was the smallest, while Bee, being multi-lingual, took the foreign language stack. Cat was left with the unknown pile, which she didn't mind at all, and she quickly set about classifying them.

Thirty minutes later they were interrupted by one of the Pickles staff. The contents sale at the front of the warehouse had just finished, and as the buyers left the workers started to wander around the building.

"Oy, what do you think you're doing?" said a loud voice. The owner, a tall, well-muscled woman in her forties and wearing the trade-marked fluorescent Pickles jacket approached them rapidly. "You're not supposed to be here."