Chapter 3 – The Man Named Bryant Clifton (Part 10)

“We’re almost there.”

Bryant said, turning the steering wheel to the right. The car smoothly made a right turn onto Wellington Street. Ink Alley, where publishing houses, newspapers, and printing houses were clustered. The road paved with gray bricks was wet from last night’s downpour. Evelyn, focusing on the smooth surface, thought.

There was no reason not to. Pure pleasure. Indulging in the maximum enjoyment without harming life. If she could taste only that and let it go without regret. If she didn’t dream foolish dreams of eternity.

There’s no reason not to enjoy this rare passion.

“We’ve arrived.”

With a low voice, the car came to a stop. The man’s voice sounded slightly cheerful. When she met his gaze as he turned to look at her, Evelyn consciously pulled up the corners of her mouth to form a smile.

Bryant got out of the driver’s seat and closed the door with a thud. Left alone in the seat, Evelyn watched as he walked around the front of the car. His face, devoid of a smile, unexpectedly exuded a cold atmosphere. It was a face that looked somewhat arrogant.

“Please, step out.”

The man who opened the car door extended a hand to the woman. His face, as he attended to the lady, once again lit up with a faint smile. The dark clouds that had poured rain all night still lingered overhead. The gray-blue clouds enveloped Kingston.

Evelyn glanced briefly at the dark clouds above the man’s head, then placed one hand on his outstretched hand.

*

A book is only truly born after passing through a printing house, but it’s rare for an author to witness that scene firsthand. This is due to a common belief among those in the publishing industry in Ink Alley, which holds that if an author watches their book being printed, it will either sell poorly or receive bad reviews. The author’s visit is said to bring misfortune.

“A book not selling is a terrifying curse for publishers.”

Bryant emphasized ‘terrifying’ with a raised eyebrow. Evelyn let out a small laugh.

“That’s ridiculous. Do they really believe in such superstitions?”

“Perhaps at some point long ago, such incidents coincidentally happened together. Or it could be a story made up by the printing house people to keep the publishing house folks at bay. For the record, I firmly believe it’s the latter.”

He lowered his voice slightly when he said the last part. Evelyn let out a small laugh.

“It seems the publishing house people are quite a nuisance to the printing house.”

“Of course. There are quite a few cases where typesetting errors occur, resulting in typos. Since these are human errors, they can’t really be accounted for as losses, so the publishing house has no choice but to be as annoying as possible to ensure attention to our books.”

“So that’s why you insisted on visiting today. To be a nuisance here.”

“You’re seeing right through me today.”

Bryant laughed lightly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve shown my face, so I thought I’d visit, especially since it’s a reprint. There are also new books going to print next week.”

“You’re putting a lot of effort into this.”

“It’s only natural. These are works that authors have poured their hearts into.”

Evelyn turned her head to look at the man standing to her left. He stood with his back and neck straight, observing the view of the workshop. Works poured with heart. Even though she knew it was something said to please her, she couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest.

Despite being a holiday, the printing house was bustling. The high-ceilinged, open space was packed with workers and their tools. There were casting machines for producing type, sorting boxes for storing individual types, and steam-powered printing presses.

Evelyn watched the letters on the paper spat out by the massive machines. Even though they were sentences she had written, they seemed strangely unfamiliar. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliar noise of the printing house—whirring, clacking, and unusual sounds.

It wasn’t just the noise. The place was filled with unfamiliar smells. The damp smell of printing ink, the dusty smell of rising paper, and the smell of lubricant between machine parts.

Amidst these smells, Evelyn could distinguish a familiar scent. The scent of perfume carried by warm body heat. Evelyn could identify the unique smell emanating from the man. In the morning, it was the sharp scent of Narcissus. By night, it mixed with his natural scent to become something slightly different.

The scent of a sensual man.

“This is the type used in the book.”

Bryant handed her a piece of lead type he had brought from somewhere. Although typesetters were working nearby, no one stopped him. They all seemed to know who he was.

“My goodness. It’s incredibly small.”

“There are about 3,000 types on a single page of a book. The Evergreen Forest is nearly 400 pages, so that’s over a million types.”

A million. Evelyn opened her mouth slightly, carefully touching the type he handed her. It was a very small piece of metal, about half the thickness of a pencil.

“When a typesetter combines the types to create a plate, the printer puts it in the press to print on paper. The bookbinder then binds it into a book.”

It was a simple explanation, but the process was anything but simple. Evelyn imagined the scene of manually combining over a million types and spaces, one by one, in order.

“It’s truly a laborious task, making a book.”

“I’m sure it is. But it’s also very rewarding.”

Bryant answered, picking up a book. The cover, bound in crimson leather, had the title embossed in gold. The Evergreen Forest.

“A well-made book endures for a very long time. Once printed, a book doesn’t change. The story within is preserved forever.”

His low voice resonated in the air. Evelyn looked at her book in his large hand. The words stamped clearly on the cover. Dennis Howle. Viewcastle Publishing.

“Making books is a very attractive endeavor.”

Evelyn shifted her gaze to the man’s face. His eyes, looking at the book, were completely softened. It wasn’t the cold, arrogant expression or the polite smile of a well-mannered gentleman. It was pure affection. Evelyn saw something very sincere in his gaze, and she felt it touch her heart.

Then she became curious. About the contradictions this man harbored and the circumstances behind them.

A staunch bachelor. Someone who distrusts the romantic nature of love and only believes in momentary pleasure. Yet, someone who creates stories to be preserved forever. A man who pursues romance but doesn’t apply it to reality.

When she thought that far, she suddenly realized. She hadn’t yet heard why he chose to remain single.

“Shall we head out? I’ll take you home.”

Bryant said, putting down the book he was holding. The books stacked neatly on the binding table were steadily increasing. Evelyn nodded and turned to follow him.

‘That’s not why I chose to remain single, but I completely agree with what you just said.’

Could I ask him again? 

It would undoubtedly be a very private and sensitive question, but Evelyn wanted to hear the answer. Someday, perhaps soon, she would have the opportunity to ask him.

The opportunity would come soon. She was almost certain. She would be spending a lot of time with him soon.

‘From the moment you leave here, you’ll be moving with me. I’ll arrange your stay in Issen, and I’ll accompany you when you have an audience with Her Majesty. You’ll need to have me with you for all your schedules in Trissen. Until you safely finish your visit to your homeland and return here.’

 It was only ten days away. The day she would return to her homeland, Trissen.