The DragonLeaf Chronicle
Flash Fiction
The DragonLeaf Chronicle rested on the highest shelf at the back of the bookstore. The store was named for the epic fantasy, the author himself having gifted the present owner with a signed, first-edition copy of his work, just about the same time Mr. Randolph inaugurated his new store, DragonLeaf Books.
Mr. Randolph claimed to have met the author on a long-ago trip to the city, and transported the massive volume home with considerable effort on his part. The store owner was a small man, and the townspeople easily believed he might have struggled under the load. It was the kind of book that impressed potential readers by its heft.
Once home, Mr. Randolph rarely brought the Chronicle down from its place, though it was rumored one or two people had read the volume in its entirety; however, that claim remained unconfirmed. Mr. Randolph was regarded as the authority on the tale. Oddly, his telling of the story varied in its consistency.
Inspired by his retellings, a number of competing versions took hold, giving rise to plays, occasional pageants, and even a flourishing DragonFest that was staged at the height of summer every year. The population of the town swelled to accommodate all the visitors who arrived to enjoy the epic, and argue about the details, during the week-long festival. Mr. Randolph was treated as a minor celebrity during that week, for having introduced them all to the story.
Mr. Randolph frequently congratulated himself on his decision to acquire the book that had become so important to his life. His complacency deepened as time passed, until, one morning, he entered the store, and his prized book was missing.
The store owner was instantly distraught. He summoned his assistant, who brewed his boss a cup of tea, but had nothing to contribute to the mystery.
After the first shock, Mr. Randolph quickly concluded that some person around town, motivated by jealousy, must have stolen the book. When his assistant suggested that it might be a prank, Mr. Randolph glared at him. The disappearance of the DragonLeaf Chronicle was serious business.
The situation was made worse by the fact that the week of DragonFest was rapidly approaching. It was the busiest time of year for Mr. Randolph’s bookstore, and visitors often made a pilgrimage to the back of the store, where the Chronicle rested on its shelf. Except now it wasn’t there.
By the second morning, Mr. Randolph had decided to offer a reward. He might have guessed the effect this would have, if he stopped to consider, but desperation clouded his thought. He put up a poster behind the counter, and mentioned the reward to every person who came into the store. Within a short time, Mr. Randolph had welcomed a string of people, arriving to share information.
When the first informant claimed to have seen a specific person, lingering at the back of the store, Mr. Randolph believed the report. However, the first report was followed by multiple similar claims featuring various other suspects. Mr. Randolph soon recognized, his reward had inspired all kinds of speculation, driven by grievances among the townspeople. He didn’t learn anything useful to his case.
Mr. Randolph sat in his spot behind the counter, chin in hand, feeling despondent. His store had lost all claim to special notice with the disappearance of the Chronicle. What was his bookstore without the DragonLeaf? As Mr. Randolph sat staring at the most recent cup of tea, brought by his assistant, he noted the familiar face of young Charlie come into sight.
Charlie’s father had worked in the capacity of assistant, back when the store first opened. Charlie greeted the store owner by saying, he had come to see if the book was really gone.
Mr. Randolph indicated the empty shelf, not having the heart to tell his story again. For some reason, Charlie appeared gleeful, rather than otherwise, hearing the absence confirmed.
“It’s just like the story predicted,” he said, lowering his voice.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Randolph said, sitting up and taking notice.
“The tome will disappear from view, before the advent of the dragon.”
Mr. Randolph found himself unable to ask the many questions that came to mind.
“You know what happens next?” Charlie said.
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Randolph said, looking at the boy. “Of course I know.”
Until next time.
[This story was inspired by Bradley Ramsey’s Day #4 prompt for Flash Fiction February: a cozy mystery involving the disappearance of a famous book]. Art from the 1200’s.
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