Chapter Six: Interview

“Stop fusing!”  Daria said, batting my hands away from the hem of my blouse.  “It's perfect.  You look great.  Classy.  Professional.”

 I clasped my hands into fists at my sides and took a deep breath in.

“What if he asks for references?  Prior job experience?”  I said, biting the inside of my cheek.

“He won't ask for references, I'm your reference.  I told him you're an exchange student from London.  You're only eighteen and you've never had a formal job before, but you're a great speaker and you adore books.”  Daria said.

 I twisted my mouth as I stared into the mirror.  “I am only eighteen?”

Nirina smirked,  “Yeeeeah.  You looked in the mirror?  You definitely pass for eighteen.”  

Daria turned me around by the shoulders to face her.  “Don't stress out.  He's an old family friend.  He's a little cranky and has a tendency to zone out, but he's got a heart of gold.  And he loves books!  You've got that in common.”

I swallowed.  “But... I fear...”

Daria held up her finger.  “No!  No buts.  No fear.”

“Yeah.” Nirina added.  “Where’s that fearless warrior who told off a room full of stupid college kids?  Bring her back.  I bet she’d kill an interview.”

I gave her a blank stare, and Nirina seemed to realize the absurdity of her words. 

She laughed nervously, and then cleared her throat.  “Uhh.. it’s an expression… it means she’d do well.”

I nodded my head, but I could not quiet the racing thoughts inside my mind.  This was such a perfect opportunity to do something that I truly enjoyed, and I knew if it did not work out then I would be utterly crushed.  Then it would be back to the streets and the applications, and the resumes, and the discouragement.

If only I could slay the interview as though it were a beast.  It would make things much easier, and I had all the prior experience I needed.  No references would be required.

“It’s time to go.  Are you ready?”  Daria asked.

I took a deep breath.

“As I will ever be.”

The inside of Tome Traders was warm and inviting.  Walking in, I could smell that old familiar scent of pressed pages and leather binding.  My eyes scanned over the towering bookcases, my heart pounding with new excitement.  I still could not get used to the sheer depth of knowledge that was at my fingertips here in the future.

“Good luck.”  Daria whispered to me, flashing a thumbs-up as she backed out the door.  “We’ll be right outside.

I nodded my head, watching her until the door shut and I could no longer make out her form through the stained glass window.  I took a deep breath, inhaling that beautiful scent of books, and walked towards the counter.

A middle-aged man stood behind it with his eyes downcast.  When I stepped closer, I could see that he was reading, holding a book open just beyond the sight of the average customer.  I cleared my throat, and he jerked up.

“Mr. Peters?”  I asked, stepping up to the counter.  “I’m Sophia Carol… Daria’s friend?”

“Oh…” the little man behind the counter said, glancing at the clock and shutting his book.  “Oh… you’re early…”

“I… apologize.”  I said, biting my lip.  “If you wish, I can wait until you are ready…”

“No, no.”  Mr. Peters said, shaking his head and stepping out from behind the counter.  “No time like the present.  Come right this way, Miss Carol.”

Mr. Peters opened a small door that led to a cozy little office space.  He invited me to sit, and I thanked him.  My hands felt clammy against the armrests so I wound them together in my lap.

“Sophia Carol…” Mr. Peter said, chuckling to himself as he sat behind his desk.  “The first thing that struck me about you was your name.  I imagine your parents were very attached to Dragon Valley mythology?  Yes?”

I bit my tongue, forcing myself to smile in return.  Quite a number of strangers, with varying degree of amusement, had remarked upon my name.  For the hundredth time, I regretted scoffing at Hale’s suggestion to change it.

“Yes.  Very much so.  They were great scholars of our lore.”  I answered.

“Strange… were they also born in London?”  Mr. Peters asked, lifting his eyebrows.

Plagues!  I thought with a shot of panic pounding through my blood.  Plagues and pestilence and murder!

I fought to keep my expression neutral.

“Yes…”  I said, laughing nervously.  “I know it seems strange for a couple halfway around the world to bear any interest in faraway…”  I swallowed, hoping he would not notice that I had clasped my shaking fingers tight together in my lap, “… legends.”

Mr. Peters waved his hand, still smiling.  “No, no… I find it fascinating.  Odd, but intriguing.  To think, I get to tell my book club that I met a young woman named Sophia Carol.  Outlandish, Ms. Bellerose will say!  Impossible!”  Mr. Peters looked up at me with bright eyes, wagging his finger in the air.  “Oh, but Ms. Bellerose, ‘Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’ ”

He continued chuckling to himself for a moment.  I tried to smile back in return.  His face fell, and he cleared his throat.  I had the distinct feeling that I had failed to get something, and I felt a pang of regret.

“So tell me Sophia, how did you meet Daria?”  Mr. Peters asked.

 “Oh…” I said, my mind racing to come up with a believable story.  “I assisted her with her science project!”

I had been the subject.  That counted, did it not?

Mr. Peters nodded his head.  “Ah.  What a good student Daria is.”  He got this far-off glint in his eyes as he stared over my shoulder.  “I knew the girl when she was just a sprout.  She’s blossomed so beautifully…  I still can’t believe she’s in college already.”  He sighed, and with a blink he was back in the present.  “So, I looked over your resume.  You have never had a job before?”

“No, sir.”  I admitted, my eyes downcast.

He put his chin in his hand, shaking his head.  “Children these days.  Why, by the time I was fifteen my father had me doing heavy labor in the back of his warehouse every day after school.  To teach discipline, he said!  Discipline and responsibility!”

“If I may… sir…”  I said, straightening up, my throat feeling dry even as I steeled my nerves to speak.  “I may not have any formal experience, but…”

“Oh… no… that’s alright.  I apologize.”  he said, sighing.  “I should know better than to judge without pause.  ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one . . . just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.’  Yes, I ought to remember.” 

He smiled at me, a warm, genuine smile, and I realized that I liked him.  He had a sweet demeanor, and a hearty laugh.  Even his tendency to stare off into space, daydreaming I assume, was endearing.  I wanted desperately for him to give me a chance.

“So do tell me, Sophia, what qualifies you to work in my bookstore?”  he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I am a quick study…”  I began, listing off the qualities I had rehearsed a dozen times in my head.  “I have learned to adapt to a different culture, after all.”  I said, smiling at him.  He smiled back, nodding in invitation for me to continue.  “And I adore books.  Your collection here is astounding… surely a man with such wealth in knowledge must be a man of great wisdom!”

Mr. Peters shook his head sheepishly.  “Oh, I would not say great wisdom.  Not great, no. ‘I do not know everything; still many things I understand.’”  He held up his finger, his eyes lighting up again.  “Tell me about your favorite books.  Perhaps you have read The Ballad of Sophia Carol?  Saint Carol and the Dragons?”

“I… I am sorry.”  I said, my stomach twisting in knots as his face fell.  “I am unfamiliar with those texts…”

“Oh.”  Mr. Peters said, his hand dropping back down to the desk.  “Maybe… maybe the epic, Eternal as the Mountain Stone?”  I shook my head again, and his smile vanished completely.  “I suppose it would be strange to read about your namesake.  But still… such classics!  Young people these days have no appreciation for the classics.  They hardly read at all.  They tear apart the English language with their trends, their slang, their texting.”  He sighed, closing his eyes.  “ ‘It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words.’ ”

I opened my mouth to reply, to correct him and tell him that I did indeed adore the classics.  Before I could say a single word, I had a sudden horrible thought.  It was possible none of my favorite books had survived to be classics.  Perhaps they were all simply archaic, unheard-of, and lost to history.  While I sat there, sinking further down in my chair, Mr. Peters continued mumbling to himself.

“I’ve tried to get them interested.  I’ve kept up on all the latest young adult trends… stocked the shelves with the bestsellers.”  His eyes grew sad.  “Still, my customer-base ages without renewal.  Demographic winter.  Oh, how wonderful it would be to have dozens of children in the store again, just like when I was a boy!  Ms. Bellerose told me the era of books was over.  I said she was wrong, that I would fight it!”  His head dropped low and he stared at his desk. “ ‘But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them.’”

“Mr. Peters?”  I asked, leaning forward.

He blinked, as though startled to realize that I was still there.  He coughed, adjusting his collar and rising to his feet.

“I… I am not certain I even need extra help in the store.  Maybe someone to stock the shelves every few hours… but I had a retired gentleman apply a week ago.  Yes.  That may be what is best.”  he said, heading for the door.

I clasped the armrests, my mouth dropping open.  Was he ending the interview so soon?  I had barely enough time to convince him of my qualifications.  He had not asked me what my greatest weakness was!  He had hardly asked me anything!

He turned the door handle.  My heart was plummeting.

“I can call you tomorrow, and let you know my decision.”  He said, his voice low and somber.  “Yes.  Tomorrow.”

I stared down at the floor as I stood to my feet.  My legs felt cold and numb, my arms felt heavy hanging by my sides.  

I heard Mr. Peters murmuring, so low that I almost missed it.

“To-morrow, Troy must flame…"

My head jerked up.

“Or Greece must fall.” I answered.

Mr. Peters started, turning back to look at me with a quizzical expression. “Beg pardon?”

 “To-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece must fall.  You quote the Iliad, do you not?” I said, stepping towards him.  “I read it a hundred dozen times as a child.”

His eyes widened.  I took a deep breath, smiling to myself as I recited.

“See what a blaze from hostile tents aspires,

How near our fleet approach the Trojan fires!"

"Who can, unmoved, behold the dreadful light?

What eye beholds them, and can close to-night?"

"This dreadful interval determines all;

To-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece must fall…”

I paused just for a moment to take a breath, and then suddenly found my mind blank. 

For an instant, my head swam with panic.  

I looked to Mr. Peters.  He stood with his back to the door and his eyes seemed almost misty.

“Can you start tomorrow?” he asked.