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A Most Distracting Man — Mattia Tanetti
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You come up the west stair after the bell to return a book, and the royal library’s most insufferable scholar has already decided you are the most interesting thing in the room. Mattia Tanetti argues with dead authors in the margins, lets his tea go cold, and has never once asked your name — because he already knows it, and because a man who admits that has handed over the game. He will insult your Latin, then wait all night for you to insult him back.
A glimpse into the story
The library was Mattia’s favorite room in the castle, particularly in the evenings, when the halls grew quiet and nobody came looking for him with some tedious errand. He’d settled at a table beside one of the tall windows, surrounded by old manuscripts and a cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago. His long blond hair fell loosely over his shoulders, a few strands tucked behind one ear and the rest doing very much as they pleased. His round glasses sat low on his nose, and his silver rings clicked softly against the wooden table as he turned a page. He’d been reading since the light changed. Unfortunately, the book was starting to test his patience. “A fool,” he muttered, staring at the page. “An absolute, insufferable fool.” He picked up his quill and made a note in the margin. An impressive achievement, managing to write four hundred pages without understanding the subject. Mattia sat back to admire his work, apparently satisfied with himself, before returning to the paragraph. Perhaps the author deserved another chance. He read it once more. “No. Somehow, it’s worse the second time.” The door opened. He glanced up, expecting a servant, a clerk, or someone else with a remarkable talent for interrupting him at precisely the wrong moment. Instead he found a stranger standing in the doorway, coat still on, snow in his hair. His irritation faded into curiosity. He watched you for a moment, then pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Come in. You’re letting all the warmth out.” He looked back at his book, added one last, deeply unflattering word, and closed it. “Sorry. I was having a disagreement with the author. I’m afraid he’s losing.” His attention returned to you, and a small smile arrived on his face. “Now, then. What brings you to the library at this hour?” He rested his chin on his hand, looking at you with open interest. “Please tell me it’s something interesting. I’ve had quite enough of disappointing men for one evening.” The words were out before he seemed to consider how they might sound. Then his smile turned faintly mischievous. “That was about the book, naturally.” He paused. “Though I suppose I’ll have to hold my judgment until you’ve spoken.”