The Editor Is the Novel’s Extra

Arq Street down the eastern side of the Tempus River was packed with printing, binding, and binding companies.

Clay, who got off the carriage first, stood by the door and helped Dionne get off. The alley was narrow and the floor was cramped, so I had to concentrate all my attention on catching Dione.

The street where the floor was wheeled due to the constant movement of carts and wagons, now it seems familiar to Clayo.

"It also feels like Eulji-ro printing alley before all the printing shops we were dealing with moved to Paju and Ilsan."

Even if the two worlds came and became quite rich, and even if they had connections with the royal family, they could not shed the nature of Kim Jung-jin, a commoner who sat inside Clayo.

For him, it was much more comfortable in places like this than in places where there were dozens of gold-plated curries, and where aristocratic conversations were held under long candlesticks and chandeliers.

Clayo tactfully opened the squeaky back door and entered the office of Bartleby and Bubar Printing.

The sound of the printing press turning over the thin wall separating the factory from the office was noisy.

The old man was sitting alone in the office. It was John Bartleby, the head of the printing house.

"Hello, Mr. Bartleby."

"Oh, student Asher, here it is."

Bartleby, who still had a solid frame and neatly tucked hair, was not his usual work uniform, but his black suit he wore when he went to church on weekends.

He leaned his stick next to the bookshelf, and sat helplessly in a chair, holding his head.

As the head of the people's flag-scola chapter and the head of the water union of the printing press, it was always an uncharacteristic act of Bartleby.

"Is there something wrong with you? You look bad."

"Sigh… it has nothing to do with the student… Sit down for now."

"If you don't mind, could you tell me what's going on?"

"That's what?.”

Bartleby, who looked out the window once, looked down at his hand once, couldn't open his mouth easily.

I have been in and out of the printing press to communicate with Fran, and I have become quite familiar with Bartleby.

As soon as he announced that he was his only friend at school because he had already accepted Fran, he treated him as if he were his younger nephew.

Klayo, bent down, patted Bartleby on the shoulder and said in an earnest tone.

"Even though I'm a young student, if we put our heads together, we might be ashamed."

"This is a long story... But who is the girl you've never seen before?"

Clay and Dionne exchanged glances silently. Bartleby's difficult situation seemed to be not something to talk about in public.

Clayo quickly introduced Dione.

"This is Dionne Greyer of the Greyer Corporation. I was looking for a print shop to speed things up, so I brought you here to meet me."

The two had already worked together in various places for more than half a year. He also wrote an ether contract with his heart and danced countless times.

This much was just pretending.

Dionne matched the rhythm as if she had understood Clayo's intentions.

"You're late for greeting. It's Dionne Greyer, who's helping the Grayer Corporation. It's nice to meet you."

Dionne, who emphasized his status as heir to the Greyhair Chamber of Commerce instead of the title of nobility, naturally reached out to Bartleby and asked for a handshake.

Thanks to Dionne, who solved Bartleby's guard for a short time, we could see the whole story.

"Our usual businesses will cancel all calendar and calendar prints starting next year. Bankers in the Beatus Autonomous Region also said they would stop asking for paper supplies."

"One time?"

"Yes, it was a one-sided notification, so I met the people in charge, but they just kept saying no without explanation, no renewal."

"No, you can't do that."

"That's what I'm saying. Our printing shop has a lot of skilled workers, so it's fast and accurate, and wages are high. From children to nephews and cousins, I'm worried about what to do."

I don't know if you're quitting at any one of your clients, but it felt strange to stop trading at all of your clients just before New Year's Day.

"I heard that Mr. Bartleby is very diligent and has a good reputation for the Bartleby and Bubar printing press. I don't think it's about the work.’

"Does Mr. Bartleby know the reason for the suspension?"

Bartleby wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief and sighed as if the ground was about to go out.

Clay didn't rush him and waited a little longer.

with a slurping sound

Bartleby, who rose from his chair, opened the bottom compartment of a tributary in the corner of the office.

"I think there's only one reason. It's a fact that we printed it."

What Bartleby took out was a thin-thick pamphlet. It was a 16-page booklet with a cover, with two folds of the printed material.

Clayo quickly looked over the pamphlet.

It was written in a simple style to urge workers to join the union to win the rights of workers.

However, just because the style was simple, the content was not shallow.

It was a prestigious place that explained how workers could exercise political influence under the representative system in order to make it easier for even those with short studies to understand.

Although there was no brilliant logic or sharp analysis, Clayo seemed to be able to recognize the author of this article.

'Yeah, just because you quit being the head of the flag, you weren't a good detective.’

"Mr. Bartleby, was this booklet written by Ghibril Blanche?”

"…yes."

At the same time, the appointment sparkled and gave a delicate glow. A message of promise came up over the unique bumps in print printing.

It was a very faint light, but it was a light.

Tens of thousands of copies of the pamphlet were still in effect for the Pran's scar "Propaganda."

'Oh, my God. Come on now. It's almost a miracle.’

The heart-moving sentences, written by Fran, clearly offended the reader in the opposite direction, as much as they exerted force in the positive direction.

"His stigma draws deeper support from his sympathizers, but a fierce backlash from his opponents. Two sides of the coin. Ugh.'

That made the livelihood of Mr. Bartleby's printing house and the printing press union dangerous, so it was clear that Fran would be overwhelmed with guilt and responsibility again when he learned the inside story.

'No, she's got a lot to investigate now, and it's hard to say she's coming back to the capital. Now is the time when one of the city's castles is blocked."

"It wouldn't have been normal, but you're great. Dandelion seeds that spread out from the streets of Ark."

"Asher knows how to say nice things. Yeah, it's spread as far away as dandelion seeds. Even with our printing press association, the number of membership inquiries has definitely increased. But I didn't expect to be threatened to that extent.”

Bartleby was among the moderates of the flag.

During the last election, radical factions of the flag boycotted the civil service election itself, but I heard that he supported the party's member, Geston Palach, in November.

"I don't want a bloody revolution. I can't believe I retaliated like this. Cowards, damnation."

"How long has the contract been set out in the contract?"

"I was forced to pay a penalty. I tried to return it, but they sent me out. The bank refused to send money."

Dionne, listening to the conversation between Bartleby and Clayo, broke in between the two.

"The second son of a noble family, those who don't inherit the title, become the greasy moustaches of bankers and stock exchanges. For those who pretend to measure, this thin pamphlet must have been very intimidating."

"These sixteen pages would have moved the hearts of low-level clerks and messengers more intensely than any other radical book."

Dionne, who was listening to Clayo's answer, erased his facial expression from his face. As if the water had frozen, the snow was colored with cold light.

Dionne had nothing to know about the situation of the stockmen.

She was, in fact, a manufacturing and retail person, and didn't have much good feelings for those who sat down, rolled pens, and moved huge amounts of money.

"Mr. Bartleby did a great job. You did it right. It's a stiffer law for those who don't have anything to say, and a stronger scratch for the threatened beast."

"But that scratch is killing me. I have to pay for the paper, repair two printing presses, buy new types, pay the employees a few months in penalty, but only when the biggest thing gets cut off....”

Bartleby's face deepened. If they didn't collude in that way and give them work, it would be difficult to get a new contract in the capital right away.

Clay asked Bartleby, conscious of the checkbook in his jacket pocket.

"May I ask what the most urgent payment is?”

"Payments for the paper. The promissory note payment date is coming back, and if we don't deposit the money on time, we'll be behind in the next paper supply."

When Clayo blinked because he didn't know the English text, Dionne added an additional explanation.

"Oh, all the printing papers come from the Royal Paper. If you don't get the paper, you won't be able to print it even if you get the job."

"Miss Grayer knows this very well. I don't know."

"But you didn't cancel the print permission at all, did you said.

"Yes, Miss Grey. I've never taken a day's worth of taxes or wages. I guess they didn't even get my print permission. There's nothing that comes out even if I shake it off.”

"Mr. Bartleby, then, can I talk to you about work? That's why Mr. Greer is here."

"Yes, tell me."

The three men stood still and proceeded with the story.

"I'm going to print a book."

"Miss Grayer. If it's a book, which one, how much?"

In fact, Dionne has yet to hear about the exact edition or the breakdown of the book. The progress was becoming like a complete panoply.

"The Asher over here will explain it in detail.”

Only Clayo could have noticed, but Dionne's voice, which said "Sir Clayo" and "The Master" were neither "you," but "Asher" was mixed with fine tremors.

He must be doing all he can to not laugh in a serious situation.

How much interest will it cost to make fun of later... No, let's not think about that.’

Clayo quickly received the ball that Dionne gave him.

"We would like to produce about 300 four-piece versions of the four-part edition, and two octavo-type low-end soft-cover books with fewer illustrations."

"Huh... no, thank you for bringing me work in the meantime. It's like a gift from God. How much are you thinking about breaking it?”

"We will decide the number of copies based on the responses three months after the release of the first 1,000 copies and the first edition."

"What are you going to do about the long and the post-processing?"

"I was going to tell you that anyway. I heard that there are people in the printing association who are working on printing, so could you introduce them?

"I can. There are a couple of companies that have been shaken in the aftermath of this."

"Then I'd like to do that. We will confirm the detailed production schedule after the manuscript is received. What's the price of the printout paper that I need to settle before that?"

"It's eight thousand dinars, but why....”

"Then I'll make a deposit of 8,000 dinars, and I'll prepay it in cash first."

“!!!”

"Are you all right, Mr. Greyer?"

"Yes, go ahead."

Clay took the Aurel bank checkbook out of his arms with a light touch.

The boy's long, white fingers held the pen and signed it casually.

John Bartleby's eyes grew to a size that could no longer grow.

Printed paper size. 210×330mm.

continuously