“It’s a very thick, very old book…” the old woman told her grandson.  She lifted the heavy volume from her lap and showed the child the page they had been studying.  The boy leant forward to get a better look in the dim firelight of the room.

  “They always are…” he murmured grumpily, gazing disinterestedly at the yellowed page.  Sitting by the warm fire was making him sleepy and he had no doubt his grandmother would not let him go to bed for hours yet.

  “Ban, stop sulking. You’re not a 5 year old,” the old woman commanded.  But this just made him sulk further.  It annoyed him no end that he couldn’t even argue effectively with the old crone.  She was too quick and too clever for him despite her years.  Ban thought getting older only seemed to make her stronger.  He hoped it would work that way for him too.  Then maybe he could become stronger than even the old witch. 

His grandmother though just sighed heavily and offered Ban the book, “Here, Boy. Read these two pages…and don’t give me that look. This is important.”  The boy sat back down on the richly carpeted floor and began to read the first few lines out loud.

  “Not in English, say it in German,” the old woman instructed.

  “But it’s written in English…” her grandson protested.

  “I want to hear it in German,” she answered.

  “But you can understand…”

  “Stop arguing, Boy,” she snapped and turned her eyes towards the stubborn child, “You really are irritating. Now just do as I say.”  She held her grandson’s obstinate gaze for a moment then looked back towards the fire and waited.  Ban just sat there for a couple of minutes staring blankly down at the page before he sighed melodramatically and began reading again.  The old woman closed her eyes and allowed herself a small triumphant smile.  Everything was a battle with Ban.  The boy just couldn’t stand to be told what to do.  He was a lot more like her than she would ever care to admit. 

  “The book was said to have been burned in 1557 after the execution of its then owner Joachim Hezensohn.  However, it appears several times in records dating between 1628 and 1775 at which time the “Witch Hunts”, as they have been termed, were losing their ferocity.”  Ban stopped reading and looked up at his grandmother.  To anyone who didn’t know better, his grandmother looked just like any other shriveled up old woman.  Sitting here in her leather chair in front of the roaring fire with a thick blanket thrown over her legs she looked ancient and tired.  Ban wondered how old she really was and if she would ever die.  It seemed unlikely and he thought perhaps he was glad for that.  His thoughts were disturbed by the woman’s voice cutting through the warmth and silence of the room.

  “What is it?”  It was more a demand than a question.   

  “Why is this important?  It’s just boring history.” Ban said.  Most people were afraid of his grandmother and would look at him in horror when he talked to her so disrespectfully, but he wasn’t afraid of her.  Just like she wasn’t afraid of him. 

  “The book belongs to our family.  One of our ancestors wrote it,” she answered quietly.

  “So?” Ban really didn’t care about some book someone who died centuries ago had written.  At that the old woman opened her eyes again and turned them on her cocky grandson.

  “So, “she said pointedly, “It is important for us to reclaim it.”

  “Why?”  She pointed towards the volume in his lap.

  “If you read that you might find out.”  With that, his grandmother rested her head back on the chair and closed her eyes, indicating the end of the conversation.  Ban looked down at the book in his hands.  The text was small and smudged in places where it looked like it had got wet.  Those parts would be almost impossible to read, Ban concluded.  Even so, he knew his grandmother would keep him here until he had read every word on the page.  He looked up at the old clock on the wall beside him.  It was 9 o’clock already.  He was sure to be in for a late night.  With another of his well-practiced tragic sighs he started reading again.  And as he read, his grandmother once again smiled in victory.

                                      ***

 　“You’re late.” Hevn stood, arms folded, glaring menacingly at the two retrievers who had just entered the café. 

  “Ehehe...” Ginji giggled innocently, “we got a bit delayed you see…” Hevn sighed wearily and took to pointing accusingly at the pair.

  “I can not understand how you two always manage to be late even though you have no work and no home…”

  “Skill,” Ban murmured sarcastically, “Seems like the clients aren’t here yet anyway,” he said, scanning the café for strangers.  All he saw was the usual collection of misfits who hung out there.  It seemed the entrance of the GetBackers had gone largely unnoticed.  Natsumi and Rena were busy cleaning the coffee machine, and the Thread-spool and Monkey trainer were sitting in a booth talking in low voices.

  “Considering how late you are, they could have been and gone already!” Hevn continued to rant, drawing Ban’s attention back to the matter in hand.

  “But they haven’t,” Ban replied, “or else you wouldn’t be here still.”  Hevn frowned.

  “My, my, you’re in a bad mood today, Ban-kun.” She leaned closer to the brunette. “Come to think of it, you look a bit frazzled…” her eyes shifted to Ginji who was looking decidedly guilty now.  The idiot blond giggled unconvincingly, looking anywhere but at Ban’s glower. 

“Whatever. Now are these clients coming or are you just trying to piss me off?” Ban spat back moodily.

“Ho! That’s gratitude for you! I get you two lazy bums this really easy, well-paying job and this is what I get! I’ve a good mind to give this job to Shido-kun.”  Ban scoffed.

  “That idiot couldn’t retrieve a boomerang.” Ginji looked up at him curiously.

  “What’s a boomerang, Ban-chan?” he asked.  Ban rolled his eyes.

  “Never mind, Ginji.” He turned to the café owner, “Can I get some coffee, Paul?”

  “Only if you’re paying for it.”  Ban rummaged around in his pockets and was depressed to find only a few 10 yen pieces.  He swore miserably under his breath.  This was turning out to be a very bad day for Midou Ban.

  “Ne, Ban-chan. I have some coins you can use,” Ginji stood in front of him holding out the money, smiling apologetically.  Ban figured Ginji was still trying to make up for earlier.  And so he should be, Ban thought, taking the money with a mumbled thanks.

  “Now can I get some coffee.” Ban demanded, putting the money on the counter.  Paul looked at the coins suspiciously but filled Midou Ban’s mug anyway. 

  “I just hope that coffee makes you less of an arse, Ban-kun,” Hevn huffed.  She inclined her head towards the door, “Because the clients have arrived.”