All of that makes quite a lot of sense, actually. Although, if ritual magic existed at home, there would definitely be a standard notation for it.

When she decided to learn magic, she didn't realize it would be this expensive. Fortunately, she has a few ideas to make money.

Sida puts away all the books she was reading and approaches the help desk, if they aren't busy.

"Weird question, but do you know this city has a... publication or clearinghouse to connect buyers and sellers of unusual or obscure goods and services?"—baal, that's fifteen words in this language?—"I'm trying to find customers for translation work and I don't know the usual way people go about buying translation in this city."

Sida is vaguely aware, in some corner of her mind, of the concept of advertising, but it's rarely done in her world.

The librarian thinks for a moment and then answers: "Well, if you joined the guild, there's an internal market for that sort of thing, but we don't share with outsiders. Otherwise, I should think that there are plenty of scribe's workshops that could use a good translator - maybe look for ones with signs or offers in multiple languages? Other than that, the coffeeshop district has a constant buzz of scholars needing things done, but you'd have to find and impress individuals until you had a reputation."  

Sida thinks she can impress some people.

She thanks the librarian and leaves for the coffeeshop district. She might need to ask for directions.

The coffeeshop district is strung out on the main streets connecting the hillside dungeon-fortress of the Antediluvian Exploratory League and the nine-story library-tower of the Institute for Supernal Dynamics, which puts it on the outer part of the eastern side of the city, just before the slopes of the river-valley the city is built into become too steep to comfortably build on. The instructions to get there are simple - keep going uphill, and then follow the sounds of people arguing. It seems like while the overt purpose of the district is to provide coffee, beer, supplies, and homes for the scholars of the city, it's more (in)famous purpose is providing them with a venue to bicker, shout, and, show off with, at, and to each other. The coffee shops are filled with scholars young and old, magical and mundane, and with the sounds of friendly (and unfriendly) disagreement, along with the occasional bang or hiss of ill-considered magic. 

If they're arguing loud enough, maybe she can find customers that way. She'll start by walking around, listening for any arguments that mention language.

Dismissing out of hand all the arguments that are merely in foreign languages, the first mention of language she hears is merely a poorly-considered attack at someone's source, insulting it for it's foreignness. The next candidate is specifically bemoaning lacking funds to hire a translator. Finally, as day drifts towards evening, she strikes paydirt -  "- and where in the 15 hells (tl note: not literally hells, but a profanity referring to the afterlife) are you going to find someone who speaks southwestern-dialect drow in this bloody city." The people arguing appear to be two scholars. Both have the same ever so slightly uncanny angular look to their faces, like they've had cosmetic surgery done by someone whose tastes run in a peculiar direction, and pointed ears, but where one has pale-blue skin and darker-blue hair, her conversant has bone-white hair, purple-black skin, and a wide-brimmed hat keeping any sun from falling on his face. A few more moment's listening informs that they seem to be discussing possible lines of research into a matter of comparative religion. 

Ah, the sweet smell of opportunity. She pokes her translation superpower to make sure it can work with southwestern-dialect drow—she's not sure if she can simply start speaking it without having heard a sample. Assuming she can, she approaches the pointy-eared people, and says—in that language—"Today is your lucky day. I happen to have a gift for languages."

It takes a bit of concentration, as she navigates a sort of mental map of dialects and sub-dialects to pick one, but she can indeed speak southwestern-dialect drow without prompting. She rapidly comes to regret that - the language seems to have been carefully designed to be as unpleasant to speak as possible, with a mess of grammar rules to make any English-speaker feel fear, and a phonology which is almost painful to produce with the human tongue. At least it all seems to happen automatically. 

"well, that could plausibly be south-western drow, it's not like I speak it." says the white-haired man. Switching languages to one which shares not so much a vocabulary but a design aesthetic with southwestern-dialect drow. "Do you speak eastern drow as well?"  

She switches to eastern drow.

"Yes, I do. I speak, and write, many languages. Possibly all of them except the extinct ones."

"Ah, some kind of language-magic then? You wouldn't be offering translation work if it was a Permanency'd Tongues. Are you an angel then? I hear those have language-magic. Either way, if you can read my books, I'd be quite happy to hire you to translate them."

"It would have to be some kind of magic, but I don't know what kind. I got it when I showed up here yesterday. I'm from another world. I can probably read them, and I'd love to be paid to translate them. How much do you want done?"

The man nods firmly. "An Amnesiac angel, then. Well, I have five books and sixteen tablets in grimlock touch-cuneiform, if you read that as well. How does 8gp a day sound?" He says, with the tone of someone opening negotiations with a lowball bid. 

"I'm pretty sure the market rate is higher than that, but I want to build a business quickly, so... I'll take 10gp a day if you promise to tell all your friends and colleagues to talk to me if they need translation work done, especially for obscure languages. My name is Josarin, by the way." She says, with the tone of someone offering a generous deal because they need something to happen quickly. "Oh, and I don't really know how expensive paper and ink is here, or how much the job will need, so you can provide whatever materials you want me to use or I can just bill you for expenses."

"I can provide them, no point risking you buying substandard codices. If I'm getting this done, it'll be on good solid parchment, and we'll have something that lasts! You have yourself a deal, miss Josarin! I have a place above the bric-a-brac shop maybe two streets over" he gestures "that way. If you'll meet me there tomorrow morning, I can give you one of the books and some supplies?" 

"We have a deal."

Sida heads back to her inn, pays for another night, has dinner, does some writing, and goes to bed.

The next morning she returns to the coffeeshop district and locates the bric-a-brac shop.

The bric-a-brac shop sells iridescent bird-feathers, a torch that glows shining-blue ("guaranteed ever-burning"), what appears to be a pocket-watch, and a collection of formal robes with intricate weaves, and that's only what's in the front window. 

Above it there are several apartments; the guard of the store eyes her suspiciously, but doesn't do anything as she heads upstairs, where the elderly drow man is waiting for her. 

"Ah, there you are. I was just about to give up on waiting and go to bed." He's assembled a package, which includes two books wrapped in fur, and two more blank books of similar sizes. "there you go, that should keep you busy for a while."  

She didn't think she was running late or anything...

"Right. I'm not sure how long this will take, but I'll deliver the first book as soon as I'm done with it."

"I'm curious, by the way, are you an independent scholar, or affiliated with a... I'm trying to think of some thing we had at home, for lots of people to learn things... Ahh! Why can't I think about this? This is super weird!"

The drow scholar thinks for a moment. "... huh. I think I've heard about this before. Did this thing involve a network of glowing screens that could transmit messages throughout the known world?"  

"I don't think so. We did have ways to transmit messages all over the world, sometimes with glowing screens, but I don't have any trouble thinking about that. And I don't think it was how the... learning places worked."

"... fascinating. You seem to have what is documented as a very common condition recorded by dark-age scholars immediately after the fall of the tower. They all agreed they'd obtained their common knowledge somehow, but none of them could for the life of them figure out what it was! They did seem to think the glowing screens were important somehow. My personal theory is that they had a system like the deep imaskari, where you weren't afforded adult rights until you could pass certain exams, except it worked better because they had longer lifespans." 

"No, that wasn't it. Everyone had the same rights. It was like... a place, where people went, to learn things. And it wasn't a library. And it wasn't the same as apprenticeships. And I can't think about how it worked. The glowing screens were for one-way broadcast communication, so people could watch moving pictures. Which kind of fulfill the same role as books for entertainment or information, except they have sound and colors and images that move."

"Hmm. That it was a specific place wasn't in the records that I read, but I haven't any primary sources. Does sound like it could fit, though. Not sure I believe you over my sources, you could be making this all up."  

"Yeah, whatever, I've gotten that before, check it out"—she displays, in a non-threatening manner, her knife—"it's my fancy shiny knife that probably no one in this world knows how to make without magic. If you don't have any more questions, I guess I'll head out and get to work."

"The knife is certainly counterevidence for my primary theory, which is that you're trying to get a quick buck out of me somehow. Damn thing looks expensive. Be done quick! And bring my books back!"