Ami flew out of the house at sunrise, purposeful and resolute.
Slung over her shoulder were her life-improving instruments – a bag containing paints, glue, and rags. And a feeling that almost anything could be mended, corrected, and depicted in any light or colour imaginable.
The current dawn, with its splendid shifting violets, pinks, and yellows, accompanied by a refreshing breeze carrying fluffy grey-violet clouds, was yet another awesome work of the Universe. This Artist is the greatest.
Could Amelia ever get tired of these beautiful mountains and start to take everything in this city for granted? She'd definitely have to test that possibility and measure how long it would take. If only she had the opportunity.
Entering the Station, the Archivist, continuing her journey into the realm of colour, noted once again that even the building clay in the dim interior was beautiful. A stunning soft brown, crisscrossed by yellowish-purple shafts of light from the windows.
Everything was beautiful!
"In a manic state."
"And not during a hangover."
"Need a decent energy level to see it at all."
And fewer distracting factors.
You're all too talkative this light. Save your barbs; there are already those here who can deliver them.
— Ami. What's this?
The shadow she'd spotted out of the corner of her eye spoke up.
— You're good at sneaking, Milo. Almost got me.
The Chief smirked, disappointed but flattered.
— I am. The best among my fellow Prime University alumni.
— I keep forgetting all the local department heads studied in Prime. I'm so jealous! How did you like the city?
— It didn't impress me much… Omill is superior in many aspects. So. What's in the bags?
— A powerful instrument that will change our lives… well… not forever. For a while.
The Station Chief raised an eyebrow in surprise.
— Is that so? How?
— Dramatically. As only glue, paints, and rags can.
— What's the glue for?
— To fix my past mistakes and mend the broken tablets.
— Ah. I see. And the paints? What are they for?
Amelia wore the most innocent expression on her face.
— I want to paint my cubbyhole with clouds, hills, mushrooms, coffee bushes and so on, so it wouldn't be so dreary in the dark. Otherwise, I'll start gnawing a window out to the street soon.
— Then there's not enough paint here. And why gnaw when we can wipe a couple of windows… without damaging the documents.
The Archivist frowned and pursed her lips.
— We… could?!
— We could, — confirmed the Omillian. — But we shouldn't, in fact. The Archive is a technical room, you know, with its own requirements for temperature and light levels.
— And the documents' comfort is the priority.
— Absolutely.
The mocking Omillian clearly enjoyed teasing the Kantinian.
And the feeling was mutual. In teasing and needling, the Kantinians had no equal. It wasn't just a national trait; it was a kind of sport. And even the modest, downtrodden-by-her-town's-standards, hating-jibes-and-this-kind-of-passive-aggression Ami possessed this trait. Where could you escape it, growing up somewhere? Over so many cycles, you inevitably soak up the character of the place.
— I see. Next, I'll paint your workplace. I may not know how to wipe windows, but you'll appreciate how resourceful I am as a designer.
— Oh, don't. But seriously, why the paints?
— To make a search system by colour-coding the shelf sections. I want to make it easier to find things. I'll paint scraps of fabric and temporarily attach them to the shelves. Then I'll put it all away before Lucy gets back.
— Sounds fine to me. Follow me.
The Secretary dejectedly followed the Chief.
He unsealed the door, stepped inside the cubbyhole, and stopped by the far wall, scrutinising it.
Ami sank onto the chair, placing the box beside the table littered with tablet fragments.
Milo stepped back from the wall several times, measuring something with his hands and mentally calculating.
— Oh-ho-ho… well, here… I reckon…
He placed his hands on the wall, and when he removed them, the transparent patch letting dull shafts of light into the room had widened slightly.
— Don't think we can do more here... You can't see much difference now, but you'll notice it once there's a bright light outside.
The thought of sitting here in a dark room through all the bright light sent a sharp pang through her gut. However, without showing it, she found the strength to express some gratitude.
— Thank you. Everything Omillians do is miraculous to me. And I'm envious.
— It's just ordinary witchery. And a stage of kotti building, — Milo shrugged. — I built mine myself.
— Really?
— Yes. It's pretty simple. The clay is laid out first, on a frame of temporary props. Then the doorway is moulded. Propped up with something until it sets. Then windows are wiped. Some like more light, others find excessive brightness and heating irritating; everyone seeks their optimum.
— Aye, aye... I've read about it. If I had my own kotti and the abilities, I'd make myself a completely transparent one.
— And roast yourself in the bright light. Your suffering would be on your conscience. But documents definitely couldn't handle that. They become brittle, and the records fade.
— The Witchium is mostly windows. At least it looks like that from the outside.
The Chief exhaled, scratched his forehead thoughtfully, then continued.
— Finnian's witches… can afford some extravagances. They have their own climate there; the temperature is kept exactly as requested regardless of the weather. And their archives have closed shelves. This space is too small to do the same.
— Aye. No matter how witchy you are, there's always someone witchier. Knowing that is comforting. Especially to someone who can't even light a lamp.
— Then ask one of the lads to do it for you. They might give you extra ideas for your drawings, too.
— They already warm my coffee for me every dawn, — Ami shook her head. — I'll end up being accused of mercilessly exploiting the locals.
— They'll accuse you anyway... So go all out.
Milo glanced at the shattered tablet fragments.
— I'll get to it right now. Right after coffee, — Amelia assured.
— First, I have one errand for you. Come into the office after coffee.
— I will.
Having finished her coffee, Amelia resolutely headed for her superior's office.
The assignment turned out to be packaging an important piece of evidence for examination. She was clutching a coveted piece of smooth synthetic fabric, feeling a reverent tremor. With strange symbols on it. Fancyyyy!..
…Package it, of course... First, she could examine it! And touch it.
Curious Amelia, as always, easily pushed responsibility aside. Though, she always pushed anything aside. It had helped her not go mad in boring Kantine… and sometimes led to new problems, which, however, were nothing compared to the bonuses of this trait.
But when would such an incredible thing ever fall into the hands of someone with such an unenviable position? Such things only came to VST agents, no less.
She definitely wasn't going to let this out of her hands until she had studied it thoroughly. Only if it fell from her cold, dead fingers.
The Archivist gave a nervous cough and flew into her cubbyhole, not taking her eyes off the treasure. Genuine, mysterious records of sinister plotting were in her hands. The very ones the OD was working on… This was… enough to make you giddy with joy!
…Right! Get down to this quickly. Before those eager for work came swarming.
The engrossed researcher had to seize the moment and quickly copy the strange symbols in all their detail, the parts that hadn't been visible on the witchgraphs.
And to hold this pleasantly smooth, shiny white fabric to her heart's content... Incredible sensations.
It wasn't just a light; one could say her whole life had just been made. A bonus from this tedious job.
A unique chance to add it to her collection of oddities, started with her mother's research notes. She had to copy these symbols and obtain information about them *at all costs* before returning to Kantine. For it definitely couldn't be found there.
It felt like Kantinians denied the very existence of the rest of the Mainland. Possibly they didn't want to scatter their attention, diverting part of it to things of secondary importance. They tried to concentrate on some foundation that gave them a winning position.
The information about neighbouring cultures and other races, which could be found in the Kantinian city Archives, was scant and one-sided, touching only on those aspects that could help with trade or conflict resolution.
In essence, the only reliable source of information about the Mainland beyond Kantine had been Mother. Who categorically refused to discuss these topics. The moment the conversation started, she would abruptly stand up and leave, adding to it a weighty, medium-cycle silence. Which she, apparently, considered an excellent pedagogical move. Not shouting or throwing things, after all. So, everything was fine. She had made her point.
This method had one flaw. It utterly killed any further desire to communicate at all.
Thus, Ami understood early on that in any endeavour, she was on her own when it came to getting what she wanted. This universal rule worked in Omill, too.
The Kantinian glanced at the table.
It was occupied. The shards still needed gluing…
…But the symbols needed to be studied. And the map fragments needed to be pieced together. As well as the fragmented Ami of many voices, whispers, and chills on the nape.
…Right. But no voices. Or whispers. Enough of that for now.
To work! Glue the tablets and leave them to dry first, secretly hoping no one would request those particular ones this light. Then the other things in the queue.
The Archivist resolutely picked up the first tablet fragment.
…So thin, flat, and even… How did they make these? Should ask Milo…
Probably the best way to glue the document would be to pad it with rags and weigh it down with other tablets, hoping no one would remember those either.
In the meantime, she needed to find a place for the mysterious scroll and the fabrics for note-taking. So the tablet fragments and other items on her table had to be pushed away a bit…
…A sharp sound of a clay object falling and… sudden darkness. Damn it all to the ghouls…
Swampy luck. While shifting things a bit further away, she'd shifted the lamp, too. Very far. Right off the table.
…Smashed.
Searching and studying was definitely off the cards now. Unless she found someone who could re-light the seemingly intact lamp for her… Yes. Plenty of people came through here.
The only downside was, she couldn't simply ask those who came for documents to light the lamp and then send them on their way, because she had more interesting things to do.
…Did everything have to be that inconvenient?..
No time even for proper sulking now.
Let's go… to the new, bigger, brighter window. As she'd done so far with other witchgraphs and documents.
The Archivist quickly picked up the scroll.
The fabric was so thin… almost translucent… Had to look at it against the light.
And what fibres were these?.. How and from what was this even made?… Fascinating.
Had to pack it back soon, though. Milo would be mad. And a mad Milo wouldn't give her other supernatural evidence to… pack. She'd just do it… later.
Forgetting her grievances with fate, the secret-seeker jumped up and flew to the window, pressing the mysterious scrap against the light and peering intently…
But the thing wasn't about to give up its secrets that easily. Or they would have been revealed earlier.
It was a big disappointment. But the symbols looked so beautiful now... So mesmerising…
…Damn gnats. Someone was loitering at the window again.
Couldn't she have even a moment without the harsh intrusion of external reality?
– Ami.
…Don't Ami me. There is no Ami.
There was something dissolving in this soft light, in the sensation of this strange fabric's smoothness, lost among the symbols… Her attention, weary of the surrounding world, were delighted by the chance to be absorbed by something…
"The lamp repairperson's here for us."
The Secretary turned, looking for the wretched lamp.
Had to ask to light it right away…
– Calvin, could you…
…Where exactly on the dark part of the floor was that lamp? Better not trip over it... Or kick it into some inaccessible spot.
…Wh…what the?! Ghostly jigs!..
She blinked, stunned.
In the very poorly illuminated area, large, flaming glyphs flashed brightly on the wall. What… Strange hallucinations.
With Amelia's lifestyle, her brain had become slightly dysfunctional a long time ago.
…Calm and quiet.
Ami blinked again.
"Didn't help."
Yes. The strange fiery vision showed no sign of disappearing.
And what a stupid vision that she couldn't read or understand either… Even ghoulish visions were mocking her! All that remained was to hope that the voices wouldn't start spouting gibberish now. Again.
It felt suddenly colder. And now her nose was tickling…
– …Could I what? – interrupted the serviceman who hadn't waited for her to finish her request.
The symbols vanished! Good. Or… Wait.
Amelia looked at the scrap clutched in her hands. Only if it wasn't…
– …fetch Milo, — Amelia asked, stunned, once again raising the scrap with symbols to window level.
The symbols blazed once more on the wall surface.
…But… how?! Or… Why?!.. What?..
– Couldn't, — Calvin simply replied. — He dashed off to Sandra with a messenger. Seems we're finally getting more personnel allocated. Great news, right?
– Yeeeesss…
Ami pensively pressed the semi-transparent scroll against the window again. And the odd writings disappeared. How did it work?!..
…She was lucky to have stumbled upon the solution to the puzzle like that.
But it was a solution that was also useless.
Though maybe it was useless only to Ami.
Someone like Kyle might, possibly, advance his investigation in some other aspects. Or shed light on some previously unclear details of related cases. If he didn't see it already, as Milo said.
Hopefully, the VST agent would return from Prime before Amelia left Omill; she wanted to ask him about so many things, for her Chief had already been squeezed dry enough.
But… speaking of cases.
The sloppy Secretary finally managed to tear her gaze away from her marvellous find.
– Calvin, sorry… What do you need… again?
– The list of the latest goods that passed through the warehouses. Milo said you have it.
– I do... But it's most likely shattered. Not on purpose, but… One moment, I'll check… Yes, they are. I'll glue it and bring it to you. If Milo asks about the delay – traditionally, blame me.
– Always do.
– What?!
– Joking.
– Ah…
Ami was so stunned by her discovery that she didn't even have the opportunity to react properly to the humour.
But right now, it wasn't so important.
She had to snap out of her stupor and get on with her main activity. Start with what really needed doing now – try to glue those tablets.
She sneezed.
The lamp was forgotten, though… And the nimble serviceman was already trudging back upstairs.
…Fine… In the darkness of the present, on the threshold of an uncertain dark future again.
With a sigh, the templar resolutely headed to the work table, carefully placing the evidence to one side.
Needed to use the glue and rags. And pack… or no. Wait for Milo, to show him her wondrous discovery first. Finally, a chance to show that it wasn't for nothing, trying to be more involved in the Station's investigative processes.
And after a short while, the tablets were glued and lying in the corner, weighed down by another load of information. Preparation took longer than action, as usual.
"Much knowledge, much sorrow," they say in Kantine. Looking at it that way, Amelia had a whole warehouse of grief here in the Archive. A huge amount of alarming facts.
Of course, not all these facts were sad. And the whole notion of her city's narrow-minded folk was wrong. Without sufficient information, you'd more often find yourself in much more troublesome situations.
"No one saw the stupid, mossy, resilient-against-private-opinions traditions being put to shame again. What a glorious victory, and what's next?"
Aside from the scroll? To bring back the light. And to obtain the colour coding.
"Which needs?"
…to tear several rags for dyeing and a couple of fabric scrolls for writing into pieces. They were large enough for convenient work but small enough not to use up all the fabric. And a lot of fabric was needed to sketch the recent find.
…Or… perhaps not anymore?
Footsteps and conversation sounded in the Hall.
…Speak of the swamper. And in a good mood, by the looks of it… She needed to fix this.
But before the Kantinian could do it, her superior did it first.
– Ami. Did you pack the evidence? I need it now.
– No… I started to, but I… dropped the lamp. And it complicated everything. Milo. Can I have a moment? Have to ask you something.
– Only if it's only a moment, — he grimaced, expecting nothing good from the request. — I am very, very busy… and pack the evidence quickly.
– I will, — she nodded quickly. — Speaking about evidence... it won't take long. Pop into the cubbyhole. Come on.
Milo gave a slightly irritated nod to Rayleen, who had come with him, and reluctantly hurried off.
– Did you… see it before?
The Secretary dashed to her table, managing in her haste to kick the wretched lamp that got under her feet. Of course. It flew off into a corner and, judging by the sound, probably shattered.
Coughing in annoyance, the clumsy one quickly grabbed the scroll and rushed with it to the window, hoping she could repeat the earlier effect.
To her relief, the symbols blazed once more on the dark cubbyhole wall after several panicky tries to find the angle or position her hands remembered.
The dweller of darkness gazed triumphantly at her superior.
– I didn't, — he nodded hastily, energetically turning towards the room's exit. — But I'm sure Kyle will tell us more about similar discoveries. And explain this, too... Ami, just get the stuff packed! And bring me the patrol schedules and surveillance reports on the trade routes. Right away. Need to assign the new people optimally. We finally got them! Thanks to Sandra. And now things will surely get sorted. We won't need to fuss with all this sophisticated mambo-jumbo since we'll swiftly capture the culprits. This is our method.
Milo looked annoyingly, incredibly inspired.
…What to do with him? Options?
"Feed him to sea monsters."
"They'd choke on his hat."
"We can't drag him to the Ocean, though."
I'm willing to try. But he was already flying off to his office cheerfully.
The letters on the wall vanished again. Along with her drive.
That's how it always was.
"And what did you expect?"
Justice and a proper assessment of her abilities.
"Leave it. There are people smarter and witchier than you."
"Pack the evidence, don't forget who you are."
He could have shown a bit more enthusiasm about it.
"He has plenty of enthusiasm. For the things he considers more important."
"He's just acting by his methods. As he said."
He acts as if he were a swamp-dwelling muck-eater from her city. And don't try to justify him and convince her otherwise. He's completely uninterested in the investigation.
"In your execution of it."
What was the point of all this, then?
"You've held a rare document in your hands."
Ghoul-spawn true… Well... to swamp with all of it, really. They were right.
And if her own division wasn't interested in the "mystical" side of the matter... She needed to turn to the more mystically inclined part of the Temples. To the great and terrible Finnian. And the witches' Library, where one could compare the symbols with various Mainland writing systems on one's own.
"The evidence must be packed. Now."
Right… Which meant… to fix the fabric to the window. And copy the symbols…
And not to sneeze, so as not to smudge the ink… in a now completely dark cubbyhole.
…Impossible.
"Without help."
But who could help?.. Irji!
The Archivist, with desperate enthusiasm, jumped up and ran out of the cubbyhole towards the chosen serviceman's office, but... it wasn't necessary.
Station people were gathering for their break. And Irji was already downstairs.
She could do with a hot coffee herself. Her throat was starting to feel noticeably scratchy. But first things first. Needed to save her life's purpose.
Irji stood by the coffee table, impatiently toying with a cup in his hands and completely unaware of the impending threat of disruption to his break.
It wasn't nice to distract him from such an important part of ensuring productive work as rest... but time was very limited. She had to be selfish. And Irji would get a dose of feeling his own goodness instead of coffee.
Seemed like a relatively fair exchange scheme. It would do.
– Irji! — she flew up to the startled officer. — Help me. Please.
– What's happened?
– Need to quickly copy some data. I need you to hold something up to the window.
– But why?..
– For… Argh! It's easier to show it... Come along!
Amelia made an impatient gesture.
Irji sighed, put his cup on the coffee table, and was immediately predatorily dragged by the hem of his drape into the dark cubbyhole.
– Look!
The archivist repeated the trick she'd recently shown her superior for the new viewer. This time with greater success.
– Oh wow! — he marvelled, forgetting to frown. — Dear gnats!.. You… just found this? Smashing! But… I don't understand a thing, you know.
"Now that's the proper reaction."
– Me too. But I plan to fix that. That's why I need help with this. I want to copy this text quickly because Milo wants it packed. Now.
– Did you show him?
– Yessss.
– And what did he say?
– La-di-da… The VST already found everything before... Bring it packed quickly... To the ghouls with him... Listen. Everything needs to be copied fast for my purposes, before the luminaries finally set... Will you hold it? And I'll sketch it swiftly...
– No.
– Why?! But it's...
Irji raised his hand in a calming, stopping gesture.
– Let's witchgraph it. It'll be much faster.
– Ah! Right! That possibility completely flew out of my head... No, it never even appeared there, to be honest…
– I'll fetch a blank slate right now. Wait.
– Waiting! Thank you.
The officer went away and returned with a transparent clay sheet. So the Kantinian could watch the mystical writings along with the process of creating the witchgraph, mesmerised.
…Under the hand of the Omillian witch, light symbols began to miraculously shine on the tablet. Wow!
Irji finished his incredible witchery and turned to Ami… only to be immediately swept into a hug and shaken by accompanying jumps.
– Thankyouthankyouthankyou! What would I do without you!
– You'd have asked someone else... You're welcome.
The serviceman patted his colleague on the shoulder. Amelia smiled affectionately.
– No, I couldn't! You're truly priceless! Thank you again... You've saved my sanity more than once now…
– There, there. Don't mention it. It's no trouble for me. This is... you know, a very interesting find. I don't understand why Milo practically ignored it.
– He... is probably too busy... with organisational matters. Patrols, surveillance, checks, stakeouts... all that. I'm too generous this light, I know. And... to the ghouls with him. Now I have everything I need to continue my own research! That's all that matters.
– What's the plan? — the officer raised his eyebrows with interest.
– I'll try paying a visit to Finian, — the Secretary narrowed her eyes conspiratorially.
– You don't say... maybe you shouldn't? He's dreadful... Won't kill you, but can frighten you into hiccups for a minor cycle. For real.
– Do you see any other options?
– No.
– Neither do I.
Irji exhaled uncertainly.
– Well... good luck then!
– Thanks!
The serviceman smiled, handed Ami the tablet, saluted, and went off to drink his coffee.
Right. Now she needed to pack this thing for Milo... Finally. Fine. Now she could do it without the growing and overwhelming inner pressure of anxiety and anger. She had her margin from it.
And as dusk fell, the weary Archivist left work. With a copy of the treasure and mixed feelings.
…It had been a second heroic light.
The consequences of recent destructive events had been rectified again. Some of her usual work had even been completed.
On top of it all, she had found something… not just interesting. Something that gave meaning and direction to her entire future life. For the near future, at least.
And this meaningful life was clearly directing her towards Witchium.
If what she sought wasn't in her Archives, it would be found in Finian's Archives.
A perilous direction it was, however... To venture there, according to the accounts of all who had dealt with Omill's Head Witch, was little safer than approaching Ocean Leviathans.
If he didn't heat or freeze the blood in one's veins, he'd certainly petrify with a look. If one didn't die on the spot, one would definitely regret having come.
And it wasn't so scary to be frozen, overheated, flattened, or crushed to dust. But to be chased out. In disgrace. With a report. Destroyed morally and professionally.
Or perhaps even barred from accessing the witches' Archives in the future, significantly complicating her work in this direction. That was far more terrifying...
But… there was no other way to obtain the needed information.
So… which was stronger? Curiosity or common sense?
Common sense had never been Ami's strong suit. The choice was obvious, the bets were placed at her birth, the dice of her nature had fallen.
And for a chance like this, to come one step closer to solving these incredibly alluring mysteries that made her life brighter and more interesting, she wasn't afraid to give her life. What did she need a dull life for?
…Make the decision. Choose the path ahead.