Coffee-Stained Pages. Part 2

Ami quickly put on her outer drape, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside.

A light drizzle was falling. Maybe changing the drape was pointless.

Oh well. Fate itself decreed this an inopportune moment for comfort. But something still should be done. The detour to the stream by the purple mushroom to rinse the water pouch.

The rain is lovely. Always pleasant for cooling a throbbing head, while everything smells of wet freshness, local herbs, and the clay of Omill’s kotties.

The best scents on the Mainland… Plus, coffee would smell lovely at work.

Rainy weather is perfect for staying indoors with cosy smells and good company, not resenting the sunlit street outside. Life is looking up. In a way.

Ami grinned widely.

She entered the Station and nodded to Faella.

– Rain picking up? – the other woman enquired, glancing briefly at Ami. – Glad I made it to work on time then.

– Just drizzling as it was before. – Ami shrugged. – No worse since morning.

– Ah. – Faella nodded understandingly, looking more closely. – Your hair’s wet, but your clothes are almost dry in comparison. I see. Hygiene procedures.

– You can call it that. – Ami agreed. – Still, you made it on time.

She nodded towards the coffee pot, from which Faella was pouring the dregs into her cup.

– True. “First come, first served”. – Faella chuckled. – Join me.

– I’ll wait for Milo, he’ll be here soon. – Ami sighed. – For he won’t tolerate an empty coffee pot in his domain. Nor a Secretary loitering by her cubbyhole, unable to start work.

– Oh! – Faella exclaimed, remembering. – Poor one! Right, you can’t heat coffee or open doors. Hand over your mug.

Ami obediently extracted the vessel from her bag.

– What a… lovely little thingy! – Faella admired, taking the cup and pouring the last coffee into it. – You two make a wonderful pair.

– Oh, thank you.

Faella smiled warmly.

She’s so nice. I really don’t know how to react.

“Don’t take it personally. People say things to be nice. Normal people, I mean. Maybe you will copy some of their skills some light.”

– There. – said the Selva, returning the cup to Ami. – Can’t help more now. Milo’s dashed off to Sandra’s, and I don’t know the Archive seal.

– Thanks for the immortal last coffee sacrifice. That was incredibly kind! I couldn’t do it for anyone, to be true. Waiting for Milo will be much more pleasant.

Faella gave Ami’s shoulder a pat and headed to her office.

Three signs of consideration already, and the light has barely begun. Nice.

Or was it more? Should have a separate ledger for these intangible treasures.

The entrance curtain lifted, and the Station Chief flew into the Truth Hall.

– Ami! The Archive’s unsealed… Made a bit of a mess in there; don’t be shocked.

– Sounds threatening. But I’m rarely shocked by anything these lights. – The Archivist nodded melancholically.

– Come on, help me bury you deeper. We need it now.

– Coming. – Ami agreed shortly, rising and leaving her mug on the coffee table. – Shovelling more dirt onto my ashes? Always happy to oblige.

– Why so grim? – the Chief enquired merrily.

– Because I *am* grim.

She followed Milo to his office. He scurried up and made a quick unlocking gesture.

The Chief’s desk was piled high with tablets, with a couple more stacks beside it. Clearly, the workload was immense.

From what she’d observed, the Omillian wasn’t an irredeemable slob; under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t permit mess on this scale.

But that wasn’t what preoccupied Ami right now.

Why did Milo have large windows in his office, while she had one measly slit?!

Either it was for document preservation or due to Lucy’s photophobia.

Likely the first. Who’d voluntarily block out light and air? But who knows?

“There also is someone who chose to leave Kantine’s windswept, sun-drenched fields and meadows to work in this dark, stuffy cubbyhole. Searching for new life and new experience. You got exactly what you ordered. Mountains of experiences, unsorted tablets, dirty laundry and dust. What more could you want?”

Quiet. I want more comfort. I already said it.

– Look. All this needs shifting… and I don’t know where you’ll put it all. – Milo gestured helplessly. – But you’re the Archivist.

– No mocking. I think we should chuck half of it.

Her interlocutor stared at her, perplexed.

– Ah. Joking. Yes. Why not? We’ve already lost some of the crucial things. – he snorted in annoyance. – Seems losses aren’t just Finnian’s department’s problem anymore.

– How so? – The Secretary frowned supportively.

– Swamp knows what’s happening, Ami! I’ve turned the place upside down, but I can’t find the customs register from two cycles back. Should make copies of everything, then copies of the copies.

– And where do we store that?

– Dunno. Don’t care. Stash it under the Station. I used to think it’s secure here. Now I’m not sure of it anymore.

He sank wearily behind his desk and drummed his fingers nervously.

– This is an alarming sign.

– You don’t say.

– And what does that mean for us? Globally?

– Don’t even want to think about it… – Milo exhaled noisily. – One of us… No. Can’t be. Impossible. I’ve a top – notch, trusted team; Sandra and I were just discussing it.

He shook his head decisively and resumed drumming.

– I’m sure Finnian says the same… Yet documents keep vanishing.

– Not only documents. People. Evidences, memories… Goods from warehouses. Warehouse records about the goods.

– …People who made the records… So, the whole Mainland will disappear soon. And we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

The boss gave Amelia a disapproving look.

Not a good time for jokes. He thinks.

– Who has Archive access? – The Archivist swapped the topic. – Except me.

– Me, Lucy, Sandra, Kyle, Moki… Some clerks from the Chiefdom. Any action is traceable. And noticeable. But documents just disappear somehow.

– Well, start with me. My criminal exploits so far are just copying symbols… With you aiding and abetting, by the way.

– True, true… Why do you want them? You didn’t tell.

– I think they look kind of familiar. Wanted to compare them to those in mother’s notes.

The Station Chief waved a dismissive hand.

– I really don’t think it makes sense. We’ve already done handwriting analysis. Not Zetish, not Liman, nor Northern.

– Not elven? Not dwarven?

– No. Unless they belong to sea monsters, but there’s no information on their script, for… obvious reasons.

– Ran out of food in the Ocean.

– Learned to breathe air, got their bearings sharpish, and organised a covert smuggling ring for highly specific items across the Mainland… Sounds plausible.

– You’re welcome. That’s why I’m here.

Milo chuckled sarcastically.

– Other theories?

– None.

– What do elvish writings look like?

The Omillian pondered before answering.

– Their strange squiggles don’t look like writing at all… More like plant sketches. Spirals with tiny offshoots, branches with leaves.

– And where were the symbols found?

– Those specific ones? Intercepted contraband from Zeth. – He clapped his hands. – Right, let’s get on. Grab some tablets.

Ami obediently took part of a stack.

– And where are the others? – the curious one persisted. – If they are?

– Kyle took them to Prime.

Ami shook her head admiringly.

– Shiny symbols, VST Agent and Prime. Fascinating.

– Don’t be distracted too much.

They left the office and headed for the Archive.

Milo snorted irritably.

– Hang on, forgot something else. Hold these… No, put them down for now. Carefully, don’t trip or fall in there.

Ami stepped inside cautiously. And… nearly crumpled.

There was certainly something to fall over.

Behind the opened door awaited… a surprise. Space in her already cramped cubbyhole had diminished. Significantly. It wasn’t even clear how to enter here.

“Holly boggers!”

“So many of them. How did they fit here before?”

“How does he…”

“No. The question is… Is he expecting us… to shift all this?!”

“Come on. What difference does it make? We couldn’t find anything before either.”

Utterly pointless job.

“Back to Kantine?”

I’d rather die heroically shifting this mess.

“Not just *this* mess. The mess in the kotti too.”

My whole life’s a mess. We’ll have to clear it. Step by step.

“Put the tablets down first.”

Right. I didn’t call a meeting this light. Chill, my people.

“I’m chill. At least, we’re officially unable to work. Can’t even get inside.”

Quieter. Need to think. It wouldn’t dissolve on its own.

“Or maybe it can. Wait for new disappearances.”

Ami tilted her head thoughtfully, observing the epic Chaos. Greater and bigger than any she could do on her own… Rampant, encroaching mess was everywhere. Either it would engulf and bury her, or…

Amelia took aim and stepped between the tablets.

“One step”. She froze, standing on one leg. The stack in her hands wobbled. No!

She quickly planted her other foot somewhere. The tablets shifted, admitting her foot. Most fortunately.

Now we needed to tactically plan the second step towards the desk. If *someone* would light the blasted lamp, it’d be much easier.

“Two steps”.

Ami reached the desk and, carefully nudging another clay pile aside, deposited her load, exhaling with relief.

She looked around.

This would bury her. For sure. Aeons hence, they’d find this repository and say: “Here lies one of the settlement’s secretaries.”

And she’s no Secretary at all. What a disgrace.

– Ami!

…At least one external voice. Finally.

Amelia reluctantly tore her gaze from the hypnotic, spontaneously growing tablet mounds.

Someone out there was trying to get her attention. And remembered her name.

Worth diverting for.

It was Milo again.

– Yes?

Reacting calmly to the mention of her name was not a newly developed work habit of hers. As well as her sluggishness wasn’t just usual drowsiness.

It was a stress reaction.

– Come fetch another couple of stacks.

Milo’s voice sounded strained. Ami tried her utmost to feign attentive concern.

– Coming, – Ami replied tonelessly, still stupefied. – Just need to crawl out somehow… Milo, light this blasted lamp. Please.

The non-witch found the uncooperative glass fiend and, finding space to step forward, thrust it through the window.

– Not so blasted. Perfectly good lamp.

Milo chuckled, making a quick gesture over the transparent clay wretch, which instantly lit up. Annoyed, the servicewoman pulled the offending item back into her workspace and froze.

…Lighting it was clearly a mistake.

Now everything looked not just less optimistic but downright shocking.

Ami placed the lamp atop the tablets on the desk, exhaled sharply, and focused on navigating back to the door. No time to linger on intermediate tasks.

…Reports near the door, current cases in the middle, correspondence by the window.

See? We’re strong enough to handle it. With half of our wits, especially.

Yes, we can forget about our mysterious scrolls now… But he said there’s no chance the answer could be found easily. But it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t try.

Well. Sort by class. Then goes sorting by date. Grouping could come later… perhaps by case handler rather than location.

Or by location… Tricky choice.

If documents had fixed locations here, like in Kantine Archive, cases and shelves could be permanently numbered. But this Archive was far smaller, holding mainly current cases; old ones moved up, archived ones transferred to the City Repository, and classified ones went to the Temple’s vault.

– Ami.

Leaning slightly, she looked out the window.

– Yes… Moki.

– Take the reports for this light and give me…

– Sorry, Moki! Giving you nothing this light. Look inside. I can barely step back from the window now.

– Ah. Right then. – Moki grunted glumly.

– If Milo pushes you, say it’s me holding you up.

– I’ll do it. – He smirked again.

Ami took careful steps between the piles, shifting them tighter.

Walking in semi-darkness between treacherous tree roots, mud puddles, and snagging branches in the forest seemed to have given her invaluable skill. She gathered tablets near the entrance and restacked them atop those slightly further away. Freed up more space for shuffling the colossal mass.

The Secretary picked up the first tablet, skimmed the contents, and noted the date.

Let that be the foundation of the first pile. We must start with something.

The first lump of building clay laid… She took the next tablet.

Would sit atop this one. The next one… And a new pile.

She gradually restructured the “mountains”, turning flat plateaus of disorder into high peaks of sorted stacks optimistically rising around the edges of the madness, until she felt a distinct urge to feed her mighty intellect.

Mighty oozes! She’d been so engrossed that she missed lunch.

She’d finish sorting the entrance area to some logical point and, with a sense of moral satisfaction, reward herself with something tasty. Good old Ami.

Conqueror of hopelessness and aeonic despair. The last leaf – cake in her bag wouldn’t go amiss now. But…

Where is the bag?!

One more tragic disappearance. More tragic than any other to hungry Amelia.

Where could it be? Where did she throw it in the darkness?

Likely, she has sat or stood on it several times already. Or piled tablets on it.

Good thing there was no liquid pouch inside at the moment, though.

A flatcake wouldn’t lose taste from a shape change. Repeatedly tested in Ami’s perpetually stuffed bag. Only berries will get squashed, and decorative nuts are off.

Should probably take out the notes when it is found.

Ami scanned the room. And spotted her quarry.

The bag sat peacefully nearby, unconsciously nestled safely between tablets.

The Kantinian blissfully extracted the sweet remnant of magnificence from its pouch, inhaled its enchanting aroma, and began chewing thoughtfully.

Delicious. Scarcity made things especially tasty. She examined the flatcake’s filling. Something red with little seeds inside… Still couldn’t figure out what berry was inside. Doesn’t grow back home, that fantastically sour, fragrant wonder with tasty seeds…

She sniffed and sighed blissfully.

…Marvellous. A natural treasure spotted and enhanced by human art…