…Ugh. My head. I wish… I wish I didn't have one…
Because moving it even slightly threatened to bring on the nausea.
…Goodness, why did I drink so much? What a bog-rotten… dedication.
Ugh. Never… Never again. Gnats…
Her eyes refused to open properly… Well… just a crack… just a peek… No.
…Damp. Cold. Shoulders and neck were dreadfully chilled… Why? Why does this always happen… Don't. Don't open your eyes. Ugh, we have to go to work this light!
…Gnat's piss!..
Blood rushed to her head, nausea churning.
She touched her shoulders without opening her eyes. The rustling confirmed it: she'd slept in a wet cloak. But… under the blanket.
…Splendid. Utterly marvellous.
The entire bed had become a small lake. With a… what is it? No-no-no, close your eyes!.. Grass instead of seaweed… Charming.
This… would take some effort to fix. Later. Noooo. Better not to dwell on it now… It feels even worse with the blood pulsing in your head. Don't. Don't think…
"Ah… what's in our hand… something… hard? What is it? Something… ghastly?!"
No, close your eyes! It hurts... Now we know. Gracious… it's a… vine.
"A… what? Where did you get it? Intriguing."
I don't want to know… My head is a boiler. And my hands… They're… scratched and scraped up to the elbows… Oh my gnats. Where had I been? Don't remember a thing.
"The Forest."
Ah. Right. The Forest… supposedly. Scouting. Sort of…
"Well, at least we're home."
Right. Like a true Kantinian... How we managed it remains a mystery, frankly… Doesn't matter.
"But… Are we… alone this time?"
Blood rushed to her head again when she forced her eyes open.
…Phew. Alone. Definitely. Wet. Scratched. But alone. What's the… ache in the knees? Bruises?
"Yes. We temporarily forgot we're bipedal."
Nice. And… What about my face? Those gravel chips seemed awfully close to it recently… Seems… to be fine. Nice…
But good thing she was intact. Bruises and scrapes aside, everything was present and correct, and hadn't lost its shape.
Hope the mushroom was intact too. They were such splendid things!
Well… Nothing happened, nobody saw anything… Otherwise, frankly, better to die right here.
"Well… Look. We overdid it. A little. Soon it'll all be forgotten."
And better forget that night entirely, and swiftly. For the sake of Amelia's throbbing head. And all the witnesses should do the same immediately. Especially… if those witnesses are Truth Station personnel themselves… Oh no.
"If you wanted to prove to Milo and the others you could either get yourself killed over nothing or heroically extricate yourself from self-inflicted messes – you've done it. But let's just hope he never learns of such heroic valour."
Right. Quiet-quiet… And… Shut up, incidentally… Splendid! Absolutely splendid… Unlikely she's fortunate enough that no one saw her? No way she is…
…Oh. No.
"What? Ah. We climbed onto a landmark mushroom... Was it… even real?"
Not sure… But it had seemed a capital idea at the time. I… remember looking down at the city. From the springy, slippery cap… Ugh… No. That can't be true… They're too tall. Impossible to climb. Must be an intoxicated dream.
Have to get up… Somehow. Bruises… Lots of bruises, by the feel of it…
"And… this song, that's been playing in the background of our mind almost from the moment we woke up."
What about it?.. Ugh. We sang it. Right.
"Yes. And very loudly."
…Please. No. Spare me.
"Quite an expressive performance it was, I must say. With wails and sobs and everything. Hence the unopenable eyes. They won't lie."
Something vague stirred in her memory… The daftest songs, but they'd seemed utterly fitting at the time…
No guarantee it wasn't past the Temples, but who knew… If there was a mushroom, anything was possible… Gracious. Oh dear.
Her imagination conjured dreadful scenes, blood pounding in her temples.
…Oh my gnats… No. Hope it was deep in the Forest at least.
"If locals reported more noisy forest oddities, she'd know what to discount."
The blood drained sickeningly from her head, giving way to increased nausea and weakness.
…Well. Quiet… Head, heart, lungs. Calm yourselves. Don't make it even worse…
Later, all later. Recollections, analysis, post-mortems. In a fit state, she could afford all that. For now – there were "no witnesses".
"Think of it, someone scrambling up a landmark mushroom… Big deal… happens every light, probably… Nobody saw anything. Get up."
…But what if?..
"There's only one way to check and learn who saw what yesterday. Get to work. Endure the jibes. Silence the know-alls. Before finally expiring from a punctured heart or an exploded head. Dying ridiculously now would be the final straw. In a rain cloak, with a puffy mug. Must get up. If only to avoid being sick or rotting right here."
Right. Poor head… Sorry. I won't do it again. I swear. Well, not for the next big cycle, anyway.
"Must at least wash our face and rinse our mouth… Uuuuup we gooooo!"
…Yes… Ugh!.. Ringing in the ears! Floaters before the eyes...
She slithered out from under the blanket and the wet cloak, collapsing onto the cold floor.
…Ouch! Bruises. Oof... May it all fly to the bog with the gnats and swampers… Why is everything so painful?..
But the sleepiness retreated… At least that's good news.
Time to crawl again. It will be harder to do it… in a wet cloak.
…Never. Never ever again…
At times like this, she recalled the old Kantine bogey-tale for youngsters about the Forest Gnats' Count Crapula, who visited particularly witless ungrown ones and squeezed their heads until they burst. Amelia had messed up royally yesterday, and it seemed the legendary Count Crapula was already here.
"Not the time for folklore. Crawl to the washbasin."
I will… Ouch. And to work next, it seems.
It was fairly light, she was probably late, and if she crawled towards the Temples on all fours, she'd be late still.
"Hurry up."
Amelia stood up abruptly and instantly regretted it. Nasty glowing dots danced everywhere.
So she sank back onto her knees quickly. And crawled on all fours to the washbasin, trying to ignore the pain from the bruises and scrapes. She slid back the plug, waited for the bowl to fill with icy water, and plunged her head in with practised motion.
Felt slightly better now!
The Kantinian pulled her head out of the cold water. Work shouldn't suffer because she'd irresponsibly over-imbibed yesterday… Must change into something fresh. But besides her wet cloak, one more thing about her good-worker image was very questionable.
Amelia looked at her poor hands sceptically.
..Better hide them somehow... Wonder if the sleeves of her drape were long enough?..
Let's check.
Forced into swift action by the cold, she got up, walked back to the wet, filthy bed, dressed and dumped her old clothes onto it, adding one piece of chaos to another.
Her gaze shifted to the slightly torn entrance drape…
…Too bad. And not quickly fixable.
That's why it's even colder than usual. Feels fine with this hangover fever, but she wouldn't appreciate it later. Couldn't afford extra exertion now anyway.
"What a performance. Our entire head gives you a standing ovation."
Silly girl… We were all in it together.
"Quit dwelling on it. Go to work."
Right.
Sighing, she roughly spread out the cloak, blanket, clothes, and bedding across the bed itself. Faint hope that might dry things a bit, not make a little smelly swamp here instead. But it's too bunched up. And leaves wouldn't fall off by themselves, and dirt wouldn't shake itself out.
Ideally, gather it all and take it to the lake to wash, then haul it back and find somewhere to hang it dry and find replacements.
But couldn't do that now, as the mere thought of doing anything made her queasy. Best hope it didn't start to reek before Amelia found the strength and time to deal with it.
Throwing another guilty glance at her ruined belongings, she headed out. Right past the damaged entrance drape.
…What a mess.
Despair pulsed hotly and unpleasantly in the back of her neck.
"We'll figure out what to do later. Onwards, to the Station now."
Going.
It feels much better outside. Even eased slightly.
The fresh wind cooled her swollen face and her eyes gradually opened. Seemed not quite as bad as immediately after dawn.
The post-tipsy Kantinian still looks a little dented and scratched by life, but she can get to work and quickly slip into a conveniently opened den.
She hurried to work as best she could in her state, trying not to think about meeting people she'd met recently.
"Don't be so self-centred. Everyone cares for themselves only."
Sounds comforting. Still good to see the Temples where we can hide.
Entering the Station building, the Secretary instantly lost half her enthusiasm for the current work light. Nodding briskly at everyone by the coffee table, scurrying past, she tried to hide her face, knowing joining the off-duty group was inadvisable this light. Fewer people seeing her today, the better… Until she felt human, at least.
Oh, and she'd have to show that face to the boss! The cubbyhole was sealed!
…Such boggy luck... To the gnats with it all!..
Ami was hit by another wave of nausea. She braced against the wall. Ouch.
Apparently, enclosed spaces were contraindicated today. Any of them.
She "waved" the drape, gathering all her strength. Luckily, Milo answered immediately.
– Ami, take it… what's wrong? – he asked with concern after looking up. – You look dreadful.
– Milo… I… thought I could work today, but… – she began, sinking into a chair.
Ouch. Bruise. Another bruise is here too.
Her heart hammered in her ears, jumping into her throat along with the rising nausea, coloured dots danced before her eyes.
…Impressive.
She didn't recall how much she'd drunk… but clearly, substantially.
…Oh, gnats, dear Universe, please, kill me immediately…
– What "but"? What happened? – he pressed patiently.
– "But"... seems I can't… If I feel this… rotten… in your office… the cramped Archive will be absolutely vile… Even thinking about it… already…
She swallowed convulsively, assessing the prospects. Yes, nausea intensified at the thought of her cubbyhole.
– Is work… making you this ill? – he joked lightly, trying again for a coherent answer.
– Not entirely, but it contributes… Right now, I feel vile from yesterday's… libations.
– Righty-ho… – Milo paused, surprised. – Ale laid low the officer?
– No. A daft head, incapable of handling its own troubles… promptly or acceptably. The ale by itself is hardly to blame…
She stared wearily at the floor. Nausea was easing slightly, but encroaching stupor began to flatten her.
– Poor thing. Go home, sure… Why did you even come?
– As usual... was sure I could manage. – the Secretary replied tersely, trying not to move her head and worsen things. – And as usual, couldn't.
– Go home. Rest. I don't know how things work in your Order Department, but here, those feeling poorly simply don't come to work.
– In the Department… We come… In any state. – Ami exhaled, fighting a rising hiccup. – To as a lesson to learn…
– Inefficient. Productivity nil. If not negative. Swamp knows what mischief one might cause. And it'll still happen "again", while the urge exists.
Amelia winced.
– Precisely… Swamp… Think my urge for that is sated for a good while… Hic! If I ever…
She gulped air.
– Go home… But help me find Moki's recent report and take this to the cubbyhole – then go.
– Going... – Ami grabbed her nausea-ridden head. – Right, what… to take?..
– This. – the chief indicated a stack of tablets.
– Riiight…
But the recent reveller started to rise suddenly.
She rolled up her sleeves and lifted the documents with exaggerated vigour. Must try to fool herself. Act as if everything's normal, then she'd feel slightly better.
The simple ruse worked for a while. Tested.
– What… happened to your hands? – asked the irritatingly observant Milo.
– Not entirely sure… – Ami evaded. – Can't recall… Don't want to. To be true.
She wouldn't tell about the mushroom, of course. The last thing needed was confessing to her own misdemeanours. Especially ones she scarcely believed herself.
Luckily for Amelia, she and her chief left his office for the Archive instead of a discussion. The Secretary strained to stay upright and keep her balance.
…Oh, why had Milo entrusted her with tablets today… The world kept trying to lurch sideways and slip from under her disobedient feet.
"Outdoors. Soon. Don't give up."
…Trying!..
They entered the cubbyhole, confirming Ami's prediction about the dregs-level feeling here. She'd felt queasy here *before* the hangover; now, with one atop the other…
…Oh!..
She quickly crawled to her desk, dumped the tablets, and slumped into her chair.
…Ugh. Ouch…
Best hope they weren't staying long. Otherwise, her nauseous tenure in this cramped workspace would reach its logical conclusion.
Milo swiftly assessed the situation, lit the lamp with a flick. Ami gritted her teeth in envy and frustration. The chief began searching the shelves.
– You… wouldn't help me?
– I will. Give me a moment… My brain's trying to crack my skull from within… and crawl outside…
– Well... Take your time. I'll look meanwhile... Interesting arrangement you've got here.
– As best as I could…
He sighed, examining the tablet edges and their case names, evidently trying to decipher her system.
– I… think I was in the Forest. – she rasped abruptly.
– Well… at least you're not found in a pit.
"What a kind soul."
– No… I possess… sufficient imagination to devise my own disasters…
– See anything interesting? Out there… In the forest? – Milo, continuing to search for documents, asked innocently.
She raised swollen, red-rimmed eyes to him.
– Might have... Can't recall. Anything.
– I confess, it hadn't occurred to me to send anyone out at night... Laivy does occasional night patrols. But she generally keeps them as brief as before our dramatic events, and doesn't look for much. Need to load her with extra duties. Proper night patrols will be her problem now, until Sandra and Chiefdom send us some people. She won't be thrilled… And I'll mention you.
– Sure you would… Thanks… I wasn't exactly keen on living anyway.
– Right. Hold on, I'll dash to my office, fetch something else… before I forget. You pull yourself together, I genuinely need your help now. Sooner we find it – sooner you go home.
– On… it… – Ami snorted sarcastically, closing her eyes.
…Oooof!
The cubbyhole executed an impressive pirouette around her. Mustn't close eyes!
…No-no-no-no. No… Hold on!..
…Why didn't he let her go immediately? What a sadist…
But he promised to do it at least. Need to be grateful. Our OD chief wouldn't be so condescending. And wouldn't be so polite as to not ask about the latest events more.
But she told Milo everything.
…Did she?
If not about the mushroom… But, honestly, it was still hard to believe for herself.
She definitely hadn't scaled a mushroom, though her scratched legs seemed to recall the sensation of feet sinking slightly, and her stubbornly closed eyes remembered the shimmering field of city lights spread out before her.
It had all blended strangely… No. Technically unfeasible... Unless… she used the vines. Well, no again. That required significant upper body strength. Not with her nowalights forte. Amelia had none. Barely dragged her feet lately actually.
And how would she have squeezed under the cap? How did she get down? Best not to recall. She felt queasy enough.
…What had she forgotten up there, though? Besides… the fact she'd always wanted to see the city from one… Huh?
Seemed… she'd been looking for her house. Yes, she'd thought the view would be clearer. And she had found the house, after all. Woke up where she should, at any rate.
Even if she'd found it using a luminous navigational entity not quite as intended.
…And how had she found her dwelling, really?
A poor templar couldn't remember getting home. Or even which district the "Crooked Mushroom" was. Wandered a long time beforehand. And afterwards, judging by the state of her, even longer… Her legs ached.
The promenade, it seemed, had been substantial… Best hope it was ONLY through the forest… And ONLY to the mushroom.
…And not… past the Sanitarium… Singing aloud!..
…Oh, no-no-no-no!.. Quiet-quiet-quiet…
Her heart hammered like mad.
…Don't die... Not like that. It will all be forgotten soon…
We're going home. Soon. And lie down there… Where and on what – unclear… but we'll do it, even on the floor. Don't you worry… It will be easier soon. Just hold on a bit more… Hold on.
Only this stack of tablets stood between us and it.
– Ami. Hand me the materials on Kyona's patients.
…Not that. Not now!
The Secretary normally balked at that phrase, but today it sounded like catastrophe. But… how to refuse Dave?
– Oh... Davin… I… I'll try… But no promises. – the enfeebled Archivist rasped.
The worker of a cycle struggled to get to her feet and, suppressing the nausea, slowly approached the shelves.
– What's wrong? What a voice! Did you… catch a chill?
The Kantinian wouldn't have made such an epic effort for Milo… But heroism yielded little. Tablets swam, signs blurred in the nauseating haze.
– No… Not just my voice… I'm today… wholly out of sorts… – she sighed, trying to focus. – My eyes see almost nothing in this swollen face. I feel frightfully sick from everything… Including tablets.
"Where are those dung-eating lists?! I laid out all this slop and murk myself…"
– I see. So it's… the tablets doing this to you? – Davin inquired sympathetically.
– Aye… and them too… not least… But chiefly the ale… Hoped it would ease the strain, but it only added…
Amelia cautiously shrugged her shoulders.
– Och, always with ale! – Davin shook his head. – No need to tell me, you know… Had my share of revels in younger days.
"And why must you all be so splendid? To look even better against my backdrop."
…And there it was, that clay gnat-filth… Right where it should be.
Why unseen first time? Because everything swam in hideous blotches…
Attempting to bend for the document, the officer swayed and braced her shoulder against the wall. Ouch.
Straightening up, fighting nausea, she hurried to the window and thrust the tablet through. Only for it to catch on the ledge and tumble tauntingly back into the cubbyhole… shattering.
– Rotten peelings… – Ami laughed weakly, bleakly.
The coloured dots before her eyes were so bright, she could almost catch them. Nausea surged back full force from the stress. Blood pounded madly in her temples. All she wanted was to sink to the floor.
– Ami. Poor lass. Don't torment yourself and endanger the archive. I'll leave you in peace today and ask for nothing more! That's it, I'm off. Get well.
– Do, Davin. That would be splendid. Sorry and… thanks. – Ami spread her hands guiltily.
Ouch.
– Not at all. Go home.
Davin strode swiftly from her booth.
Ami wiped away weak tears of frustration, trying to calm her heart, which seemed determined to leap out along with her stomach and its contents.
…So. What we have… Chaos at home. Here's the same story… What else would be added? The longer she lived, the more she'd see. Few problems? Give Ami more…
She eyed the shards of the shattered tablet scattered on the floor.
As a Secretary, she was genuinely hazardous today.
…Needed air. Needed to leave. Gurgles, where is Milo?..
He'd asked for Moki's report, by the way... Come on, Amelia, pull yourself together. Sooner found, sooner out…
– O. Ami. Up already.
It came from somewhere to the side, almost mockingly. The Chief returned with several more cases in hand.
– Aye... And already hard at work. – she indicated the tablet shards with a glance.
– Ooh… Well, never mind. Recopy it tomorrow.
"That's genuinely hurtful."
– I. Cannot. – she bit out.
Time he remembered whom he was dealing with.
– We'll sort it tomorrow. – he dismissed lightly, waving something.
…What? Ah. Found it himself. Excellent. There it was… Victory! Tablet found before Ami expired here…
– Good you found the report yourself… and grabbed it before I shattered this one too…
– Off you go. Get yourself right soon. With your new cataloguing system, we're lost without you here.
– I'll… draft a schematic… sometime… once alive…
Amelia made an indeterminate gesture and, realising she was about to be sick, hurried out of the cubbyhole towards the entrance drape promising coolness and fresh air.
…Just had to make it now, to lie down…
Only hoped she wouldn't be sick in the kotti and have to sleep outside.
"Most unlikely. Someone had torn the drape very thoughtfully. It was practically outdoors now anyway, same temperature, all the draughts."
…Don't start again. I'd recover and patch it…
"I want to believe."
…Shut up…One step… two steps… this would take a damn Aeon… Home wasn't even visible.
The familiar street showed no sign of nearing.
They'd surely sleep outdoors, never reaching their kotti… Why go further, when it made no difference. Sleeping on the floor tonight was practically sleeping on the ground anyway.
…Best not think much…
Problems wouldn't solve themselves through inaction, and thoughts genuinely made things worse. Good that the waves of nausea softened in the merciful breeze.
Just when life seemed to be improving… Who was "mistress of her own fate" here?
…The one who did make it home actually! Yay.
She tried to push the torn drape aside cautiously, but instead stumbled heavily inside, losing her balance.
…Oh dear!..
…Greetings to the new batch of troubles. Were they truly endless today?..
"For klutzes – yes. Their whole lives."
…Shut up!..
Still lying on the floor, Ami scanned the entrance.
The drape… the drape was torn halfway… admitting extra light and stripping away the last vestige of wind protection.
Nausea surged stronger, worsened by the thump to her head.
Who felt there weren't enough problems? Now it wasn't just a tear… Her dashing carouser lay holding one piece of fabric, the other half dangling by a thread.
Perfect timing… A little extra air certainly wouldn't hurt with this nausea.
Amelia struggled to her bruised knees. Ouch.
…And on the wet bed sat the hastily discarded, un-dried cloak, and a crumpled, mashed pile of bedding, clothes, and blanket. Marvellous.
"Cheer up. Main thing – hands, feet, teeth, ribs… intact. Mostly. The rest – fixable."
Yes.
She stood up. Must gather all the fabric to hand for padding. The floor would be colder than usual, but her burning head cared little now.
Amelia emptied her duffel bags onto the floor, knowing she had no time to fret about the mess.
…Needed to lie down. Now.
Picking rags, she began arranging a new nest behind the bed.
Would sleep in her clothes, pull duffel bag over her legs against the chill. Pile clothes on top of her, stuff cleaning rags underneath. Simple logistics. The glorious splendour of Amelia's domestic life.
Working bent over combined with bleak thoughts of some exhausting hopelessness did her no favours.
Moments later, she was running behind the house into the corner. Being sick.
Wiping away tears and feeling slight relief, she crawled back to her hastily assembled makeshift bed, barely rising from all fours.
How to wrap herself in all this so it wouldn't fall off? A leg and her back were exposed as separate fabric bits slid away… How to find a comfortable position where she wasn't queasy? And preferably, not lying on bruised parts?..
…Mission impossible. And what about?..
"Hush. Don't think. Stop it."
Somehow solving this series of puzzles, Amelia finally arranged herself, not comfortably, but adequately, trying to shield her face from the draught determined to exploit today's open-door policy.
Fine. At least less queasy.
…Everythingwillbefineeverythingwillbefineeverythingwillbefine…
…I'manidiotI'manidiotI'manidiotI'manidiotI'manidiotI'manidiot…
…Everythingwillbefineeverythingwillbefineeverythingwillbefine…
…Quietquietquiet…
Finding a head position where the world ceased its hangover dance, Ami plunged into heavy sleep.