Work was becoming increasingly engrossing. At some point.
Ami tried to save her psyche and had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the cases. Other people's cases had become like her own.
She'd skimmed nearly all the lower shelves of reports by now, selecting the most intriguing and jotting down facts from the investigations that piqued her interest.
The Kantine free spirit was no longer *that* bored in her cubbyhole. She was always capable of finding entertainment for herself.
But the envy. The envy that had started to creep in as the stress lessened. The huge envy of everyone else roaming free. They asked her about particularly interesting cases. Puzzling cases. It was still here. In this habitually half-dark room.
Though the "wild child" had been consumed by the "nerd", whose hands now held all the information about what was happening around her, in the city, the surrounding areas, and even beyond.
Not one remotely intriguing fact remained unnoticed or unexamined.
Amelia had decided for herself that everything had its time. She'd gather information in Omill and then launch her own investigation back in Kantine.
Things couldn't be changed right now. So she might amuse herself with what she's got. Enjoying practically unlimited quantities of genuine Omill coffee and reading material unavailable to common people, more fascinating than the usual heroic tales.
One question now: should she venture higher, tackling cases accessible from the second level, and ask Milo to open the access?
Or… seek novelty horizontally, by plucking up the courage to visit Finnian's Archives after all?
Who's more likely to refuse first?
In the light of the recent disappearances of materials, all the Temple department heads had developed a belated suspiciousness. Even towards their own subordinates.
The simplest thing in this situation was to wait until something else was brought in. The answer to her unspoken question was a shadow looming in the little window.
Ami pushed aside her cup of cooled coffee.
— Kele. Haven't seen you in cycles, good to see you.
— No one to heat up coffee? — The Selva made a charmingly sarcastic face.
— Nothing escapes your insightful mind. — Amelia replied with the same good-natured sarcasm.
— On the bright side, I haven't distracted you often, and I've brought you a whole pile of reports at once. Give me yesterday's materials on… the relatives' interviews from Calvin in exchange.
— Right away. Thanks for your delicate concern. The coffee in my cup has gone cold, indeed. Here it is, if you want to help while I'm searching for the case…
The Secretary went into the depths of the closet to look for the necessary document, continuing the conversation.
— …Calvin's materials – an excellent choice. Academic… style, engaging presentation. Won't be dull. Only, he didn't quite flesh out the theme. What about those people now? Did they start new lives? Or are they trying to piece the old ones back together? So fascinating. You might as well go round interviewing them all yourself again.
And returned with the requested tablet.
— You… read the cases again. — concluded the templar operative. — There are a ton of these clay things, and you don't have that amount of time during the light… So I have to ask. Where does this *particular* interest in amnesias come from?
— I want one for myself. I'm interested in many topics, in fact. But there's something so incredibly terribly attractive about these amnesiac affairs that caught my attention back in the Kantine. Your poetic Selva soul must appreciate the dark appeal of this.
— It… doesn't. It's just weird and creepy cases.
— Then you should sit here in a gloom for a while surrounded by other immobile, lifeless objects, feeling envious, peeking into the reports of the living. *That* is true weirdness and creepiness.
Ami sighed, handing Kele the tablets in exchange for her cup of the coffee, warmed in a heavenly, fantastic way. It definitely already made her light.
— I'd be happy to sit quietly or even nap for a while. — smirked the officer. — If you ask me. The cases are often less interesting than you'd hope. Read my latest ones I gave to you, and you'll fall asleep.
— I will; you can count on it. Sleeping in this dusty place, especially one without nightmares, is the best possible entertainment here.
— Sprinkle some dried kiki berries against nightmares. And air it out to chase off the lingering spirit. Have a pleasant reading.
— It absolutely will be pleasant now with a warm coffee. Thanks, bring some more.
Ami took a big sip of the divinely touched coffee with pleasure. Watching Kele head off to a place where conversations with real, solid people, going outside to investigate something dreadfully intriguing and large, and normal windows were a lightly basis.
No wonder. He *is* normal. More than that, he's awesome.
And Ami is fine as she is. Communicating with symbols would suit her fine. The tablets will endure. No need to reply. Fewer awkward situations.
Hiding in the shadows. Not showing her face in the light. That's what the swamp monsters usually do. If they're not hunting.
As for the darkness… She's accustomed to the sparse, intimate lighting here. And didn't even bother to acquire a proper Kantine oil lamp from the Caravans.
She could see well enough in here. It was just that every time she left the cubbyhole, the gloom creature was briefly blinded. Probably something like what cave-dwelling Dwarves experienced. On a much grander scale, of course.
Spitting out her frustration in a sigh, the Secretary laid out Kele's newly arrived tablets, still glad for the new reading material.
Ah… being a nice Selva diminished the truth.
The cases were, for the most part, interesting. *His* cases were certainly fascinating. Even the fruitless wandering through the Forest.
She could do it too. Though, unlike Kele, her sense of direction was appalling, and in the end, they'd probably be searching for her.
Ah… now this was *really* interesting!
Reminds me of what Calvin wrote about recently. And Kele took away.
But no great loss that the document's gone, since everything significant is already in her notes. Can supplement it.
It can be useful. For her own… investigation. She will continue in Kantine.
It's a pity she has to analyse it on her own, while absurd theories keep surfacing from oblivion only to sink back again. She wanted to discuss it with someone besides the voices in her head, which never say anything new.
— Ami.
…Raging swamps…
No time for thoughts, which were coming thicker and faster lately. Immeasurably more frequent than the visitors. But still. For the bog's sake. What's up?
— Listening.
— Take these tablets off me, please.
— On it. I'll ease your weight of information. What is it? Ooh, fascinating... The gnome glimmerdust is back…
— Meaning me? Nah. My temperament's not that fiery. Here's another copy of the request to Zeth also.
— Taking. But there are no free slots left… Doesn't matter. Faella. Do you know… why does Lavy live here in Station?
— Nope. Don't know. — the selva shrugged. — She just does.
— She… doesn't have a house?
— She has.
— Alright… I'll ask Lavy herself.
The half-mysterious underforester Lavy, as discovered while sorting documents, not only guarded the Station at night. She also participated in enforcement operations. When necessary. Presumably when they managed to wake her.
Fortunately, enforcement operations in Omill were, to put it mildly, few and far between. So Lavy could sleep as long as she wanted most of the time.
— Lucy… ugh. Ami. Give me the tablets on the latest warehouse reports. —Moki mumbled, as always, gazing distractedly off to the side.
— On it.
Ami paused, debating whether to say it.
— Moki. — she continued uncertainly. — You… oversee the Warehouses. And the Caravans. It's a statement. I'm not asking. I'm reading all the reports here.
— Yes. Why?
— I did the same boring stuff back in Kantine for a while. I tracked and recorded shipments. So I know where to look and when intervals or the quantities look suspicious… And I saw it there. I'm just interested in your take on it, it's not reflected in any documents.
— Are you? — Moki looked at her with such surprise, as if he'd only just noticed a living person was in the booth.
Ami quickly, before he recovered, pulled three tablets from the shelf and jabbed a finger at one of them.
— Look… They're roughly equal, and, if I'm not mistaken… they correspond to the departure times of the trade haulers from Kantine... Here. That's where the root of all this stems from... Alongside Zeth. But Zeth is secondary… Don't look at me like that; I'm far from a genius…
She shrugged in response to the distrustful look from the silent officer.
— …my job was to monitor particularly valuable sacks. And I roughly remember the caravan schedules. Here, here and there are our incident dates. If you look at arrival dates, it's less obvious. Haulers move at different speeds. But the departure dates… have roughly equal intervals. See? Though, I could be wrong; I need to ask Milo to make a fresh query to Kantine. And this glimmerdust… is so vexing.
— Don't even mention it… Hm. It needs double-checking. — the gloomy Selva mused, scratching the window ledge. — I forgot you were an operative.
— I'd almost forgotten myself. — the Kantine woman snorted. — Not that I was some successful, effective officer. Investigated minor cases.
Ami fell gloomily silent.
No point raking it up. And Moki probably wasn't interested anyway.
— Fancied investigating major ones? — he asked suddenly.
— Of course. I've always been fond of detective stories and wanted to be a VST agent. And certainly never wanted to be a writing tool buried in gloom.
— You dislike this job that much?
The Selva surprisingly decided to chat.
— Well, I'm used to it, and it hardly gives me nightmares anymore. But who'd enjoy being stuck motionless in a dark corner?
— Lucy did. Why did you agree then?
Moki looked at her quizzically, tilting his head.
Now that he'd found time to linger and look her way, it became noticeable that the direct, sharp gaze of his violet eyes was steady and piercing.
— Living in Kantine was gloomier than working in this room.
Selva frowned. Even more.
— I… have never been to Kantine. Had no business there. Is it really so bad?
Oh my gnats, *it* talks. This monolith stone statue can chit-chat.
— If you're a grower – then no, — answered the Secretary, trying to keep her tone matter-of-fact to hide the slight flutter. — Quite the opposite, all paths will be open to you. But woe betide you if matters of fertility and reproduction hold even the slightest interest for you.
— That doesn't particularly interest me, I admit.
The Kantine woman snorted.
Who'd have thought the broken agricultural tool had something in common with a solid Selvian statue?
— Well, now you see. — she smiled. — Gathering coffee near your kotti is far more interesting. My mother says any city grows tiresome. Probably, after a couple of years, I'd take Omill for granted too… if I got the chance.
— Maybe not. — Moki shrugged. — It's objectively good here. I was born in these parts and could easily live my whole life here. Though I can't say I wouldn't be interested in seeing other places. Someday. After retirement.
— I want to too! Even before retirement. Perhaps I'm unfair to Kantine, who knows. Time will tell.
— So. What's the actual gain for you in staying here?
— Fulfilling a contract I signed. It's a joke. A prospect… I think. I desperately need one more chance to escape my hometown. The place is toxic for me. So I try to do something about it. Anything at all. Hoping it could be the beginning of something. And the end of unnecessary suffering.
— True enough.
Moki nodded and thoughtfully headed off to his office, leaving a surprised Ami.
With Rayleen, who had just approached.
— Yes? What can I do for you? — the Secretary enquired, snapping out of her stupor.
— Take all this off me, please. — the officer exhaled wearily.
Rayleen carefully placed a large stack of documents on the ledge, which Ami hauled inside in stages.
— I relieve you of this burden! — the Archivist declared theatrically. — Go and… rejoice!
— Thanks. — The templar saluted. — Heading home and feeling lighter.
— Gnats! It's the end of the working light already! I hadn't noticed.
Truly, chinwagging isn't sorting tablets.
Time to pack up. Ask Milo to seal the cubbyhole. Enquire if there's any news from Lucy. Dying to know how she's getting on over there, in Ami's place. And it's unclear what she's feeling about it right now – curiosity or schadenfreude?
Will be clearer when details emerge.
Actually, she's got no time for schadenfreude. She needs to go to the Forest for food. Refresh the knowledge gained from the helpful Irji.
Nothing cleanses the soul and thoughts of everything like the Forest. The Forest brings you back to yourself and offers sound advice like no other.
The community of trees helps you feel you're also part of existence and that you're alright. Or to focus on inner discomfort and understand what's wrong.
The pleasant, measured rustle says more than the hubbub of human voices.
Right then. Food bag in hands and onwards – to the wise, beautiful place where Selvas and Elves roam.