Coffee-Stained Pages
Part 2
Lilla Somn

Cover designer Lilla Somn

Translator Lilla Somn

Translator DeepSeek

© Lilla Somn, 2025

© Lilla Somn, cover design, 2025

© Lilla Somn, translation, 2025

© DeepSeek, translation, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0068-1476-9 (т. 2)

ISBN 978-5-0067-1890-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Light 11. What To Do With Uninvited Guests

Ami’s eyes snapped open.

…Those heavy lids strained to plunge everything back into darkness…

No, no, no! Don’t you dare! Don’t sleep. Not back there. We’ll end up in the same place. It’ll all continue.

“Oh no – no!”

…It all felt far too real.

Spirits. They wouldn’t materialise in this darkness… would they?!

Or her frantically pounding heart would thump against her ribs one last time and… stop forever.

“Don’t be silly. There are no spirits here.”

I’m… not so sure.

Amelia shivered.

It was chilly. Cold wind, cold sweat. Her back was vulnerably uncovered.

The breach was quickly remedied.

…as if a blanket had ever saved anyone from an immaterial threat passing through objects and time…

“Enough!”

Ami sat hunched, the plaid pulled over her head. Logical arguments aren’t very convincing when you are totally terrified…

…It would be much better if she knew how to make witch fire.

It wouldn’t be so dark. She could illuminate the surrounding space. And see there were no spirits in the house. Or… see if one was standing in the corner. Or… looming over her bed now?!

“Ooooooh… No – no – no… Stop it!!”

…No one’s there… No one’s there… Calm down, silly…

She began rocking involuntarily, as often happened when severely agitated.

“Pull the blanket down, and you’ll see there’s no one here.”

Ami shook her head sadly at herself.

No. The blanket stays in its place. Even if… No one’s there. No. One. Is. There.

“The rustling is just the wind under the entrance drape.”

Maybe.

“The voices are echoes from the outside.”

I’m not sure.

“Don’t be scared. Check. No one’s there. I promise.”

…Oh, well…

Amelia cautiously lowered the blanket, bracing for the worst… But…

No. No one was there. Only an indefinite darkness and the ominous rustle of the entrance drape. And the horror. Diffused within it. Waiting for something. Everything seen in that dream still felt real and lurking nearby.

She… desperately needed the loo, by the way.

“Don’t be scared. Please, don’t be scared.”

I wish I could… Nevertheless, I don’t want to deal with cleaning our bed on top of everything else.

“It’s a good reason to act. Be brave. You have no choice.”

I actually have.

“It’s an unwise decision. You’re an adult servicewoman, you can handle anything. You’re the one to be frightened of. No magical or parental tricks can frighten the grumpy village rotter.”

True. You’re a great immaterial adviser, voice.

“Scoffing, aha. So, you’re fine. Just go then.”

Not fine, but the situation is not unusual. Habitual, I dare say.

She exhaled and straightened up, leaning against the cold but rough solid – and thus seemingly reliable – wall, still clutching the plaid convulsively.

Her travelling cloak, laid over the sleeping ledge, slipped off and flopped onto the floor.

Ami flinched and glanced sideways at the wall behind her.

It smelt… dusty? Dust? On the wall? Are you serious, Kotti?

Her back was probably covered in dust now. Everything is covered in dust here… It scarcely mattered. Being dusty wasn’t so terrifying as being paralysed with terror.

That’s what she thought as she scrambled off the bed, tossed the plaid aside, and marched resolutely towards the sanitary bucket.

There and back to bed! Here and now. No ancients! Toilet truce!

Trying to distract herself with thoughts, Ami walked to the loo, resisting the urge to run, then bolted back to the bed, leaping onto it feet – first and diving back under the plaid.

Quietly without screams. Spirits or not, they wouldn’t get that from her.

Despite all the tricking and luring, the fear didn’t subside entirely upon returning to bed.

The sleep, however, had vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but to ponder the dream’s meaning before finding the strength to get up again to wash.

She needed to start getting ready for work. No time to waste.

Let’s do the old usual trick of distracting ourselves with rationalisations since we calmed down a little bit.

Nooo… Not the wooork… Not whenshe feels bad enoooough…

“Theeen going back to Kanteeeeneee..”

Noooo… Let’s get ourselves going… After a while. Just a moment. The night was hard.

“Don’t be too relaxed.”

I wish I could relax… Everything is under control, though. It’s too early to go to work.

Amelia slid into a lying position. She wrapped the plaid over herself and scowled.

Pray tell me… What utter rot? Why am I dreaming this? How does it relate to predecessors? Who preceded mother? Omillians? Omillians do honour spirits, by the way… So, the Ancient Omillians… Selva’s spirits…

“But you are not Selva at all, based on your pale skin, unroyal posture, and coarse features.”

Ami sighed. Yes, she fell short in many other ways too. Though…

…Who knew? In Omill, Nordic and Selva traditions were so closely intertwined that they could no longer be separated. It’s a genuine culture. A society in which individuals select whatever resources they like from the ones that are available and dismiss everything else.

It’s possible that her mother had Selva ancestry. It is understandable why Ami herself found the Selvas’ enthralling practices and half-mystical worldview appealing. Though nothing Nordic was alien to her either. A true child of this place.

“And a part of this dust. Someone utterly devoid of witchcraft in addition.”

Sigh.

If only things were different. She wouldn’t be stuck in Kantine. And her mother too. She wouldn’t be this Ami. Or there wouldn’t be any Ami at all. It could be for the best; no Ami, no problem, but there’s no use in thinking about it now.

Knowing where her maternal grandmother dwelt in Omill could be useful.

But the very knowledge that she exists was discovered by accident on another sleepless night, sneaking down the corridor towards her room after using the outdoor loo. Trying to go secretly without being noticed and carefully skirting a patch of light from the kitchen, she heard Auntie and Father whispering about Mother’s latest absurdities and… Ivette’s aversion to her own kin.

Ivette’s Omillian ancestry and her relationships outside of Kantine were never brought up before. Rather, the complete lack thereof.

…As though it were as embarrassing as remaining up late.

…Amelia was reading, though! And what did these competent construction and field personnel do? Huh?

Anyway… Apparently, barely grown, Ivette left home, permanently erasing from her life at least her mother. And Omill.

Amelia didn’t blame her. She would do exactly the same if she had a small chance. It’s unfortunate they didn’t mention the grandmother’s name. Perhaps… It would be interesting to find her here. Not about asking for some help, but simply to talk. But how… But why?

Ami was a complete disappointment and a nuisance to her family. She definitely doesn’t want to be the same to anyone else.

But if… Well… If, hypothetically, Granny could tolerate a burden. Couldn’t they have given her to Granny? Instead of dealing with an unwanted daughter?

Perhaps such a dubious prize is unwanted anywhere on the Mainland.

There’s no use in thinking about that. Their worst enemy is here. Dawn broke.

…What?!

When she opened her eyes, it was far too bright. Likely the third luminary had risen long ago…

…Aaaaaah!

It’s happened again. She fell asleep right before time to rise for work! As always. Nothing is changed here.

The sleepyhead leaped to her feet, swiftly adjusted her top drape, and was about to run. But remembering the night’s cold sweat,, she hurriedly grabbed her travel bag, pulled out the first underdrape she came across, and flung her own upon the side of the sleeping ledge.

“Need to organise a laundry sack here.”

Yes, yes, they need to do so many things…

“We’ve been here long enough and still haven’t bothered. Yet found time for so much else.”

“We’ve been busy! Gnat off.”

Yes, bog off, please, my head is totally gnat-swarmed now. And that “tidy up tomorrow” that never comes. It’s always this light with something again undone and uncomfortable instead. But I’m absolutely not in the mood.

“And there’s no use of whining now. Go-go-go.”

The clumsy servicewoman briskly left the kotti, hoping memory wouldn’t fail her and she wouldn’t waste time wandering lost.

Whizzing past the coffee shop, the sweet tooth decided she deserved something tasty and calming.

“We’re late, you know.”

Gnat off. A moment here wouldn’t change anything – it’d be unnoticeable against the overall time late for work. However, it has the power to alter our mood. And that’s what matters, not depriving ourselves of a straightforward pleasure that requires little effort.

The Archivist quickly traded a few grains from her dwindling supplies for indescribably pleasant-smelling early coffee and some flatleaf-biscuits. Briefly sweeping her gaze over the beautiful murals of the lovely coffee kotti, she smiled contentedly and, with a satisfied soul and belly, left that charming premises and dashed on.

It’s a crazy luxury for her to buy coffee on the way to work in misty fresh air smelling of pine Omill. For some happy creatures here – it is the lightly basis. But not for her. Unfortunately. But… She can only sweetly inhale this dizzyingly pleasant smell of freedom. And envy. Herself. Finally. She wasn’t mirebound. For a while.

Though this was extravagant – spending the last barter goods on what one could easily get for free at work. But if she really wanted it. So. It is fiiiine.

And it will be so. Another light, another biscuit. And if it turned out starvation came for her due to extreme impracticality – well, so be it also. She’d take responsibility for this and manage somehow. As she always did. That was the very Ami approach to life, and she knew no other. And she’d do even better with some doping.

So. She has her coffee. She took care of herself; she didn’t run in her perpetual rush or deprive herself of coffee and biscuits like usual. That’s why this girl is doubly victorious this light.

Did it mean the chronic masochist rusher was finally learning to live? Well, at least it was the first step. Well. Cross the square – and we’re there.

Cheered up and inspired, Amelia even managed not to get lost and found her way to the Temples quickly. Now… The only thing was to pop in to Milo and not get killed or, worse, sacked. That would be so daft.

But of course. Having flown into the Station, the Secretary immediately bumped into the Chief. And the whole just started improving world is panicky, stopped for a moment…

…But the smiling Omillian just pointed imperiously towards her workstation after a warning finger-wag.

Guiltily nodding, she obediently ducked into the cubbyhole, plonking her lovely water bag of coffee and the embroidered pouch of cheering contents onto the desk.

“Awkward.”

Awkward. We have to ask him to unseal the office anyway.

“True.”

It didn’t stop her life from improving. The boss didn’t look angry; she had a nice walk and wasn’t too late. Plus no Kantinian landscapes outside her outer window and no loitering outside her work window. Perfect.

She sank limply onto the chair. The adrenaline rush from rushing began to dissipate.

Soon everything around her slowly started to warmly blur… A whitish haze, like steam from coffee, crept across the floor and rose higher…

…Gradually, the pale veil began to cover everything… The world grew brighter…

It was even… hypnotically pleasant.

Especially against the contrast of the night’s darkness and nightmare.

The very dim light inside the Archive was actually rather cosy… And the darkness no longer felt so threatening… On the contrary, it felt… like a light.

A soft light spilt everywhere.

– Lucy!

The sound sliced through the space, halting the flight. Amelia jumped.

…Who’s Lucy?! Is she… here? Why is she here?!

– Oh, Ami! I need some tablets from last month, – boomed a voice from somewhere distant.

…That was… her! Oh, yes… She came to work here. Damn insomnia…

The owner of two names shook her head, trying to shed the semi-hallucinatory state, and automatically tried to jump off the chair, nearly falling off it.

Right. Seems she’d nodded off.

And her coffee? The coffee bag is lying on a table. And it’s cold. But it didn’t spill, being at the bag, at least. Great. The rest of this light will be bearable.

– What?.. What can I… – she managed to force her sluggish tongue to respond, eyeing the coffee bag.

Apparently, obtaining the artefact was more important than drinking it.

– What’s wrong? Are you alright? – Came from somewhere on the opposite side of the coffee bag.

Ami struggled to shift her gaze to the window.

The concerned voice belonged to… Kimi. Yes. That was her name. The very dark-skinned Selva, beautiful as a starless night sky.

“Ami, wake up. Now.”

If only I could.

– Ahem… no. And yes. Yes, didn’t manage a proper nap this light, – the flustered impostor Archivist nodded weakly, catching a momentary dizziness. – Must be… the stress. What… what’s for you?

She leaned on the desk, exhaled sharply, and tried to open her eyes wider to prevent them from sticking… The world continued to shimmer and sway lazily, but a single act of willpower could stop it interfering with work for now.

– A stack of inventory lists from the recent warehouse checks, – the officer sighed so heavily even sleepy Ami grasped that Kimi wanted to do this task about as much as Ami wanted to find it.

The Kantinian snorted.

– Righto. I’ll look. And bring it. – she replied monosyllabically.

Her head wasn’t working, but words somehow formed and flew out by themselves. How kind of them to help her simulate working.

– No rush, – Kimi smiled conspiratorially before leaving Ami to her own devices.

“And you complained no one cares about you.”

…Holly gnats…

Well. Wake up and find ghouls-knew-what. Two impossible tasks at once.

– Kimi! – Ami called out abruptly at the girl leaving.

– What?

The Omillian returned to the window.

– Do you… do you know any way to protect against unwanted spirit visits?

– “Protect”? Why, Ami? – the Selva asked, perplexed. – Well… If you wish… Asking them not to come is the most effective way in my experience.

– That’s… it?! Just… ask? Really?

– Yes. That’s it.

– Th… thanks, Kimi. I’ll think about it.

– You’re welcome. Only… Ami. Why send them away?

– Because… They are… mighty scary?

The dark-skinned service woman snorted sceptically, rolling her eyes.

– You desperately need them now, if you ask me! Or any other Selva. – She said it in a didactic and caring tone. – They advise. They help and protect. And they don’t come without reason, over trifles. Usually, they want to point out something very important. Something you’ve missed yourself. It can be tricky to understand what they want, you know, but trying is always worth it!

– Thanks, Kimi. I’m… just having issues on receiving help. From anyone.

– Then… stop being like that!

The service women looked at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter.

Kimi’s saluted cheerfully, and soon her steps faded away.

And Ami, who had woken up a little and felt better, could sink back onto her chair. Or the floor…

…But rustling sounded again from the window side, preventing it. Surprisingly.

– Ami, how goes it? – came a lively greeting.

“Bogged down. Again. Thanks for asking.”

It was Donny. An irritatingly buoyant chap of sturdy build.

Was he… was he ever morose?.. Not that it seemed very suspicious, but… this light it was just… grated? And stirring thick feelings laced with envy and a slew of questions. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like that?

– I can’t say. Words fail me, Donny. – the Kantinian sighed aloud. – Can give you only a long, mournful howl.

– That bad?

– No. Could be worse. Honestly.

– Haha, – Donny chuckled uncertainly. – Not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for you.

– Both. I’m in no position to be picky right now.

– As you say…

Donny wasn’t inclined to ponder others’ ambiguities deeply or dwell on little personal tragedies. Probably his secret to energy conservation and cheer. Light of character and unburdened by his own or others’ sorrows, he made to flit off carefree, as usual.

– Want to hear a joke I heard recently? – he squinted slyly.

– Go on, then.

– Right then. Who wins an argument between two seasoned sods?

The officer smiled slyly and made a dramatic pause.

Ami looked up at him, showing the sincere interest.

– The most miserable one! – Donny proclaimed triumphantly.

Ami grinned approvingly.

– Smashing! – she smiled.

– Feeling brighter?

– A little. Thanks. Appreciated.

– There. Take the documents and consider I’ve shared the mood. Cheers.

Ami mustered all her strength to smile again and gave a touched snort.

– Cheers!

She didn’t know what else to add, but it wasn’t needed. The carefree Donny, already forgetting about Amelia’s very existence, flew off.

“They’re really frightfully nice here, huh?”

Yeah.

And Ami… what else was left but to dazzle everyone from her cramped, dark den with her sparkling wit? Since nothing more spectacular was available.

If only she could dazzle with a lightning bolt. She wouldn’t have to work here then. But she could be a witch in a Witchium. What a dream…

Speaking of which.

…How could one arrange a little nap here?

If she stretched out on the floor. Could she sleep? No. Because someone’s clomping down the corridor. Again. Swamp it! Hope they’d just pass by.

We need to do something anyway. Sleeping here will lead to more awkwardness if Milo find us.

“There’s no motivation.”

…Not being fired. And…

Ami’s sight fell on the coffee bag, reminding her that she’s the happiest miserable girl on the Mainland. Doesn’t work well with a deadly tiredness, but still better than nothing.

So. Not sooner but later, the warehouse inventory lists for Kimi were, by some miracle, eventually found. Apparently, all parts of the Kantinian servicewoman’s consciousness were so terrified of losing her job that even those parts that shouldn’t have… joined the “collective” search.

And that’s how the whole light in general passed under the white veil. Beside a growing pile of unsorted tablets on the desk.

Any attempt to engage a single brain cell resulted in Ami completely blanking out into empty unconsciousness, utterly unable to think.

Finally leaving work, the Secretary still felt desperately sleepy. She dragged herself home on her last legs, barely remembering how.

The Kantinian just came into the kotti with a heavy relief, moved the dirty drape from the sleeping ledge to a chair, and plunged into heavy sleep.

“We could’ve amused ourselves this idiotically back in Kantine too.”

She didn’t even have the strength to argue with herself. So it was the last thought to flicker through her mind before oblivion.

Moreover, the tidying process did not occur in this light, the mountain of unpacked items was now neatly bagged on the table, and the sad picture did not offend the eye now.

They were closed tightly.

The unsettling surroundings and inadequate lighting of the dwelling did not bother her in the slightest.

Probably, even if spirits gathered and started to howl near Ami’s bed, she’d just wave them off irritably.

Can’t die twice.

No strength or time left for doubts, fears, or self-recrimination. Isn’t that a type of happiness?

Light 16. Sunshine through the Rain

Ami awoke with a heavy head. Her eyes refused to open.

…Must go. Must. Must. Must…

…So sick of it.

“Surely something interesting will happen at work today.”

What? A new document?

“Get up.”

No.

“You have to.”

Right.

Ami exhaled sharply and, before she could change her mind, threw off the blanket, stood up, shed her drape, took several steps to the washbasin, and… slumped down beside it. This spot was well-worn by her back and posterior from previous visits. Without bothering to scoop water with her hands or a ladle, she plunged her head into the cool dampness and held still.

She only straightened up when her lungs screamed for air.

Water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders. Soaking.

Ami shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and looked questioningly at the bag.

How many mornings had she thought about bringing her mother’s torn notes to work? And about properly washing her water pouch also – that faithful companion holding her coffee and helping her stay somewhat conscious these past few working lights.

The Kantinian could wash it in the stream by the purple Mushroom; she’d seen the locals do it. And refill it immediately, because her current state wasn’t much better than previous ones.

Then… why wash it at all? The remnants of the previous drink would be washed away by the next one again… Given the rapid fill-and-empty cycles.

The doses of coffee kept increasing, often leaving her heart pounding like a mad drum and her hands trembling. But without this adrenaline shock, the whole situation would be utterly unbearable.

Sometimes fulfilled dreams are a heavy trial.

But not as heavy as unfulfilled ones would have been. Her current troubles were easier to bear than the daily grind she’d faced in Kantine.

Probably that’s why she hadn’t made a single attempt to give up and run back yet. Ami wasn’t some heroic figure stoically enduring hardships. It was just a suicidal but pragmatically obvious choice between two evils.

The Kantinian shook off her stupor, shaking her head vigorously again. Droplets flew from her wet hair across the kotti, leaving distinct marks on the dusty floor.

Right then. The notes. Let’s bring some sense to this moderate, inevitable suffering.

She crawled over to the bags of hastily unpacked belongings, ignoring the chill coming from her damp drape. And transferred her mother’s notes into her bag. Finally.

Maybe she will find time for this.

Rummaging through the pouches, she found the symbols she’d copied from reports earlier. At least they were still there. Neat.

Time became a valuable resource. As well as power. She hoped it wouldn’t run out suddenly, one way or another.

This feeling of slipping time and missed opportunities pursued her relentlessly.

Alrighty. What she really needed to do now was dry her hair and get dressed. As a part of the programme to fight the dawn chill, at least.

If she just put her outer drape back on, it would be uncomfortable out on the street, under the plain wind of Omill. It would be noticeable even in her current state of emotional numbness. Even the wind of freedom could be harsh and cold.

Or especially the wind of freedom.

Anyway. Adding comfort to her life wouldn’t go amiss.

The servicewoman carefully pulled the last clean under-drape from her belongings bag. She hadn’t brought many, so laundry and shopping were next on the to-do list.

No food was also an issue. Clean clothes running low, payment seeds dwindling, the kotti untidy and unwelcoming… Meet Amelia the Homemaker.

“Stop whingeing like an old grumpa. Look at the bright side.”

I’m going, I’m going. Brightside is outside.

Also there are a few assorted flatcakes from her last café visit. Which was nice.

The delicious study of local culture and customs continued. And she’d consciously chosen walks and exploration over tidying up the dwelling, so she had nothing to complain about, to be true.

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…

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