Dr. Tang and I spend the time between then and when we had to go back to the shuttle bus, browsing the corridors of the Archives. Well, at least the corridors made by the bookshelves at the huge hall. It surprised me that none of the books on the shelves were even remotely related to artefacts, the base, or nothing of sorts. They were mostly fiction; from “Snow White” to “Dracula”, though, given our own relation with truth masquerading as fiction, perhaps they were History books on their own right and I am mistaken.
I lost Dr. Tang at some point. I found her eventually sleeping in a stack of books waiting to be shelved. She seems to have an uncanny ability to sleep everywhere and almost immediately; on the other hand, she never seems tired, so I don’t know how she does it. Maybe is something related to her necromancy, as with her horribly cold hands.
However, between those two points in time I did something I probably shouldn’t have done. I peeked at the next room over. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, or maybe I shouldn’t have done what I did later in there. Anyway, what’s done is done.
The room was tall, and I don’t mean “oh, it’s a couple feet higher than your average room, probably a two-story room”. No. I mean a room that was, at least, twelve metres high. It was a circular room, like the inside of a lighthouse, with curved shelves and small compartments in them. The room glowed with the faint light emanating from the hundreds of testimonies propped there, as it was some sort of storage room for them.
They were labelled by the artefact of which they belonged, but by the door was a laundry basket to the brim with balls of golden yarn. The basket had a small note on top, the kind that would fly to the ground each time someone opened the door, but which said “unaccounted”. I don’t know what whoever, probably Mx. Bonheur, meant by writing the note.
Curiosity is a beautiful thing when leads to great discoveries, regarding if those discoveries are related to the world that surround us or who we are. It can also be a horrid thing. I can cause strife and despair, as we go down a rabbit hole where the answer is a new question and you have the compulsion of doing something really stupid in search for the final solution. Compulsions as, one could say, Pandora opening her box, or myself slipping one of the balls of yarn into my pocket.
If we were going to be doing the transcription of this testimonies, it would be better to have a start trying to figure out how they worked.
Not yet finding Dr. Tang, at this point probably waist-deep in books, I went back to the theatre. The Agrippa group was back in the outside, and seemed that Arcadia was now on the conference room. Since Mr. Darbinyan was nowhere to be seen, and everyone else was on their own devices, no one saw me going up to the stage and having a look at the weird contraption where Ms. Alice Athenida had appeared.
The thing was pretty much what I saw at first glance. It was a large mirror, curved to seemed to be tubular from a distance, but up close was just a heavily curved mirror. It was connected by copper wires to the crystal bowl. The bowl itself was filled half-way with water, salted water by the taste of it, not sea water, it was salted artificially and had a slight aftertaste of iodine. Before anyone calls me insane for tasting the liquid without being sure what it was in the first place, I had to make sure what it was if I was going to attempt at replicate it.
With the key components in the back of my head, when I came down the stage and back to the hall, I wrote them in my notebook before going to find Dr. Tang.
By the time I finally found her, with Iggy accompanying me, she was sinking slowly in the sea of books, and was neck-deep in it. The only part of her we could see, was her head, hair and glasses slowly sinking between the pages.
—Are we done yet? —she asked, when we managed to pull her from the academic quicksand—. Can we go?
The last team was done by the time we made our way back to the theatre. Mrs. Gati was chatting with Mr. Darbinyan, the machine on the stage nowhere to be found. She waved goodbye and said to go looking for her at Town Square if we had any doubt of our particular jobs as the temporal Support. With that, she walked away.
—Okay, before we make our way back to the houses a few things you should now— our boss said, rising his voice—. You may’ve realised our houses have food and other amenities and supplies you need; this is how it’s going to be from now on, for any other thing you may need, you have to approach the Maintenance office in Town Square.
—Good, I have a couple of suggestions— Ursula said, and I don’t know why the word “alcohol” came to my mind—.
—Regarding your stacked pays. I’ve spoken with magical resources and we’re going to stablish a franchise of the Arcadian Bank during this week. From there you can interact with other banks and decide what you do with your money. However, a reminder is that the food and amenities here have no cost, so you can just…save it.
Having a small safety net that would last a lot longer if I don’t have to spend it is a tempting thing to have. I also had an idea in the immediate moment he said our pays were stocked. £7 a week, since the second third week of March, now was August the 22nd if my counting of the days was correct. So, about £160 stored in the bank. For now, I was happy to just have it slowly increase, maybe in the future I’ll try my idea. Perhaps I should seek advice on it, though, mostly so I don’t make a fool of myself while doing it.
—Lastly, please talk with Communications at The Haywire for a subscription to a newspaper or if you need to put a landline to your residence— he said, going down the stage, but, realising something, went back up—. Ah, we are still sorting the accommodations, so your locations could be changed in the next week.
—What about our magic? —one in the crowd yelled.
—Oh, that, sorry. You can use magic here, but do it with caution. We are in the magical dumpster of the world, so take that in mind.
Seemed to be all, he went down and, with a sign we all went back to the bus. Mugsy offered to gave some of us a ride back home or to do some sightseeing with her girl. Ursula, Iggy and I agreed. I went to the backseat with Iggy and Brigitte. The car itself was spacious, but painted in such bright red that almost gave everyone on it a glow as we were on fire. When Mugsy started the vehicle, the thing roared in such a way that Iggy and I almost jumped from the backseat. The infant, however, seemed to giggle every time her mother accelerated in place.
—Nice, isn’t it? —Mugsy yelled, to be heard above the roar—. I bought it at the Paris Motor Show with my winnings of Perth the year before.
Three things I should mention. One, the Hispano-Suiza H6 can reach a top speed of 95 miles per hour. Two, a dexterous demigoddess whose father is known for racing the sky in the chariot of the sun, most likely knows how to avoid the speed cap and going as fast as she wants. Third, Mugsy is one of this people, and drives with reckless abandon, even with four other people, including her own daughter, in the car with her.
—Son of a —Iggy began, clawing at the seat with one hand and keeping Brigitte in place with the other—, sorry, language.
—Where you want to go first? —Mugsy’s voice blasted in our ears.
—I don’t know, but I’m sure the last stop will be a hospital— I yelled back, but then I had an idea—. To the buildings of the other departments!
I had made a copy of the island’s map from the library and, even though I wouldn’t make the Rand-McNally company jealous, it was comprehensible enough so we could see some key points marked in it. There were ten departments in the island, and while the place was huge, these where cramped in seven of the thirteen sections of the place. Marina Bay, where we were staying, Archive City, the region at the entrance of the base, The Hub, and the place at the centre of it all, Town Square, each had two headquarters. The others were in places called “The Haywire” (Communications) and the “Outer Zone” (Security).
We decided -Mugsy decided, since the others were too busy holding to the car by dear life- to go clockwise around the island, and in a spiral inward. We were in Archive City, which seeing the map I realise is a common name but not the official one, which is “The Catalogue”. Behind us, now away and making itself smaller in the distance, were the Archives.
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