Surviving Arkadia

The apartment turned out to be inside the Archive. Somehow I had not been expecting that. It was tucked up under the eaves of the roof at the back of the building. The furniture was battered and probably second hand. The walls were lined with bookcases. There were a couple of bedrooms, each with a couple of beds, and there was more space to lie down in the main room. For the first time I found myself wondering exactly how common Outlanders were.

The apartment felt like an afterthought furnished with cast-offs, but it had plumbing. There was a tiny kitchen with a sink and a spirit stove for cooking on. There was a flush toilet. The only option for bathing was a hip bath that had to be filled with water heated on the spirit stove, or standing at the sink and washing with cold water, but given that they were letting us stay there for free I wasn’t about to start complaining.

Jethro suggested that we take different bedrooms. It was only after he’d retired for the night that I realised the significance of that act. This would be my first night in Arkadia with a wall between me and everyone else in the world.

#

The next day I was woken by the smell of coffee, real coffee, not the Dandy-pick-me-up that I’d been convincing myself was almost as good.

The Chief Archivist was waiting in the main room with a pot of coffee and a paper bag emblazoned with the name of one of the local bakeries. She laid out the coffee things and then pulled something familiar looking from the paper bag and put it on one of the mis-matched plates.

“Ms Robinsdottir,” I said. “Is that a croissant?”

“I think that now I’ve seen you in your small clothes you can call me Gertrude,” she said.

Which was when I realised that I hadn’t got dressed. I’d just floated out of my bedroom, propelled by the smell of coffee, like something animated by Tex Avery.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise,” I said, retreating to my room.

“Don’t worry on my account,” said Gertrude, “But if you insist on covering up there should be a robe of some kind hanging on the bedroom door.”

She was right. There was a silk dressing gown hanging there. It must have been incredibly expensive when new but now it was worn and shabby, though still beautiful. Once I was decent again I returned to the table.

Gertrude had finished laying things out and poured me a cup of coffee. There was a bowl of large sugar crystals, and a jug of something white on the table but I like my coffee dark and bitter so I ignored them. She slid a plateful of croissant over. There was just one croissant but it was big enough to count as a plateful. I poked it, barely able to believe what I was seeing but it did seem to be that classic of French baking.

“Yes it’s a croissant,” said Gertrude. “If you’re fond of them you may want to consider staying in Moonstone for a while.”

I’ve never made a croissant but I have watched a lot of baking videos so I have some idea of how much faff it is to make one. There are a lot of great breads that can be made almost anywhere but to make a croissant requires access to high quality butter and some way of keeping it cold. Layers of butter and dough folded repeatedly until the butter gets too soft, then refrigerated and folded some more. It’s the Damascus steel of baked goods.

There are many things worth having that require civilisation, things like beer and coffee and books, but some things require more than civilisation. They require infrastructure, they require technology. Or failing infrastructure and technology I suppose magic will do.

“That robe suits you very well,” said Gertrude, “Almost as well as it suited my Geraldine. I’d forgotten she donated it.”

“And Geraldine is…?” I said, trying to work out if Gertrude was flirting with me or being maternal or just friendly or what.

“Oh, my wife. If you chose to stick around for a bit you’re sure to meet her. She often visits me at work,”

So Gertrude probably wasn’t flirting. Probably. Unless she and Geraldine were swingers. Or whatever swingers were called here. Damn. How the hell was I going to find out what swingers were called here without it sounding like I was propositioning someone.

Before I could tie myself up in any further mental knots, Jethro joined us. He had the slightly hungover look of someone who had slept just a little too long but at least he’d managed to find his trousers.

“Gertrude brought coffee,” I said.

Jethro frowned and looked from Gertrude to me and then down at the pot of coffee. It seemed like he was trying to work out which part of my words he wanted to tackle first.

“Actual coffee?” he said.

“Yes! And pastries,” I said.

Gertrude shook another croissant out of the paper bag and onto a plate.

“Never seen a pastry like that before.” He inspected the croissant closely. “This city is growing on me,” said Jethro, sitting down.

#

The reason Gertrude had plied us with coffee and croissants first thing in the morning turned out to be because she wanted me to catch some of the staff at the Fever Hospital right after morning rounds. I wasn’t entirely clear why she wanted me to go to the Fever Hospital. It was some errand related to the Rotveil Diary but also somehow related to being an Outlander.

Jethro said he would spend the morning in the City Hall. He wanted to check out the Job and Accommodation Boards there. I promised to meet him when I was finished at the Fever Hospital.

#

The Fever hospital was bigger than I’d expected. I walked past the front of the Central Library and the Fellowship of the Light of Knowledge to reach an L-shaped building with an elegant pillared entrance. It was as big as the Library and the Fellowship building, whatever that was, combined. It seemed out of all proportion to the size of the city. Particularly given that most illnesses in Arkadia could be treated by drinking a potion or two and those potions could be made by people on dozens of different career paths.

As I neared that grand entrance I found my steps slowing. I did not want to go inside. Perhaps my body was trying to tell me that I’d seen enough sickness and hospitals in my old life to last for more than two lifetimes. I forced myself to run up the stairs. I refused to let anyone push me around. Particularly my own body.

Inside, the building was about as pleasant as you could expect a hospital to be. Everything was white and shiny. At first I thought the semi-circular front desk was marble but then I realised that it was too smooth, too reflective. This was some material I’d never seen before. Perhaps marble would have been too porous, too hard to keep clean. I wondered if this was the product of some magic I didn’t know about yet.

I told the young man behind the not-marble desk that I was there to deliver copies of the Rotveil diary.

“Ah yes,” he said, “The senior staff are expecting you. They’re in the Administrator’s office.” He directed me up the wide staircase to an office door marked Administrator Augustus Leitner.

Standing outside the door I once again found myself oddly reluctant to go on. I felt a deep sense of dread about what was on the other side of that door.

Which turned out to be four perfectly nice people wearing a lot of white.

There were two human men, both with fair skin and dark hair, one sitting behind a large desk and one sitting in a wheelchair with his back to the door. There was a human woman, pale with blond hair, facing the door and half leaning, half sitting on the edge of the desk. She had her arms folded and everything in her body language said, impress me. Finally there was a Beast-kin man standing behind the man seated at the desk, and looking out of the window. He was smooth and sleek and had lighter fur on the lower half of his face. At first I thought he might be a weasel or a ferret but then I noticed how small his ears were and decided he was probably an otter. An aquatic mammal that’s as agile on land as it is in the water. I wished I’d thought of that, though on the whole I was pretty happy with my bone crushing bite, and my cast iron stomach, and my other advantages.

“Um, I’m here with your copies of the Rotveil Diary,”I said.

The man behind the desk smiled and said, “You must be Petra. I’m Administrator Augustus Leitner.”

I grabbed the four books from my net bag and handed one to Administrator Leitner.

“This is Sister Luschin,” he said, indicating the woman.

“Please, call me Nurse Trudy, that’s what most people call me,” she said, taking a book.

“Professor Roger Faerber, he’s the chief of our research department. One of the finest minds on the continent,” said Administrator Leitner.

“He thinks if he keeps complimenting me I won’t ask for more funding,” said Roger, taking a book.

“And Doctor Roly Henning, one of our most senior Healers.”

Dr Henning turned away from the window and reached out over the desk for the book. He gave me a distracted smile, clearly in a hurry to get into the book.

I paused, unsure what to do next. I’d completed the task that I’d been sent to do but it felt like there was more. Why had the Administrator introduced everyone to me? That felt weird. What did they want?

Nurse Trudy stood up. “Gertrude suggested that it might be a good idea for Petra to have a look around the hospital,” she said.

“Gertrude?” said Leitner.

“The Chief Archivist,” said Dr Henning, sounding both irritated and incredulous.

“Yes, right, sadly I’m not on first name terms with her,” said the Administrator. “I’m sure if she thinks it’s a good idea then it is. Are you happy to take this on, Sister Luschin?”

“That’s why I mentioned it,” said Nurse Trudy. She grabbed me by the arm and steered me out of the office.

“And relax,” she said, as the door closed behind us.