Smoke billowed off the coffee mug on his desk, a half-eaten donut sitting on a napkin. Yet no Darren. Iris rubbed her aching brow, wondering where this day of tutelage would begin.
The elevator behind her dinged, announcing the entrance of a perky clerk. His gray robe flowed around his pencil-thin limbs, black shoes polished like his smile. “Good morning, Apprentice Iris,” he chirped while practically skipping into the glass-walled room. He carried a stack of books, primarily thick volumes with inlaid covers and crisp paper edges.
Lineages, 4th level down.
Iris double-checked that the forest girl was sitting at her desk in the back corner. Pale as paper, stalk straight in a maroon armchair. White blond waves stuck to the fabric of a shirt and pair of jeans Iris found for her. Her dark eyes looked at nothing and everything.
Her spine shuddered at her stillness. Iris took a swig of her scalding earl gray and got into the elevator with the much too chipper clerk. Could his smile get any bigger?
“The archivist gave me a task,” he sputtered as the elevator rattled down. Iris nodded, wishing she’d taken the other elevator. His bold blue eyes blinked at her with admiration. “It must be wonderful to be the archivist’s apprentice.”
Taking another sip of her tea, she tried not to crush his dreams. Her parents had positioned her entire life for this seat. Boarding schools, competitions, internships. It all led to the fateful day when she was hired as a humble clerk. Just sniffing the aftershave of the previous archivist sent her into an excited panic. Every day seemed to bring a new apprentice, giving her hope that she’d be the next to receive his tutelage.
It was in the basement that she met Darren, the seventh apprentice to work under the demanding archivist. Unlike the others who had mental gifts like foresight and memory, he had physical talents that likened to hers. Unlike her though, he walked into Tundor Basin. No fancy schools, no pompous contests, no prestigious work experience. Just a relaxed guy from the south who had a knack for telling stories.
She was more or less annoyed by his taking what should’ve been hers, but he gradually proved to be more knowledgeable than expected. Soon their friendship got her the chance she desired. Yet she sometimes wished to be a clerk again.
The elevator stopped and opened. Purple orbs provided low light across the room. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls while slightly shorter cabinets crafted corners. Every path led to the center, a clearing with tables and chairs.
Darren leaned over a large book, ran his finger down the page, and closed it gently. An orange orb glowed brightly over his head as he perused volumes and sorted them into stacks.
The clerk approached with nervous energy, voice dropping to a squeak. “Shall I take more books to your office?”
Darren blindly tapped the stack on his left, three massive books with worn edges and less intricate covers. Maps. The clerk giddily lifted the books and lugged them back to the elevator.
The archivist didn’t look up from his work. “Rough morning, Iris?”
“Rough evening,” she corrected, sitting across from him and crossing her legs. “Couldn’t sleep with all the craziness yesterday.”
He brushed his nose while grabbing another book. “Feel free to take a nap on the couch this afternoon.”
She glared. “You missed a spot when shaving this morning.”
His body stilled, wheels spinning behind his brown eyes. Straightening, he scratched his stubbled chin. “That’d be because I didn’t.”
“Come on, you didn’t sleep either. To busy thinking about Braggard and the possible implications.”
“I’m choosing to focus on our guest.”
“That’s bothering me too.”
He eyed her cautiously. “Our guest is a she, not an it or that.”
Iris waved off his comment. “No, I mean the timing. Braggard challenges you, we go to the forest, and we just so happen to run across a mysterious girl with no memory.” Darren’s gaze never wavered. “You see it too.”
“I’m not sure what I see yet,” Darren said, closing his last book and throwing it onto a stack. “But perhaps her identity will reveal what’s going on.” He squinted at the books strewn across the table. “Where is she anyway?”
“Our office. Still as a twig.”
A smirk tightened his cheek. “Anyone question if she’s a ghost yet?”
Iris snickered, but didn’t get a chance to respond. Running footsteps preceded the entrance of the perky clerk. His body shuddered in pursuit of air, arms flailing in the direction of the elevator.
They didn’t wait. Darren and Iris jogged into the metal box and headed for the top floor. The doors opened to the office, wire shelves with books and trinkets by Iris’ desk on the right and a sweeping L-desktop on the left for the archivist. The laminate floor had a maroon rug to match the chairs, couch, and curtains around the room.
The organized space had books strewn across the floor. In the center was the girl, fixated on an illustration in a large volume. She looked at them, large dark eyes confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Why would you think that?” Darren approached calmly, picking up books with great care.
“The boy ran away before setting those on your desk.”
Iris helped clean up the mess, taking a glance at the book the girl had grabbed. Darren made a comment about the clerk, but it didn’t reach her ears. Sitting in front of the girl was the lineage of an English duke. The family portrait had a range of children.
All with similar features to their mystery guest.