They arrived at the head of a hallway with a neat “Guest Quarters” painted in bright blue at the juncture. The first door was propped open with a wedge on the floor and it was to this room Florine led her. She showed her the location of the bathroom, gave her instructions on places to get snacks and when meals were served and then hurried away to return to her post.
Alone, Marina realized how tired she was. Her foot was starting to hurt again and the tightness in her thighs was making it known to her that they were less than healed. She took her pills with a few swigs from her canteen and tucked her few clothes into the drawers under the bed. Though she wanted to spend some time in the Memoriam, to refresh her memory of the artifacts and read the writings, she knew she needed rest instead. It was a long distance she had walked despite the fact that it was just twenty-two levels. And she was hungry.
She peeked outside at the clock at the head of the hallway and found that she had a long time before the next meal was served. She took one of the peppers from the bag Joseph had left and snacked on that. She wrapped the remains in a cloth napkin to bring to the compost bin in the dining hall later and laid down for a nap. She thought about how long she wanted to sleep to try to ensure she woke up but before she could even finish the thought, she was out.
Chapter Eleven
Soft raps on her door woke Marina from a sound sleep and she was confused by her surroundings for a moment. She croaked out a hoarse, “Come in,” once she realized where she was.
The door opened slowly and Greta peeked in, as if regretful of disturbing her rest, and said, “I’m sorry to wake you. I didn’t want you to miss dinner.”
Marina struggled to sit up and wiped an unfortunate smear of drool from her cheek. She felt simultaneously like she had been asleep for days and had just fallen asleep a moment before.
“What time is it?” she asked Greta.
“Dinner seating is about halfway through.”
“Yikes,” Marina said and immediately reached for her boots. “I only meant to sleep for an hour or so. I’ve been out for a while. Just give me a second and I’ll be ready.”
Greta opened the door a little wider and motioned toward the chair, “May I?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I think I’m still half asleep.”
The older woman seated herself, perching very precisely on the end of the chair, her back ramrod straight, “I don’t think you’re rude. Don’t concern yourself with that. We’ve all had those weird wake-ups before.”
Marina finished tying her boots and stood up, happily surprised to find no significant pain at the motion, and ran hands down her coveralls to smooth them some. When she looked at Greta, the woman pointed toward Marina’s hair and gave a little expression she couldn’t decipher. Marina turned to look into the polished metal mirror and then laughed at her reflection and the giant wedge of wild hair pushed up on the side of her head.
She dug her comb from the drawer in the nightstand and dragged it through the curly mess, finally securing it all with a twist and a few hair pins. She turned to Greta and said, “Yeah, that was attractive.”
Greta almost laughed but not quite. Her smile was a friendly one and the two women made their way to the little dining hall the Historians shared. Places that had to service many people ran with an unwavering dedication to a schedule. However, this small group took turns making food and doing the washing up and could be a bit more relaxed about the timing of meals.
Three shadows were sitting at a larger table with benches on either side, deep in discussion over some point or another. At a smaller round table, the only male Historian was sitting with two more shadows listening to them talk as he sipped a cup of something hot enough to steam. Florine was scraping her tray but she waved and smiled at Marina before hurrying out the door.
The food was set out on a counter, still in the pots or pans they were cooked in, along with a few empty trays and utensils at one end. Marina followed Greta’s lead as she grabbed a tray and her utensils and strolled along the counter, inspecting the offerings and dishing up what caught her fancy.
The food was formed of plain ingredients but, like the Wardroom, arranged in such a way that the eye was pleased. Marina took a circle of pale cheese, topped with a tomato slice and a perfect basil leaf drizzled with some delightfully spicy smelling sauce. She took a spoonful from a dish that Greta indicated was a spicy eggplant stew and a wedge of flat bread that had been baked with a sprinkle of herbs on it and smelled of roasted garlic. A fresh mix of beet greens, various lettuces, onions and tomatoes and topped with a dressing made from the rare and valuable Honey Vinegar was the only decadent thing on the line. Marina’s mouth watered at the thought of the sweet and tangy flavor.
They made their way to a table, conveniently near the male Historian and his charges, and were largely silent while they ate. Their desired topic of conversation wasn’t one that could be indulged in, even in this place as long as there were other ears around to hear them. Marina listened as best she could to the historian and his shadows as they discussed the importance of understanding the way another person thought about a subject and how to listen to more than just the words a person spoke. She smiled as she listened to him have the two shadows practice on each other by speaking a sentence and then try to figure out the full context of what the other shadow said.
He was patient and very insightful. Marina could tell this even with her back to him. His voice was both calming and strangely electrifying. She found herself blushing at the thoughts in her head and then blushing more furiously when Greta looked up and gave her a crooked smile that said she knew exactly what Marina was thinking. It was embarrassing but Greta smoothed it over with a quiet word and good humor.
She was relieved when the man and his shadows left but she noted that the bright patchwork of the coveralls did nothing to diminish his dark good looks and purely masculine physique. Marina doubted every man could pull those off in quite the same way and she sighed, eliciting an abrupt bark of laughter from Greta.
Soon enough they were finished. Marina felt strange about just leaving her dishes for someone else to clean up. Greta said that she would be joining her when it was her turn and that would be lunch the next day. They scraped their plates into the compost bucket and put them into the soaking water, filled their flasks with tea, and departed the common room.
Greta led Marina away from the private rooms and back toward the Memoriam proper, but they passed by that door and continued toward the archives, conveniently labeled on the wall with a stern warning that only authorized personnel should continue. Greta turned to her and handed her a badge to clip onto her coveralls. It was a plastic card bordered in the colors of the historians with the word ‘Guest’ in bold black letters.
She clipped it on and felt strange in the doing. She was a Fabber, a worker of small objects and fixer of broken things. In her wildest dreams she never would have imagined what was happening now. She could never have imagined going into the archives of the Memoriam, a place she had been only dimly aware of and not at all interested in until she opened the back of that watch. She knew there was more. She knew there were answers to all the puzzles of this life and she couldn’t help but be eager to dig and reach the down deep.