Angeline was nonplussed. “What’s wrong? Did I say something to offend you somehow...?”
“You can’t play dumb forever. You know there’s no place for you to go back to. Aha ha ha! Isn’t that right? Isn’t it? Isn’t that why you forgot?” Ishmael’s face, which had been so serene only moments ago, seemed to be gradually warping into something unrecognizable. Angeline couldn’t process what was happening and didn’t know how to react. But even as he was laughing to himself, Ishmael suddenly glanced at Angeline’s disquieted expression and shook his head. “Sorry. I think I’m a little drunk.”
“No, don’t worry about it...”
He pushed up his glasses, pressing his fingers to the corners of his eyes as he wearily shook his head. “Lately, I’ve been having lapses in memory. What’s more, my thoughts and emotions are being pulled in all sorts of directions. It comes on all of a sudden, like someone else is pulling the levers in my mind... It used to happen once in a while, but it’s gotten more frequent lately. There are times I can’t even remember the recent past... Maybe this unfamiliar land is wearing me out.”
“Um, are you all right to go to Turnera...?”
“That should be fine. I assume this is happening because I’ve stayed in the library too long. A trip to the countryside could be just what I need—if it’s not a bother, that is.”
Angeline smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. The Turnera air will do wonders for your health... Should we take our leave, then?”
“Yes, it is getting late.”
With that, the two of them left the pub. As was to be expected, the night air was still chilly and her breaths came out as vaporous puffs. The stars were twinkling in the sky, heedless of the wispy clouds that were a patchwork shroud over the starry void. The clearer the sky, the colder it would be; the wind was dying down, but at times, she would feel it over her face or neck and it would make her shudder.
“I’ll be going this way.”
“Have a good night...” Angeline staggered back alone.
When she finally returned to her friends’ home, she walked in on Marguerite still tipping back her glass with gusto. Miriam and Lucille were down for the night, fast asleep on the sofa in the corner of the room. Yakumo was smoking with an irritable expression, while Anessa nursed her wine and blinked owlishly.
“Hiya,” Marguerite said, lifting her cup. “Finally back. I thought you went and passed out somewhere.”
“That was a long walk,” Yakumo said through a puff of smoke.
Angeline pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. “I ran into Mr. Ishmael by chance... We talked for a bit.”
“Hmm. He’s going with us too, right? You could have brought him over.”
“He said it would be hard to do that when it’s nothing but women...”
“Of course he would. Well, we’ll just have to meet up tomorrow.” Yakumo then let out a great yawn. “I’ll be going to bed. The drink has worn me down; I’m not going to hold out for much longer against a great serpent.”
“What do you mean by that?” Marguerite curiously asked.
“That’s what we call people like you in my homeland. Anessa, where can I sleep?” Yakumo asked as she emptied the ashes from her pipe.
Anessa, on the verge of passing out herself, snapped to and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Oh, that sofa...or Merry’s bed, since it’s empty. That room over there...”
Marguerite helped herself to another drink, cackling all the while. “So I’m a great serpent... That’s a new one!”
“It means a heavy drinker. Sasha might be one too,” Anessa tiredly explained. She poured herself some mint water instead of wine this time.
“Between Sasha and Maggie, who’s stronger?” Angeline mused.
“Last time we stopped by Bordeaux, they were still going strong after the rest of us had nodded off,” Anessa said.
The two of them stared at Marguerite, who was still drinking the distilled spirits she favored. The elf quirked her head at them. “Hmm?” she mumbled.
Marguerite seemed fine, but perhaps her skin was a little rosier than usual, and her mood was cheerier. It was almost cute to see her in this state, but even so, she didn’t seem to be anywhere close to drinking herself under the table. When she had emptied another cup, Marguerite stretched out her arms. “Phew. Sasha, huh... I wanna see her again. Drinking with her was pretty fun.”
When they had left Turnera to return to Orphen, their route had taken them past the Bordeaux estate. Sasha and Marguerite had seemed to hit it off immediately. Sasha had been moved to tears at the chance meeting with the grandchild of Graham and had been thrilled to learn that the elven maiden possessed skill with a blade that rivaled Angeline’s. As was her wont, she’d immediately challenged Marguerite to a sparring match.
Sasha’s skills had grown considerably, and Marguerite had started out by cautiously testing the waters. At first, the fighters had seemed evenly matched, but it’d ended with Marguerite’s victory. A drinking party had commenced soon after, and the two new friends had continued to go at it even after everyone else had fallen asleep, ultimately drinking late into the night.
Anessa poured herself another glass of mint water. “We’ll see her on the way to Turnera, probably.”
“Heh heh heh... I’ll bring her some of this stuff as a gift.” Marguerite kicked her legs under the table playfully. She seemed so pure and innocent that Angeline couldn’t help herself from laughing. It hadn’t been so long ago that she had suffered the torments of routine nightmares, but now here she was, filled with so much joy.
Still, why did Ishmael say something like that? Angeline wondered. At the time, his face had been horrifying. It must have been the drink. It happens—something is said that gets on your nerves, and then anyone can get emotional while drunk. I should just chalk it up to the beer talking—it didn’t matter, anyways.
Angeline yawned. “It’s about time to sleep...”
“Finally. But before that, it’s cleanup time. We’ll be gone for a while starting tomorrow.”
Anessa spoke truly, and the only three left standing did a bit of cleanup work before they all went to sleep.
Angeline didn’t bother to find a bed. She sat in her chair and closed her eyes there, her mind enjoying the numbing feeling that accompanied drowsiness. Going home was always an occasion of great joy to her, and leaving on a new journey was its own kind of joy too.
Gradually, her conscious thoughts became jumbled and abruptly descended into a series of images and words crossing her mind, never lingering for more than a second before being replaced by something else. This constant stream of nonsense would soon lull her into dreamland.
Suddenly, she had a glimpse into a room unfamiliar to her, seemingly an inn judging by the small bed, desk, and chair. Someone with unkempt hair and glasses was seated at the desk. It seemed to be Ishmael. There was a book spread out in front of him. Perhaps he was in the middle of reading, but his eyes weren’t focused on the book. In fact, his eyes were completely glazed over, and he was seated limply like no strength animated his body. His mouth was agape; he didn’t appear to be moving at all. It was almost like his soul had been drawn out, and what was left behind was an empty, lifeless husk. The morbid tableau was beyond Angeline’s ability to make sense of—and then the scene faded. The room was gone, replaced by something else, and there was no time to contemplate what she had just seen.
As a child, Angeline had once witnessed a little chick fall from its nest. The image briefly crossed her mind before she descended into deep sleep.