Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1217: The Register

”It has more practical value than the name suggested,” Elara said.

The answer was true, which made it easier to give. Isolde inclined her head as though it had been a small courtesy, and her gaze drifted to the maps behind Elara before it returned.

”Then I am glad the name misled you.”

Heat rolled off the braziers in slow waves, and somewhere behind them the burn-scarred woman was calling for the next tray of cups. Aurelian had never let a courteous silence finish on its own. He stepped between the two of them and pointed at the chart beneath Orion’s hand.

”Senior Marchand, I have been studying your southern coastline. It looks like a sleeping dog, and I would like to know whether that is on purpose.”

Orion looked at the chart, then at Aurelian, and to his credit did not laugh. ”The dog is the tide flats. They only exist for four hours a day, so we draw them at low water, and any party that arrives at high tide finds a very different coast.”

”So the dog is on purpose.”

”The dog has been on purpose for three years.”

Selphine set her cup down beside the jars. ”Who decides where a party may go at all? Is every route yours to choose?”

”Every route is filed with the Academy before anyone leaves. They tell us where not to go, and we mostly listen.” Orion turned to Elara before Aurelian could seize on the word. ”Your friend says you called the spacing on our cold-case wasteful. I would like to hear why.”

”I did say that,” Elara said, and found the subject easier to stand on than anything else at the table.

The young man with the case propped the lid open for her. She laid two fingers on the rim beside the etched ring, careful not to touch a line, and felt the cold there, steady and faintly damp.

”The ring keeps the case cold by replacing what escapes,” she said. ”Whenever cold leaks through the seam, the ring pushes more in to make up the difference. It works, but most of what it spends goes into the seam. If the ring sat on the inner wall, where nothing has to cross a join, far less would escape.”

Orion crouched to look at the seam as if he had never really seen it. ”That ring was drawn to be easy to repair,” he said. ”Any of us can redraw it over a campfire with a brush and a steady wrist. Efficiency was never the goal.” He glanced up at her. ”I take it you would move it inside.”

”We tried the inner wall,” said the young man holding the lid. He had the tired patience of someone who had been proven wrong by a fish. ”The first winter. Anything that cold sweats, and by the second day the wall was under a hand’s thickness of frost. Once the case is packed you cannot reach the ring without unloading everything, and then you have to chip the ice off before you can see a line to redraw.”

”We lost a week of river trout to that ring,” Orion added mildly. ”It is a reasonable first instinct. Every one of us had it.”

Elara had not expected to be corrected so soon, though she probably should have. A tidy idea was usually the one that needed checking first. She bent to look inside the case, where shallow grooves ran down both walls, and followed one with her fingertip to the small square notch where it ended.

”What sits in these? How do you keep the contents off the wall?”

”The liner.” The young man lifted out a frame of narrow oiled slats, which slid free of the grooves with a soft knock, and held it against the light. ”Everything rides on this. It sits a finger’s width off the wall, so the wet runs down behind it and the food stays dry. We lift it out to pack and lift it out to clean.”

”Then the wall is exactly where the water collects,” Elara said slowly, ”and I would have put your ring behind the liner, under the runoff, in the one place nobody can mend it.”

She took the frame from him and turned it over. The slats were dry and smooth, and unlike the wall they were entirely within reach whenever the case was open. She looked from the frame to the grooves and back again.

”Could the ring go on the liner instead? Drawn on the frame, close to the food and well away from the seam. It comes out whenever you need to redraw it, and it stays above the runoff.”

”Oiled wood takes ink badly,” the young man said, frowning at the slats as though seeing them anew.

”A resin ink would hold,” said Orion. ”We use it on the map tubes.”

Isolde had come to the edge of the group without anyone remarking on it, her cup still in her hand. She looked at the frame rather than at Elara. ”The liner only rests in its grooves. On a cart, or on someone’s back, I would expect it to shift with every jolt.”

It was a fair question, and it turned a tidy idea into cargo. Elara pictured the frame knocking loose in its grooves for eight hours, and the ring breaking wherever it moved. She answered slowly.

”Then each groove needs a leather lip to hold the frame still. And the new ring cannot be the only one. The old ring stays on the lid, where you can reach it, and if the new one fails on the road the case falls back to what it does now.”

The young man looked at the frame, then at the lid, for a long moment. ”That is two rings,” he said. ”That might be a better case than the one I drew.”

”It is your ring with a second one beside it,” Elara said. ”Yours is what makes the second one safe to try.”

”Thank you,” Isolde said. ”That is useful to know.” She turned back to the case, and that was all.

Elara had the plain, uncomfortable sense that Isolde had watched her be wrong first and had paid closer attention to what came after. Whether that came from curiosity about a good answer or interest in the person who gave it, she could not tell. ’She asked a fair question. That is all I actually know.’

Orion stood and brushed off his knees. ”That is exactly what our introductory session is for. Nobody goes on an expedition straight away. New members come to a smaller day first, beyond the outer wall, where we plan a short route, pack provisions for it and cook one field meal. Then we carry a case over some very bad ground to see what breaks.”

He drew a finger along a river road on the nearest chart, out to a ford and back in a loop, and looked at Elara with an openness that had a purpose behind it. ”I would like someone there who can draw that second ring, Lady Elowyn. I will not pretend otherwise.”

Aurelian raised his cup as though toasting the idea. ”Put me down. It sounds like a day of walking with snacks.”

Selphine took the folded schedule Orion pulled from under a jar and read it standing, her lips moving slightly. She asked whether a member could leave early if a lecture required it, and only when the answer satisfied her did she nod.

”I intend to attend, Senior Marchand,” Isolde said, in the tone of someone confirming a lecture hour.

That left Elara, and she let herself look at the sealed jars and the colored routes rather than at anyone in particular. She wanted the day, which surprised her a little. The ring was a real problem with a real answer, and a society that traveled and fed itself on the road was worth knowing from the inside.

There was another reason, and she did not need to name it to weigh it. Walking away now would give up the one natural opening she had been handed, and she had not even needed to ask for it.

The burn-scarred woman had already brought the register over and set it on the table beside the maps, open to a fresh page with a pen laid across the gutter. Aurelian’s name was there, its flourish crowding the margin. Isolde took the pen next and wrote hers in a clean, unhurried hand, then held it out without looking up.

Elara took it. She wrote Elowyn Caerlin beneath the name above it, capped the pen and handed it back to Orion.

”When does the introductory session begin?” she asked.

Beside the colored threads of the routes, the two names stood one above the other on the same page.