ACT 1
“I have to be adamant about this, Rags. You can’t sculpt ever again.”
I sat in front of Doctor Wakeman in complete silence. I was gazing at the void, unable to put the whirlwind of thoughts inside my brain into a cohesive sentence.
“What do you mean?” was the best I could do.
“You said you can’t stop coughing when you sculpt. I’m sorry to bring this up, but you mentioned once that you had a mentor who passed away a couple of years ago, correct?”
“Yes. He had a rare lung disease.”
“That’s what I wanted to get at. That disease is believed to be caused by exposure to the fumes that emanate from the carving stones you use for sculpting.”
“I knew those fumes were toxic, but I never realized… God, I’m such a fool.”
“I’m afraid you’re showing signs that indicate the very same illness is growing inside you. It hasn’t gotten to a point where it’s lethal yet, but it might happen anytime soon unless you stop immediately. I can’t stress this enough: for all we know, as little as one more sculpture could kill you.”
“But… It can’t be! I’m really careful. I keep all the windows open when I sculpt, and I broom every single day.”
“You can take all the precautions you want, but I assure you: in the end, those fumes will get into your nostrils. And they will find their way down to your lungs.”
I walked all the way back home with my eyes fixed on the ground, still in a state of disbelief. I’m sure he was exaggerating. That’s a thing doctors do, right? They make stuff sound worse than it is so that you don’t take matters lightly, but deep down they’re just trying to scare you… right?
Anyway, let’s move on to something a bit less dramatic. I’ll bring you up to speed real quick. I moved out to Sköllhayala a little over two years ago, not long after Mr. Otis’ passing. It was a tough decision to make, but there wasn’t much left in Brümsgundy for me anyway. The tricky part was moving all of my sculptures. Hoo boy, was that a nuisance. Oh, and… remember Bastian? We’re roomies now! Well, sorta. He still owns a business, only he’s turned it into a hardware store instead of a supply shop for sculptors. It’s a shame, but it was the only way for him to overcome the raise in taxes. Gotta keep up with the times, I guess. It’s a small house, and most of the space is taken up by the store itself, so he lives upstairs while I’m staying in the shed with Dusty, my rodent buddy. Good thing is, since I lend out a hand at the store, he doesn’t charge me rent. It’s a nice, cozy shed too! Some modifications had to be in order, for sure. Especially in the furnishing department. But, y’know. Can’t say I got dealt a bad hand. I was even able to apply for the local art school! Hackett Academy, as it’s called. It’s supposed to be the most prestigious in the whole kingdom, which isn’t too hard, since it’s the only art school in the kingdom. Haven’t heard back from them yet, so… fingers crossed.
Life in the city is much noisier than it was back in the countryside, of course. Everyone appears to be perpetually in a rush to get somewhere, and you’d swear there’s a deafness epidemic going on, ‘cause they’re always yelling at each other. Still, I found it easier to adapt here than I thought at first. People seem to be too caught up in their own business to notice a weird girl with messy hair that doesn’t go out much, let alone gossip about her, which felt pretty refreshing for once. Our neighbors are Mr. Banks, an old hermit who’s recently got into hoarding, and Mrs. Haslam, an uptight lady who’s on the king’s payroll to write very opinionated articles about his detractors on the daily gazettes. She looks down on me ever since she saw me eating my cereal out of a garbage bin ‘cause I couldn’t find a bowl. I tried explaining to her that a garbage bin is just a receptacle with bad press, and that if you wash it well, which I did, it’s perfectly safe to eat off it. Needless to say, she wasn’t convinced.
I came home to find a big line standing outside. Discount day. I’m really glad Bastian’s doing okay with his shop. If there’s anyone in the world who deserves it, it’s him — after all, he’s been running the business by himself since he was a teenager. I wish I could do more to help, but I quickly came to learn I’m a total klutz when it comes to doing anything other than sculpting or writing elaborate journals, so he still does most of the heavy-lifting around here.
Speaking of Bastian, I saw him greeting me from afar with his hand. He seemed busy, so I quickened my step. “Hey, Rags!” he greeted me as I approached him while handing a box of nails to a customer. “How was the doctor’s appointment?”
“I… uh…” I babbled. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“Alright. Can you take care of the cash register for a minute? I gotta get some stuff from the inventory.”
“Not a problem!”
Alright, recess is over. Time to go put some food on the table.
* * *
We closed shop a few hours later, as soon as the night fell. Some black cloud started shrouding the sky. I could hear a few rain droplets falling on the rooftop, as well as the grumbling of distant thunders. A big storm was brewing. I realized I haven’t seen Dusty in a while, not since I sent him to dispose of a flying cockroach that wouldn’t leave the house, so I took to searching for him. He hates rain with a passion, so I assumed he’d be indoors, but he was nowhere to be found. I checked the shed. Then Bastian’s room. Then the kitchen, the bathroom and the hallways. No trace of him. I ended up going back to finishing the rest of my chores, in the hopes that he’d show up eventually.
After I was done sweeping the floor, Bastian took off his apron and placed it on the counter. “I’m beat,” he said as he let out a big yawn and stretched his arms. “I’m gonna go hit the hay.”
“Have you seen Dusty? I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Can’t say I have. Not since this afternoon. Want some help finding him?”
“No worries. Go get some rest. G’night, B.”
A couple of hours later, the rain turned into a downpour. I was starting to get really worried about that furball. It was then that I remembered the one place I haven’t looked for him yet: the attic. So, I went to the top floor and pulled down the ladder that leads to it, then went up the steps. It’s not too often that I visit this part of the house. For whatever reason, it always felt… off. I think it’s something in the air, or lack thereof — the smell of old books and furniture is so strong it makes it hard to breathe in there. Once inside, I heard some squeaky noises that seemed to come from the roof. “Uh-oh,” I immediately thought to myself.
I stacked up a few boxes so I could reach the window. As soon as I released the latch, a gust of wind opened it with such force it hit the wall behind it. I braved the weather and popped my head out to get a glance at the rooftop — sure enough, I saw the furry rascal’s tail wiggling about up there as he chased the flying cockroach, impervious to the raging tempest. Since the ladder was up and the window was closed shut, I figured he must have shimmied up the gutter to get there. That slippery goofball.
Suddenly, a blinding flash lit the sky, followed by a deafening blast. It was so loud that my ears were ringing for minutes after the fact, as if a hundred firecrackers just went off at the same time right next to my face. I jumped back in sheer terror and landed on my back, lucky not to break my neck in the fall. But my safety wasn’t my biggest concern. It was Dusty’s. I squeezed myself through the window to go get him. I had to climb the roof tiles with my own bare hands to make it there. They were so slippery that I had to grab on to them with all my strength so as to not fall to my doom. Of course, the wind and the cold rain didn’t help. Once I reached the top, I found him lying paws-up next to the lightning rod, completely still.
“Dusty!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
I approached him as fast as I could and kneeled down in front of him on the verge of tears. His fur was all puffed, like cotton candy, and was emitting some sort of bright, tiny sparkles of light. Outside of that, he wasn’t moving at all. I tried to pinch him in an effort to reanimate it, but… I’m not sure how to describe what happened next. All I know is that as soon as I placed one hand on his fur, I felt a fleeting, yet deeply unpleasant sensation. It’s as if I just got poked by a hundred burning nails on the tip of my finger all of a sudden. “Ouch!” I grunted.
Not even a second after that, Dusty got up on his feet as if nothing had happened and started clumsily stumbling around. He was apparently unharmed, but pretty shook up by the situation.
“You numbskull!” I said. “You scared me half to death!”
I wanted to give him a big hug, but I felt that tingling pain again before I could even get my hands around him. I attempted to grab him by the feet, and, for whatever reason, that seemed to do the trick.
“Don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we’d better hurry back inside before you catch a cold”.
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