Chapter 3 #2
“Don’t touch those!” Honey called. Ainsworth withdrew his hand sheepishly. “They’re fragile. A guest left them a long time ago, and I’ve grown rather fond of them. Come here. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for in the attic.”
The innkeeper stood on her tiptoes—her tail also reaching up as if it could assist—to grab a latch on the ceiling.
When she pulled it down, all manner of dust and debris showered them, and Ainsworth took a swift step back.
His fine shirt! He inspected his sleeves thoroughly and frantically for any smudges and stains, despairing at each and every one he spotted.
Honey brushed some white wood chips out of her fringe. “Oops! Well then, after you.” She beckoned with one long arm toward the now unfolded steps.
Preparing himself for more dust and clutter, Ainsworth ascended, rolling up his sleeves as he did so.
“Watch the antlers, the roof is low up there!”
“Thanks for the warning,” Ainsworth said sincerely. He could not quite decide if he found Honey irritating, endearing, or…something else entirely.
They climbed up to reach a small landing.
A hazy gray light from outside floated in from a little grime-coated window in the ceiling, dimly illuminating a door in front of them.
“I believe this space used to be another guest room, but it must have been changed to storage at some point,” Honey said as she opened it.
She beckoned Ainsworth inside, and he took a tentative step forward.
Absolute chaos awaited. The Misnich Inn’s attic spread atop what he assumed was the entirety of the second floor—perhaps as large as one of the smaller archives at the Skarrow Library.
But no pristinely organized shelves adorned the walls here.
Well, one shelf awaited on the northern side—but only strange, faded trinkets were perched precariously upon it.
No books were neatly stacked in place, waiting tentatively for their secrets to be revealed.
Many did lie scattered across the floor, however—so thickly that Ainsworth had no idea how he was expected to make his way across the room.
It was utterly overflowing with boxes and clutter, too.
Ripped scrolls and stray parchment were littered everywhere, many showing evidence of being sampled by mice.
Squinting, he could see some bound-manuscript-looking objects inside some of the boxes, but most seemed filled with old cloth and other junk.
Empty glass bottles perhaps once containing potions were scattered erratically across the room.
Worst of all, he noted with a sinking heart, the window worked into the slanting roof allowed for an ever-so-slight draft—and a small plip, plip, plip of falling water.
Damp. The worst enemy of the archives, here to greet him!
He jumped as Honey put a hand on his shoulder.
“I couldn’t tell you how many years it’s been since someone was last up here.
But somewhere in this mess, you’ll find the oldest guest books and scrolls.
Some adventurers might have left comments, and at the very least you should find a record of how many people stayed here.
” She paused for a moment, as if contemplating whether she wanted to share the next piece of information.
“You might also find journals up here from a long time ago. I suppose I did sign the permission slip, and it’s relevant to the history here, but…
I’d appreciate it if you maybe ask me before you look at any? ”
“Old family diaries, I presume?” Ainsworth asked, intrigued.
“Yes—the Misnich Inn is a family business.”
He swatted away a web of dust clinging to his antlers. “It’s unlikely that anything relevant—never mind irrelevant—truly survived this.” Ainsworth crouched down to touch the edge of a scroll. It crumbled away, the black smudges across it definitely mold and not, as he had hoped, ink.
Honey, too, crouched to survey the mess, wrinkling her nose. “Sadly, I suspect that one of my guests must have gotten in here once when drunk. Or maybe a quikrol got in and messed everything up. Let me know if you find its skeleton.”
Ainsworth shuddered. Quikrols were notorious for consuming anything they found to quell their hunger and known to carry foul diseases.
He began to feel nauseous. This will all be worth it, he convinced himself, even as he longed for the plush, clean carpets and warm rooms of the Skarrow Library.
It occurred to him that perhaps a log of Artan’s stay would be among this mess, though the prospect did not lift his spirits as much as he’d hoped.
“In any case, I wish you luck with the cleanup,” Honey added.
He blinked at her. “But…this is your establishment! Surely you benefit from helping me clean this? Only then can I truly begin documenting this place’s history!”
“True, but I reckon this is all part of an archivist’s duty, right?” Her grin showed off glinting, pointed teeth.
“Not quite…”