Sunshine and puppies

[moonshadows]

When Pete and Myka came in, she was calmly cheerful and eager but he was a tangle of anger, jealousy, hurt, and frustration. The shabti stopped playing the keyboard.

“Pete unhappy.”

The others looked at it in surprise, then at Pete, who looked just as surprised.

“She didn’t call you an artifact,” Claudia pointed out. “Whatever it is, it must really be eating at you.”

He sighed. “The Featherhead post office lost my stuff.”

One of the artifacts, a very bored and eternally-hopeful but lonely one, whispered excitedly that it could help. Very well. The shabti took one of Pete’s hands. “Pete come.”

“Why?” he asked warily.

“Artifact fix. Come.”

“You better go with her,” Artie sighed. “She doesn’t have enough words yet to explain more than that.”

Pete followed obediently as the shabti led him down aisles and aisles until they were at the artifact.

“A mailbox?” he asked dubiously, bending down to read the tag. “What does it…produces undeliverable pieces of mail. Huh. How do I…?”

One carved hand took his by the wrists and placed them on top of the artifact. Then the ebony figure gently urged him to one side, knelt, and knocked on the service door. The metal hatch opened, and a very large trunk slid out with a heavy thud.

Pete stared, astonishment and wary hope and fragile excitement. “Best. Artifact. Ever. Uh…how am I going to get it back to the office? That thing ain’t light, you know.”

Not a problem. The shabti whistled; a skateboard rolling obediently down the aisle. The trunk was hefted onto one end and balanced on the eager artifact. “Go,” the shabti said, and the skateboard took off with an inaudible whoop of delight. “Pete come.”

Again, Pete followed obediently as he and the shabti were returned to the Core, passing the excited artifact with its burden. Pete whistled in awe as it leaped up and rode the iron railing up to the balcony and then bucked its burden off. “Return,” the shabti commanded, and with an extra flip it rode the railing back down and vanished in the stacks.

Pete dragged his trunk into the office, now brimming with excitement. “Hey, guys, did you know we have a mailbox that produces undeliverable mail?”

“Yes,” Artie groaned. “The last time someone opened it, a blizzard of letters to Santa came out. Took weeks to clean up.”

Claudia was burning with curiosity; she knew there was more to it than that. Instead of asking out loud, however, she asked her computer. Then she laughed.

Myka looked at her, now curious as well. “Claud?”

She spun around and looked at the shabti. “Was Artie the one who opened it when all the letters to Santa came out?”

Artie’s head came up in alarm.

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it,” Myka protested as Claudia proceeded to laugh until she was crying. She peered over Claudia’s shoulder, reading the screen as Artie covered his face with both hands, then let out a bark of laughter and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Mykes?”

“…It produces undelivered mail that…the best match of intended recipient to whoever opens it,” she choked out.

“Not a word,” Artie growled, cheeks burning.

Pete wasn’t intimidated. “How about two?”

“How about I have you flush the gooery?”

“…Artie Claus! Artie Claus! Artie Claus! Not sorry. I had to do it. Someone had to say it, and I think we all knew it was going to be me.”

“And that,” Artie said sourly to no one and everyone, “is why I hate Christmas.”

 

“You’re not going to stick around?”

“Myka, I just got my stuff! You remember how you felt when you got yours? Besides,” Pete added, “I get the feeling this is going to turn into a girl party and not in the way I usually like them. I’m amazed Artie’s not bailing with me.”

The favorite artifact burbled with hidden glee. “And miss the chance to get my nails done?” he deadpanned.

Amusement from Claudia. “Just for that, Artemis, I’m going to actually do your nails.”

He wasn’t backing down. “Ooh, have you got anything with glitter in it?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“Give H. G. my regards,” Pete said, dragging his trunk out of the office.

Artie still wasn’t backing down. “But do you have any eyeshadow that will match? A-and maybe…some mascara?”

“Ugh. Okay, you win.”

Quiet, smug laughter.

“Hey,” Myka said into the uneasy silence. “Where’d the…where’d she go?”

“Bronze sector,” Artie answered calmly. “I talked her into letting me put a monitoring device on the figure. It’s really amazing, watching her pop around.”

Curiosity from both Claudia and Myka. “So what’s she doing in the bronze sector?” the future Caretaker asked.

“Beats me. She just stands there. Sometime for hours. Does it in the Dark Vault, too.”

“Well, maybe she’s- aa-aah don’t do that!”

Absently, the shabti patted Claudia on the head. “Artifacts come.”

“Apparently, what with most of the Warehouse being underground, some of it must extend…she can sense people driving up to the door. I’m guessing…Steve and H. G.?”

“Steve, Helena.”

Artie smiled ruefully. “I stand corrected.”

“She is super excited to meet you.” Myka smiled at the shabti, then turned expectantly to the door.

Claudia grinned up at the ebony figure. “You excited to finally see Helena?”

“Good artifact.”

“You know,” Artie said quietly, “I-in the day I…erased…she died. She let herself be strangled along with Walter Sykes, saying she’d rather die for the Warehouse than see whatever he planned to do come to pass.” Guilt that he’d stood there and watched her die, hard satisfaction that he hadn’t the second time, shock at a realization. “Her last words were…”

The door hissed open. “I smell apples!”

“Yes, that.”

Steve sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“You smell apples,” Claudia whispered, feeling the same shock of realization.

Myka gave them all a collective strange look. “Helena, I’d like you to meet the shabti of Queen Nefer…?”

“Nefertari,” Artie supplied.

“Queen Nefertari, currently serving as an avatar for the Warehouse.”

Love, bubbling out of this new-not-new artifact, deep recognition and contentment. Uncomfortably like what Claudia had felt after she fixed the pulling, only without the victorious pride. The phonograph, which had been emitting a soft, pleased rumble, broke off with an uncertain trill. This would be a difficult question to ask.

“Hello,” Helena said warmly, still bubbling with the love only a very tame artifact could produce. “Steve told me so much about you in the car…do you remember me?”

“Good artifact.” Ebony arms hugged, the carved torso was hugged back, but the phonograph trilled again.

“Hey Artie, why’s she making that sound?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered Claudia. “Maybe she…has a question? It did have an interrogative lilt to it.”

Good artifact. “Yes.”

The other artifacts watched curiously as Artie shifted into a higher mental gear. “Okay, you trilled when Helena asked if you remembered her, but you called her a good artifact and you corrected me on her name, so I know you remember her, You also trilled before she said anything and you’re sensitive to emotional states, so something in the emotions she was feeling also contributed to this.”

Such a good artifact. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good. We’ve established that much. Helena, what were you thinking and feeling when you were being introduced?”

That love bubbled up again. “That I had come home again, even if it was Warehouse Thirteen instead of Warehouse Twelve.”

“Aha! That’s-” Artie broke off as the excitement popped and slipped sideways. “Uh, why were you in the Bronze Sector and the Dark Vault?”

This was going to take some explaining. “People-artifacts,” the shabti said, gesturing at them. Then it moved to the window and gestured out at the shelves. “Artifacts.” Now to the map, where one carved finger pointed at the Dark Vault. “Artifacts…” Now the finger gently prodded the Bronze Sector. “…people-artifacts?”

Claudia connected the dots. “She’s trying to figure out if the people who have been bronzed are actually people or if they’re regular artifacts.”

“And Helena was thinking about her time with the Warehouse before she was bronzed,” Steve added excitedly.

“Right! Which means…” Eyes wide, alarmed and afraid, Claudia trailed off. Steve and Artie were also alarmed, while Myka and Helena were confused.

“Which means what?” Myka asked.

Helena stepped forward, moving slowly towards the shabti. “Which means you don’t remember me,” she said sadly, radiating reassurance and that same love. “At least, not the way I remember you.”

Enthralled by the drama playing out, none of the favored artifacts noticed Abigail slipping into the office.

“So, wait. You’re saying the Warehouse…”

“Doesn’t remember me from before I was bronzed,” Helena answered gently, not quite turning to face Myka. “She doesn’t remember Warehouse Twelve.”

Guilt, guilt, guilt, shock and alarm from Myka, guilt and anger from Abigail. Why was everyone making such a fuss over-

The shabti wove a path through the favored artifacts until it stood before Abigail. That mixture of guilt and anger was the same as others who had hoarded knowledge but not acted on it. Alarm displaced the guilt as the phonograph began to hiss, low and ominous.

“Abigail know.”

“Yes,” she said evenly. “I do. And I won’t be a part of this disgusting deception any longer.” An artifact was thrust at the shabti. “Take it; it’s yours.”

“Wai-wai-wait, don’t take it!” Artie rushed forward, a pair of purple gloves clutched in his hands. Gingerly, he accepted the artifact from Abigail. “This is…”

“Queen Ka'ahumanu’s Lei Niho Palaoa”

“On it.” Claudia typed for a few seconds. “Not on it. How do you even spell that?”

“It holds the memories of past Warehouses,” Abigail told the shabti. “It has been passed from Keeper to Keeper by the Regents since the first Warehouse Thirteen burned down, and I was told it held only the most vital secrets.” Her voice shook slightly, horror and rage. “Mrs. Frederic asked me to find out what happened to the Caretaker of Warehouse Nine. Well, I did, and then I went digging for more information. It doesn’t just hold the most crucial memories. It holds all of them. The Warehouse is a thinking, reasoning entity who cares about others, cares enough to hold back while clearly in pain and distress, and I will not be a party to keeping any thinking being in the sort of…of…” She broke off, fighting for control. “Mrs. Frederic said…the Regents don’t need to know about this yet. That she’s not planning anything except keeping the status quo in place until Claudia is ready to take hers. Well, I agree. I’ll do my part to keep this quiet and give you as much time as I can to prepare so you can come out swinging if you need to fight for your independence.”

Into the shocked silence, Steve dropped four words: “She’s telling the truth.”

Abigail waited, watching the shabti, knowing she was being judged.

“Good artifact.” This called for more than that, though. “Warehouse like.”

“That’s as close to first-person as we’ve been able to get her to come,” Artie murmured, handing the artifact to the shabti.

“I’m honored,” Abigail murmured back. “Did she encourage you to come talk to me?”

“If I say no, Steve will call me on it.”

The memory-holding artifact was prodded, commanded to whisper its secrets. Recognizing that the energy prodding matched the energy it contained, it answered eagerly.

The whisper became a flood.

Names, faces, voices. Years and decades and centuries, arguments and joy and loss and discovery, a torrent of information rushing in to fill what had been a gaping void for so long that it hadn’t even been recognized as a part of the whole. The shabti screamed, the phonograph screamed, although what emotions were being expressed, no one could say. The artifacts screamed, the favored artifacts and the simple ones, the angry ones and the happy ones and the bored ones and the ones who seethed and sulked. Shabti and Keeper-artifact both were pulled into the Deep Core where the ebony figure curled, keening, around the braided-hair object and the ocean of memories surged, wild and chaotic, struggling to find their proper places.