Chương 46: Better Now

I was weak, and I hurt, and there was definitely something wrong with my body. But I was better now, and for some reason, I felt calm. It was high time to get out of that lousy bed already, and… oh, I was hungry, too! I walked slowly out of the room and found myself in a cave passage. My goal was the kitchen, and more specifically, plump helmet soup. But I had no way to navigate the labyrinth of caverns and chambers around me, and there wasn't a soul in sight. Was it night?

Was there even night and day this deep underground? I started opening doors at random. Some led to small, empty bedrooms; one was larger, crowded with dusty furniture — storage, perhaps. One looked like a dining hall, full of tables and chairs. Every room was lit faintly by small red stones glowing in the walls. This was getting me nowhere. I stopped, and to my surprise, discovered I could actually smell a great many things. Mostly it was the cave itself: damp stone, cold earth, the mineral tang of wet rock.

But beneath all that... yes. I knew that mushroom-soup smell well, and I could catch the faintest thread of it. I walked toward the smell. It... wasn't close. I even had to turn twice. Did it make any sense that I could smell it from this far? Maybe the soup just had a damnably strong aroma. As I got near the kitchen, I recognized the place by the wall — here the rock changed, paler stone than the passages behind me. The caves varied like that, color and texture shifting as if cut through different kinds of rock.

Up ahead was the entrance; if I turned, I'd reach the mushroom farm. I stepped into the kitchen, glad to find it empty, and gladder still to see the cauldron of soup over the fire. It steamed, and the smell of it rolled over me thick enough to make me drool. I helped myself to a bowl, took a sip, and by gosh, it was heavenly. I had no idea how long I'd been in that bed — but going by how ravenously hungry I was, it had been a long while.

I was halfway through the bowl, when the door slammed open hard and Estelle burst in, musket already up and leveled at me.

"Sorry!" I threw up a hand, nearly choking on a mouthful of soup.

"I was hungry—" Estelle blinked, and the musket dropped at once.

"Drizella." She let out a breath.

"Heard a noise in the kitchen. Thought you were a Troglodyte. They slip in, time to time, and I caught one right here just two days back." She gave a short, apologetic laugh.

"Didn't expect you up and about. Please, go on eating." It took me a moment to get my breath back, but then I was back at the soup.

"What's a Troglodyte?" I asked between spoonfuls.

"A savage, man-like cave creature. Ugly and stupid," Estelle explained.

"Not very dangerous, but they cause havoc, and they've got to be chased off." Estelle set the musket aside and came to sit next to me.

"There's a great deal to learn about life around here. But... more important — how do you feel? I can't imagine what you've been through."

"It's... it's better now," I said.

"Less hurt. But I still feel a bit dizzy. Weak."

"You should rest more," Estelle said in a motherly tone — a caring mother's, I mean, not my own.

"I can bring the soup to you in bed."

"Thank you, but... I'd rather be out of bed. At least as much as I can manage." I tipped the bowl back and drank down the last of it.

"I didn't see anyone. Is it night?"

"It's morning, actually," Estelle said.

"Some sleep late; others are up already, seeing to their chores."

"Oh," I said.

"More soup?" she asked, looking at me kindly.

"Yes, please," I said, and then I asked the question I'd remembered the moment she leveled that musket at my chest.

"What happens when you die? I mean... we're already in hell, so..." Estelle's face turned somber. She looked away for a moment, then sighed and answered.

"You go to another hell. And you go mad." A long pause.

"I've heard some of the high demons experiment with bringing people back, and it always goes horribly wrong. That's all I really know, and it's enough for me." It did sound bad. I gathered I ought to break that little habit of mine. Dying, that is.

"But our bodies here aren't what they were on earth," she went on.

"You heal faster, and you won't grow old. It's harder to die here, and you can live a long, long life. So please — understand that, and be careful Drizella." But... Estelle was old! Oh, there was a great deal to unpack in that answer — some of it good, some of it deeply unsettling. I crossed to the mirror on the wall and took in my reflection.

"So I won't grow old? I'll always look like this?" I asked. I was no great beauty, but I sure as heck wouldn't become any prettier when I got old, so this was good news.

"I said you won't grow old," Estelle replied.

"I didn't say you won't change."

"Oh? What do you mean by that?" But Estelle only sighed.

"Oh, never mind that," she said, and brought me my second bowl.

"Here. Eat up."

"Thank you, but—" I really wanted to know.

"How will I change? Will I grow horns? None of you have any horns." Estelle only shook her head — and then the door opened again, and Henriette, the chatty little girl, burst in. Now that I was up, I could get a better look at her. She had simple, pleasing features, pale skin, and pretty blonde curls, all framed by a modest blue dress. She looked at me with wide eyes, broke into a huge smile, rushed over, and, oddly, tugged at my dress.

"You're up! Finally! This is so exciting!" She started to babble, inspecting me from every angle as she circled.

"How are you feeling? Does it still hurt? Can you walk?"

"I obviously made it over here, didn't I?" I said.

"Oh my god! You talk!" Henriette exclaimed, thrilled.

"That means… oh, but you can tell me all sorts of things about yourself! All the things you did up there, and what was it like being a time looper? What is it that you do, anyway? And oh, how did you die, and—" Estelle pulled Henriette's ear, and not gently.

"That's enough!" she said.

"Do control yourself, girl. Can't you see Drizella's only just getting back on her feet?"

"Ow! Okay! Okay!" Estelle let go, and Henriette rubbed her ear, scowling.

"Mean as a demon," she muttered. Then she looked up at me, sheepish.

"I'm sorry."

"That's quite all right," I said, and turned to Estelle.

"I don't mind her company. And... she could show me around."

"Oh, yes!" said Henriette.

"I'll be the very best guide."

"You're still weak," Estelle observed.

"So take it slowly. And finish that second bowl."

"I... thank you," I said, and turned my attention to the soup. Estelle was a stern old thing, but I liked her. I did. She barely knew me, and yet she looked at me as though she truly cared. I hadn't had many people like that in my previous life. I finished the second bowl and stood — and was immediately dizzy, and would have gone down if Henriette hadn't caught me. A wave of tiredness washed over me, too. It would probably be back to bed soon.

"Slow, I know," Henriette repeated, watching me.

"We'll take it really slow." She helped me upright, and together we made our way out of the room.

"So, how old are you?" I asked.

"Almost thirteen," she answered.

"And I've only been in hell about a year."

"Is that... not long?" I asked. I really didn't know.

"Of course it isn't. Folk here have been dead for dozens of years. Some for hundreds!"

"Oh. That's... a lot," I noted.

"Yes. So, like you, I'm new." Henriette said it, and then looked rather sad.

"So I still miss my brother and my mother. Very much." She said it quietly, almost to herself. Then she looked at me.

"Do you have someone you miss?"

"I... yes. I do." The thought made me sad, too. Henriette smiled at me and gave me a quick hug round the side.

"Don't worry. We'll be like family to you. You won't be alone — I'll be like your little sister."

"Thank you. I'd like that." I barely knew the girl, but the sentiment touched me more than I'd have expected.

"So... where are we going?" I asked.

"I've got loads of places to show you," she said.

"But let's go to the outer cavern first. Marguerite asked to see you the moment you were up." I swallowed. The tentacle monster had summoned me. Specifically.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why does she want to see me?" If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"Well, I can't tell you that. You'll see." That made me more than a little nervous. Did she want me to do things for her? She was the boss around here, wasn't she? Oh — what if she meant to eat me after all? Hmm. No, I didn't really think it was that. So what else? We passed through the main entrance of the cave complex and came out into the huge open cavern, with its running stream and its bonfire, and... the enormous tentacle monster. I let out a small shriek despite myself.

Henriette ran straight at the horror in front of us.

"Marguerite!" She caught hold of one of the lower, flailing tentacles and clambered up it; Marguerite curled the limb in toward her great shell, and Henriette hopped neatly onto her back — as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do with a tentacle monster.

"Look! Drizella's up! I brought her, just like you wanted!" she announced, pointing at me, delighted. Marguerite made a half-turn on her dozens of little legs and came at me, fast. I took a step back. True, I'd once jumped on her and hugged a tentacle myself — but the circumstances had been rather different; I'd been trying to escape a high demon at the time. Still, the monster had, in a manner of speaking, saved me. So I supposed I ought to be polite.

"Did... did you want to see me?" I asked the many-tongues. In answer, Marguerite slid another tentacle out from beneath her shell and held it up right in front of me. This one was wearing a green dress, draped around it as though it were a body. The dress was reasonably clean, with only a small tear here and there.

"Isn't it lovely?" she asked in Cinderella's voice.

"Do you like it? Do you think it will do?" That was Cinderella's line when showing off her gown for the ball. And I couldn't help picturing Marguerite turning up at the royal ball herself, and so I let out a loud laugh. She would go to the prince, and bow low on her hundred scuttling legs and graciously offer him a dance, one tentacle extended. If that ever came to pass, I'd wager he wouldn't be half so bored as he usually was.

"It is lovely," I offered sympathetically.

"And it... er, suits you." Marguerite rotated the tentacle to show the dress from every angle, and I made myself nod with an expression of mild admiration. So this was the whole reason she'd wanted me to come? And Henriette hadn't told me because it was meant to be some sort of surprise? Yes. Marguerite was a very strange tentacle monster.

"Come up here!" Henriette called from the monster's back.

"It's bumpy and fun!"

"Thank you, but I'm fine down here!" I called back. Marguerite took a smaller tentacle and pressed it gently to my head, then to my shoulder. I tried hard not to recoil.

"I do hope you're quite all right," said Marguerite.

"I'm much better now, thank you," I answered. Was the monster... concerned?

"Why, that's just lovely!" Marguerite said.

"But why?" I asked.

"Why do you care about me, really?" I didn't understand it, and it bugged me. Marguerite didn't answer at once. Instead she made her half-swivel on all those legs, and settled down. Then she sang." ♪ A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. ♪"" ♪ In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. ♪" She was off-key, and it was a far, far cry from Cinderella's clear, refined melody — but it was enough. Enough to bring tears to my eyes and make me sad.

I turned and hurried back for the cave, walking fast, dizzy and unwell all over again. Henriette caught up quickly and saw my wet face.

"Sorry," she said.

"She... she does that sometimes. It's not on purpose. She probably just wants to say something."

"It's a very rude thing to do," I said, a bit shaken, "meddling with someone's important memories."

"I'm sorry," Henriette said again.

"But... your friend sounds lovely. I wish I'd met her."

"Everyone who meets her falls in love with her," I explained.

"It's ridiculous, really. You wouldn't believe how pretty she is. And the way she sings! And she's so kind it's almost embarrassing." I smiled despite myself.

"You'd have adored her." Henriette looked at me and smiled softly.

"She... insisted on teaching me to sing too," I added.

"But I'm truly hopeless at it."

"Then sing to me," Henriette said suddenly.

"My mother used to. No one sings around here."

"I'd better not," I sighed.

"I doubt you'll find my singing adequate. Even my cat used to run away."

"I don't mind," she said quickly.

"Please sing to me. Please do." I sighed again. I'd managed ten or so lessons with Cinderella, and I had improved — but I'd probably need a hundred more to sound passable. Yet I looked at Henriette, who only wanted to remember her mother singing, and I found I couldn't refuse. And so I sang. I tried to remember everything Cinderella had taught me — all the little nuances, the pitch, the breathing, the way she said to let a note sit before letting it go.

And through it all I discovered that she had taught me a great deal. It made me remember Cinderella yet again, but this time, it was a comfort, making me feel as though she were sitting right there beside me. When I'd finished, I noticed Henriette had small tears in her eyes. Oh, was I that bad?

"S... sorry—""Thank you!" Henriette said, and jumped to hug me.

"You sing lovely! You... you've made me so happy. Really, you have."

"... Truly?" I asked. Had my singing done that? What an incredibly strange thing to happen.

"Yes," she said.

"I miss my mother so much, and I think about her all the time. So — thank you." An idea came to me, suddenly.

"Is there... well," I started, "something you'd want to tell your mother?"

"A million things," Henriette replied, with a sad smile.

"But mostly I'd want to tell her how much I love her. And that I'm sorry. You see, I was so awful to her before I died — told her what a terrible mother she was. I think about it so often, how badly I want to take it back. But of course, that's just... it can't be done."

"Actually, it can," I said.

"You see — I can send a letter to your mother. From the living world."

"You... you can?" Henriette looked at me in wonder.

"But how? That shouldn't be—""It's because I'm a time looper," I said.

"And we're still inside a time loop, so... er, never mind the details. Just give me her address, and write down whatever you want to say. Not too long, though — I'll have to memorize it." Henriette's eyes went wide, another tear gathering at the corner. Then she flung herself at me in a hug so hard I nearly fell.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Drizella!" she said.

"You're simply wonderful!" I felt happy then. Warm. Even if it was only this silly little girl, it seemed that helping someone could make you feel good. And besides, I'd grown fond of Henriette. Then the dizziness came back, and a deep tiredness with it.

"I think I'll need to go back to bed soon," I said.

"I'm afraid I'm not... quite at my best."

"Oh, but I really wanted to show you the library," Henriette said.

"It's just around the corner."

"A library?" I asked.

"You should have said so earlier. Come on!" I set off toward the library and reached the door.

"Wait," Henriette said.

"How did you know it was this one? You've never been here before!" I froze, and took a moment to consider.

"It was the smell," I said.

"The smell of books. When you said the library was close, I caught it. Can't you?"

"Not really." Henriette sniffed at the air and tried.

"You're weird." I also heard a small noise from inside, so I knew there was already someone else in the room. When I walked in, the only thing that surprised me a little was the fact that the person was a skeleton. He wore a faded robe and a stained apron, spectacles perched on his nasal cavity, engrossed in a book, his eye sockets glowing a faint, eerie blue. I didn't so much as gasp. By this point, anything short of a house-sized demon or a giant tentacle monster looked perfectly ordinary to me.

"Drizella, I presume?" The skeleton peered at me over the top of his book and spoke in a creepy, shrill, icy rasp.

"I've heard about your arrival. I'm glad to see you up and about." He offered a skeletal hand to shake. Oh, must I? I pinched two of his fingers, gave them the briefest shake, and let go.

"I'm Henry," he added.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Why are you a talking skeleton?" I asked. Perhaps not quite what court etiquette dictated — but he was the talking skeleton, and he really ought to have led with that. He let out a shrill, screeching bark that might have been a chuckle.

"Unfortunately, I don't know much about it myself," he said, putting a hand behind his skull, apologetic.

"There was an ancient, powerful high demon who, long ago, worked some great magic — and it made a whole lot of us, all over hell. I just feel like an ordinary person, trying to get by."

"Yeah," Henriette added.

"Henry's really just a nice guy. Boring, but nice. Oh — hell's full of weird-ass folk. You get used to it." Yes — as talking skeletons went, Henry did seem boring, and I'd already lost interest in him. I was far more interested in inspecting the library. There were a few tables, some chairs and cushions, and... not very many books at all. And the ones that were there looked to be in dreadful condition, some of them moldy. Yes, this library was really a dump. But I didn't lose heart.

I went straight to the shelves and worked through every book I could find, frantic.

"Not that."

"No."

"Definitely not."

"What even is that?"

"No, no, no." I went down the row, more disappointed with each one.

"There isn't a single Fifi book in here!" I cried.

"This is a terrible library!"

"Are you searching for a piece of modern literature?" inquired Henry.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance." I sighed.

"No. I don't think you can." I turned to Henriette.

"There are these wonderful novels I love to read, over and over. If there are no Fifi books in hell, that's going to be a problem. How do you even get things from the living world?"

"When new people arrive," Henriette said, "they mostly come with whatever stuff they had on them — clothes, mostly. Sometimes more personal things. Some people come with a whole room! We call those earth items, and they're rare, worth a lot more than the common hell-made things." Oh, I had arrived with some version of my room! Wait, I might have had a few Fifi volumes in there! Oh, snap! I could never get them back now! They'd probably been scavenged already!

"So these books were really that good?" Henriette asked.

"Now I want to read them too. You... you said you read them all the time?"

"Yes..."

"Then you must know some of them by heart! Please — tell it to me! Recite it! Surely you can!"

"I might be able to," I said slowly, considering.

"But Fifi books, however highly regarded as literature, may not be suitable for your tender age."

"We're in hell," Henriette noted flatly.

"Nothing here is suitable for my tender age." That was a sound argument, and I gave in. And I had read volume four— The Tulip Smuggler of Holland! — a hundred times, at the very least. And so we sat down on a soft cushion in the corner of the library, and I drew a long breath, and let the old, familiar words come.

"Fifi pedaled her bicycle," I began, "into the soggy, windmill-cluttered flatlands of the Netherlands. There she set her sights on Joop — an impossibly tall cheesemonger with shoulders like two wheels of Gouda stacked side by side, and eyes the dreamy color of a ripe blue cheese — scheming to seduce him and pilfer a single, priceless black tulip bulb worth more than a king's ransom..." I got, oh, about halfway through.

And while I was weighing whether the juicier part to come was really suitable for a thirteen-year-old — I was simply too tired. And I drifted off to sleep. Drizella woke in her not-cave room, and oh, she was an emotionless puppet again. Did she switch only while sleeping? No, she couldn't really know that; for all she knew, it might all be happening at the same time, and her memories of it blurred together.

But now that she had felt better in hell, it was all the more depressing to be trapped in this emotionless cage. How many more cycles? Twenty? Thirty? It all passed in such a disorienting blur that she couldn't keep track. She needed to send that letter today, to Henriette's mother. Henriette had given her the details, and she'd memorized them. The Drizella puppet's memory, apparently, worked just fine. But why should she actually do it? Because she simply must. She herself had decided so.

If she couldn't abide by her own commands, she wasn't even a proper puppet. So she willed the Drizella puppet to write it all down. When Cinderella came, after all the usual crying and hugging, Drizella asked her to deliver the letter. She even reminded her to hire an expensive letter carrier and bribe him with some extra francs for good measure. Cinderella was startled to hear her speak at all, and asked all manner of tiresome questions — the kind that require answers.

When Drizella explained that it was for a friend, Cinderella beamed at the prospect of her having a friend in hell, and finally went on her merry way, releasing Drizella back to her objectness. Drizella lay in her bed, thankful that nothing required her to do otherwise. Near the end of the cycle, as always, Cinderella came to tell her about her many adventures as an almost-time-looper. As little feeling as Drizella had, she didn't mind it. Really, she didn't.

If nothing else, the small scrap of curiosity left in her made her attend. Because she'd noticed that, each cycle, the shy, timid, goody-two-shoes Cinderella was a little bolder than before. And so it was interesting to follow the change in her. It had started small: talking back to mother, skipping her cleaning duties, eating out at a restaurant. Then going out for a ride, learning to fence, talking her way into parties. But it hadn't stopped there.

In the last few cycles, she'd slipped into some village and placed fifth in an archery contest; dived off a high cliff into the sea; and even dressed as a man and gambled at the gaming parlor. So yes, as indifferent as Drizella was, she waited to see if this newfound audacity would continue. Cinderella came and sat by her bed. Drizella noticed that, for the first time, she had a small pistol at her belt.

"I died last cycle, you know," Cinderella began, gazing off at nothing. And then the puppet felt anger.