IT TOOK YUMI a moment to register what had happened.
This strange woman with the white hair and the outrageously full figure was looking at Painter. She’d called him by name.
She could see him.
Someone could see Painter.
“Design!” he said, leaping to his feet. “You can see me?”
“Um…” Design said, glancing to the sides at the nearby patrons, who were staring at her because of the dropped bowl. “Nope. Nope, can’t see any ghosts here. Mortals hate talk of ghosts.” She raised her eyes and spoke louder. “Just an accident with my clumsy, inefficient meat-fingers! I did not see a ghost. Everyone, enjoy the
noodles!”
“Design!” Painter said, pained.
Design nodded toward the ground in an exaggerated way. Then she crouched to begin cleaning up the noodles. Painter rushed around the bar, and Yumi—feeling awkward—grabbed some bar cloths and did the same, kneeling down.
This left the three of them all out of sight but perfectly audible— except maybe Painter. This method seemed more suspicious to Yumi. But she didn’t know how normal people acted, so maybe she wasn’t the best judge.
“Painter!” Design said. “How did you die? Did you choke on an overly large noodle?”
“I don’t think I’m dead,” he said, whispering for some reason. “A couple days ago, I started waking up on her world! I think it’s the star —like, I think I’m visiting it. Then when I fall asleep, I wake up back here—but I’m like a ghost, and somehow she’s here now.”
Design looked at Yumi, then stuck out her hand. “Hello! Would you like to shake meat-appendages?”
“Uh…” Yumi took the hand, then bowed. Strangely, Design didn’t bow back, but only waggled her hand a little.
“Nice to meet you,” Design said. “You’re not a ghost.”
“We haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on,” Painter said.
“Or why I wear her body when I’m in her world, but she doesn’t wear mine when she’s here.”
“Uh, Painter?” Design said, nodding her head toward Yumi. “Yeah, that’s totally your body.”
“But…” he said. “It looks like her. Even to you, right?”
“Yup,” Design said. “But I can see the line of Connection from you to it. I’ve got this, um, strong Cognitive aspect? Hard to explain without numbers, and mortals get cross-eyed when I use those instead. I’m not really here, like I’ve told you, so I can see Cognitive Shadows even when they don’t want to be seen. Also, your body is a
girl’s body now.”
“What?” Painter said.
“Who are you?” Design said, ignoring Painter and looking at Yumi.
“You’ve got a storming strong Spiritual aspect, highly Invested in some strange way. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to rewrite his body with your soul and warp it to match your sense of self.
Shrinking and reshaping the bones, stretching and shifting the
muscles… Fun stuff.”
Painter’s face paled.
Yumi tried to take it in stride. “I…didn’t mean to do any of these things, honored hostess. It was done by the spirits because of some
kind of desperate need.”
“Yeah,” Design said. “Um, that’s some seriously hard work you did.
Bet you’re hungry.”
“Ravenous,” Yumi admitted. “Though not so bad today as the last time I came to your world.”
“Should get easier each time,” Design said. “The body will fight you less and waste less energy trying to snap back to looking like him.
Still, I should feed you. It’s, like, my job. I’m employed!” She popped up from behind the bar and shooed Yumi back to a stool, though they’d barely cleaned up half the mess. Design did the rest quickly and efficiently, while Painter stood morosely nearby.
“I don’t want to be a girl,” he said.
“Oh hush,” Design said, quickly mopping the floor. “I’ve been pretending to be one for years now, so I’m an authority—and it’s really quite nice. Except for the sexism. But it’s hard to blame that on being a woman instead of on, you know, morons.” She paused, then smiled at Painter. “Don’t look so glum. Your body will probably snap back to your shape once she’s no longer attached to it.”
“Probably?” he asked.
“Definitely probably.” She handed him the mop, which slipped through his incorporeal fingers as soon as she let go of it. Which caused her to snicker. “What?” she asked at his offended expression.
“Just doing some tests.”
She gathered the bucket and mop and stalked into the kitchen again. Painter rounded the bar, then slumped down next to Yumi.
She, in turn, glanced around the room—but no one seemed to be paying much attention to them. Akane was gazing toward Yumi as if to check on her, so Yumi gave her what was hopefully an “I’m good” gesture.
“Why is no one bothered,” Yumi whispered, “by the things Design is saying and doing? Ghosts? Dropping a mop? Talking to the air?”
“This place is mostly full of longtimers,” Painter explained, his voice sullen. “They’re…accustomed to Design. She acts like this even on normal days.”
“I ignore social boundaries,” Design said, bustling out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup for Yumi. “It’s endearing.”
She set the bowl down and leaned forward. People on this planet… really liked their low-cut tops, didn’t they?
“Eat,” Design said, pointing.
Yumi started eating. It was a stronger flavor than she was used to —in fact, it was also a stranger flavor than she was used to. Spices she’d never tasted mixed in her mouth, making it wake up from a long slumber. The first spoonful was a lot. The second was satisfying. The third…divine.
“Usually,” Painter said, “you use the maipon sticks to eat the noodles.”
Yumi glanced at the sticks, which she’d seen her attendants use to feed her. She’d never held any herself. So she stuck with the spoon.
“I still don’t understand,” Painter said to Design, “why you can see me.”
“It’s technical,” Design said. “It’s mostly because I’m not actually human, but an immortal essence of pure Investiture with an imitation human fleshy-type shell stapled on.”
Yumi paused, her spoon trailing noodles halfway to her mouth. She tried to parse that sentence—which was difficult—but came to the
obvious conclusion.
“Are you…a spirit?” she asked.
“Depends,” Design said, “on what definition of the word you’re using. What is a spirit to you, Yumi?”
“They’re the soul of my world,” Yumi explained between bites.
“They rise up from the ground at my summons if I—as the intercessor between the divine and the mortal—please them with my stacks of stone, arranged to their liking. In return, they will do as I ask and take shapes of power and utility, serving for a time to bless the lives of my
people.”
“Stacks of stone, eh?” Design said.
“Arranged in patterns,” Yumi replied. “For reasons beyond the knowledge of mortals, the spirits love to see order made from chaos.
There are other ways, but stacks of stones have proven among the most attractive to the spirits.”
“It’s the mixing of math and art,” Design said. “Plus the human aspect—the concentration, the satisfaction, the emotion. This entire region is littered with Splinters that Virtuosity left behind. Regardless,
it seems that, yay, I can answer you. Yes! I’m absolutely a spirit.
Basically the same thing.”
Yumi had suspected, but still she found the idea daunting. She reverently put down her spoon, and after a moment of trying to decide what to do, she started one of the prayers.
“Stop that,” Design said, smacking her on the head with a spoon.
“I’m not an honorspren. What’s wrong with you?”
“I…” Yumi said (highly), “should show you devotion.”
“I’m not one of your spirits,” Design said. “Besides, I’m on vacation.
No worshipping the bits of God when they’re on vacation. It’s a rule I just made up.”
Well, that was going to be difficult, but it was Yumi’s duty to do as the spirits asked, so…she hesitantly picked up her spoon and continued eating. As she did though, she shot a glare at Painter.
“You had a spirit here,” she said, “and you didn’t mention it to me?”
“I didn’t know she was a spirit,” Painter said.
“I’ve told you,” Design said, lounging with her elbows on the bar.
“I’ve told basically everyone. They ignore me. If I were a more vengeful bit of God, I’d be offended. Fortunately, I’m eccentric instead. It’s endearing.”
“She always says strange things like that,” Painter said, still addressing Yumi. “How was I to know she was being truthful rather than crazy?”
Design leaned in toward Yumi and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “I don’t think Nikaro paid much attention to what I was saying. In his defense, he was staring at my butt the whole time.”
Painter blushed something fierce. “That’s in my defense?”
“Sure,” Design said, turning, “it’s an honest explanation. I mean, it is a remarkably nice butt, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed I’d been…looking,” Painter said, wilting.
“Kid, women always notice. I’ve only been one for a few years, and even I know that.”
“I…” Yumi said, “don’t think I’d notice.” She continued eating the food, which was more incredible with every bite. But now that her hunger had finally begun to be satiated, she was feeling drowsy.
She’d lasted far longer this excursion into Painter’s world than last
time, but she wasn’t certain how much longer she could remain awake.
“Can you help us, Design?” Painter was asking. “Can you find a way to fix what has happened to us?”
“I don’t know,” Design said. “I’m…not terribly good at this sort of thing. The guy you want is Hoid. He’s a pain in the butt—remarkable ones and common ones alike—but he understands Realmatic Theory
better than anyone I know.” (It’s nice to be appreciated.) “Great,” Painter said. “So where is he?”
Design pointed. Yumi turned to see the statue by the door, posed to hold people’s coats and bags when they entered. That…was an actual person? Or perhaps another spirit? That made sense to Yumi, as the spirits she called often became stone or metal when transformed.
“Oh,” Painter said. “Him. You…told me about him the other day. I
didn’t believe you.”
“Can we wake him up?” Yumi asked.
“You’re welcome to try,” she said. “I’ve been trying forever.
Granted, as I told you, I’m not the best at this sort of thing. I have, however, established a reputable restaurant with a loyal clientele and learned to make seventeen kinds of noodles. That was on my list of human experiences to try, so I have to say, the visit here has been rather successful.” (Sigh. Of all the spren I could have bonded…) “So,” Painter said (lowly), “you’re saying you’re useless?”
“Painter!” Yumi hissed. “You can’t speak to a spirit that way.”
“Yes he can,” Design said. “I’ve insulted him like twice today already. He’s owed a shot back.”
“My apologies, honored spirit,” Yumi said (highly).
“Stop that.” Design rapped her on the head again. Which was demonstrably unfair.
“Painter,” Design continued, “I’ll try to think of something I can do, but this world of yours? It’s strange. The strangest I’ve visited—and I’ve been to Threnody. You have nightmares that come alive?
Creeping out of a miasma of raw Investiture? That’s the kind of stuff you get on a planet when a god has been killed.
“It’s what we came here to learn about. Well, what Hoid came here to learn about. But he turned into a statue the moment we arrived, and I was left to experiment at being a small business owner running one of the most notoriously difficult varieties of startup. Here, have a coupon.”
She actually delivered one to Yumi, who naturally had no idea what to make of it.
“Anyway,” Design continued, “I’ll need time to think. Maybe the shroud and the nightmares are connected to what has happened to you two? I didn’t realize the other planet was involved. That might explain some of this. Regardless, for now I have other customers.
And your body, Nikaro, is about to fall asleep in its soup.”
Indeed, Yumi was beginning to droop. She finished a few more bites, then went to excuse herself to Akane and the others—feeling mortified that she’d spent the entire meal apart from them after being invited. She told them that she’d been grabbed by Design and hadn’t wanted to be rude by leaving. They appeared to accept that, but Yumi could tell—as she and Painter walked out—that the group thought
she was odd.
“I’ve offended them,” she said softly.
“They’re the popular kids,” Painter said—as if she was supposed to know what that meant. “Everything offends them.” He looked over his shoulder into the restaurant. Then he shook his head and the two of them trudged back to his flat.
Yumi went into the bathroom and changed into the pajamas— which he’d been wearing this entire time in spirit form—then sat down on the ground and began arranging blankets. Painter, seeming pained, said, “We haven’t even been awake six hours yet, Yumi.
Can’t you fight it off a little longer?”
She yawned. “I’m at my limit. Besides, we need to return to my world and get to work.”
“Do we?” he said. “I don’t fancy being yelled at by Liyun again.
Here, what about this?”
He went to the hion screen and tried to get it to turn on. Oddly, though he couldn’t touch other items, a little zap of light appeared at his fingertip—and the thing activated. “Ha!” he said. “That’s something. See! I’m learning.”
A pair of actors appeared in the blue and magenta. A man and a woman. Holding hands. Yumi’s eyes widened.
“Seasons of Regret,” Painter explained. “It’s quite good. It’s a historical, Yumi, taking place like a hundred years ago. They’re old- fashioned, like you are! You’re going to enjoy this one. Just watch.”
She did so, ignoring her fatigue. It still seemed hedonistic how there were stories on this screen, all hours of the day, played out for anyone to watch. This world was so intoxicating, with its strange conveniences, wonderful flavors, and something even better than either: The dangerous allure of anonymity. Of living a normal life.
“No,” she said, rising and switching the screen off. “No, I cannot have this, Painter. I am a yoki-hijo. I have a duty. And so long as you’re in my body, you do as well!”
He sighed, sitting on the cushioned altar thing.
“We are going to fix this, whatever it is,” Yumi said, doing her best to summon Liyun’s force of will and sternness. “You will travel to my world, and you will learn the art of stacking. When we’re in your world, instead of indulging in frivolity, I will learn your art.”
“Painting?” he said, frowning. “Why?”
“In case you are right,” she said, “and the spirits sent me here to deal with this stable nightmare you discovered.”
“You’ll be no match for a nightmare. It would be foolish to even try.”
“Then I’ll learn your art, so that I can go out in relative safety.
There, I will then find a way to persuade others the nightmare is real —so they can deal with it. Either way, this is not a chance for us to relax. No more watching dramas. No more shopping. I am sorry for not listening to you before about going to meet those others.”
“Yumi…”
“Do we have an agreement?” she demanded. “We do this as quickly as possible? You will subject yourself to my training in my world, and I will do the same in yours?”
His expression hardened. “Yeah, sure, fine. Not my fault if you don’t want to take even a single moment to relax.”
“It’s not about what I want,” she said. “It can never be about what I want. This is what must be. You agree.”
He nodded curtly. “I just want my life back.”
I don’t, she thought. Then quashed that thought immediately, instead lying down in the cold bed she’d made on a floor with no heat.
She’d resisted temptation. She felt sick at having to do so. Yet she knew, in this one thing, Liyun would have been proud of her.
