Erin’s vehicle, a van really, is a modified version of the enclosed carriage that you see everywhere. It doesn’t have a horse, obviously, but I happened to find these glorious porcelain equines that I mounted into the front hood of the entire thing. Because she wanted speed and stability–I suspect to transport heavy and illegal goods across town–I built it low to the ground on a modified GWF chassis. The wheels are only a half meter height, but there are three of them on each side. Solid rubber and brass wheel rims.

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Been a few weeks, sorry about that. Got distracted with too many things, the first being these damn blueprints. I think I figured it out, the angles and lengths simply don’t add up. I found spots in the design that are simply and utterly wrong. I spent five days just tracing out those damn specifications, building up some set of formulas that would make them right.

Mind-boggling difficult work, I’d like you to know.

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I just realized, there is something wrong with these blueprints. After working on them for a few weeks, I’ve managed to rebuild three sections of it. The first time, I thought I just skipped a section or two, but the second and third… I realize that these numbers aren’t right. I mean, the lengths in section 2.3.434.23 are ten times larger than the ones in 2.3.434. I mean, 2.3.434 includes 23, but no matter how many times I built it, it simply won’t work.

Plus there are parts missing. Entire sections are missing from these blueprints and I can’t figure out where the inlets and outlets are coming from this device. I think I can make it work, but it simply doesn’t do anything.

What is wrong with it? I mean, it is absolutely beautiful work but I’m getting this feeling that it is just that… art. It looks pretty but it doesn’t work. It almost sickens me. I strive to build things that help people, and while my plans aren’t “pretty” they are functional.

I take pride in that.

You know what? I think I’m going to sneak out and get buzzed tonight.

Been a couple days since I sequestered myself in my little sewer home and spread out the thick sheaf of blueprints. Page after page of that beautiful writing. I flipped through a few pages until I found what looked like a good starting point, some sort of circular control system. It had hundreds of tiny copper pipes leading into it, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it actually did.

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I managed to get to Erin’s office before I threw up. Actually, I got to the curb and bruised my knees, but I got out of the car in time. I did it again once we got into her crowded office, but this time I made it to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I managed to yank on the brass handle that sent liters of murky water through the porcelain bowl. Wiping my mouth off and making a face, I staggered out of her private bathroom and into Erin’s office.

There is something about that loud-mouthed, smelly woman that is in complete contrast to her office. Where she would happily wipe her greasy hands on her shirt or drop her pants just to get me a belt to repair her precious van, her office was immaculate. Piles of papers, thousands upon thousands, were neatly stacked along the walls. She lined up the corners so sharply they could slice open your hand if you even considered touching them. Behind the papers, bookshelves lined every meter of the walls. Neat sets of thousands of legal guides, probably ever law and ruling every brought in this city, actually gave the hint she was a lawyer.

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They came for me just after midnight. Three rough city guards and the captain. They hovered over me as the healer finished the last of his spells; I felt that disgusting surge of energy and excitement that comes from healing, but looking up at the guards reminded me that it was just a little electric high.

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The problem with healing spells is that you are so wired after you get them. Even when everything aches and you are so uncomfortable that you can’t find a good position, you still can’t get to sleep. Like having twelve shots of coffee after an all-nighter. I tried so hard to find a comfortable position and get a few minutes of sleep. Rolling on my side made all the healing wounds hurt even more and the back was down right uncomfortable. On my stomach, I was worried more about the guard outside the door and quickly changed position.

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A few terrifying hours and two healing spells later, they jammed me into the guarded hospital bed at Saint Kistho. Helpfully, they bound my arms to the sides of the bed with leather straps to keep me “safe”. In reality, it was because they were afraid I would suddendly grab a knife and start stabbing all those nurses and doctors running around. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I only kill the insane women in my life. Well, woman. Bonnie was my first in so many ways, murder being one of them.

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I woke up with a splitting headache. In itself, not a remarkable thing, but when I’m blinded by very clean white walls, I knew immediately that I was in a lot of trouble. I don’t live anywhere that has clean walls. Actually… I don’t live anywhere that has white walls. My little part of the sewers is done in the late rust period (third century, I think) with some early mold influences on the trim and doorways.

I just don’t like being surprised when I wake up. I might love it if I had some cute thing offered me coffee, but that hasn’t happened in… ever. I still cracked open one eye again just to check.

Nope.

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