I look at all these failed attempts and wonder, was I always this callous?

I think I should feel something other than pity.

LoG, 187

Wooden wheels of the carriage touched the ground and clouds of dust enveloped Nalina. She closed her eyes and coughed, fluttering left and right with her hands. Nalina was trying to eliminate nausea with which she fought in the air.

The flight had been short.

Nalina had struggled for most of her time to stay on the seat while her body was flying here and there on a wooden, plush coated bench. I wonder how all these people, lined up in front of The Curatory, would react if they saw me vomiting in this unladylike fashion.

She used the grey particles to shield herself. They created a hazy curtain between her and the crowd and Nalina manipulated that cover to smooth her hair.

At least I made it look less like a bird's nest. Judging by the stunned views of the lackeys and the mob, it didn't quite work.

Nalina staggered out of the carriage, trying with all the force she could muster to keep the content of her stomach where it belonged. She accepted the lackey's extended hand in what she hoped was a graceful manner. As soon as she stepped out, Grogmog pulled the wooden structure forward.

Nalina stared at the giant, transparent watery snake in astonishment, trying to understand what was going on and where it was headed. "Grogmog! No! Leave that rat alon ..." Nalina sighed.

The slippery serpent was already swinishly swallowing its prey.

"Those four rats from a while ago weren't enough for you, were they?" Nalina said, reconciling with the circumstances. Should I be disgusted? I can't hear a thing. The poor animal just disappeared in Grogmog's intestines ... Where did it go? He is transparent, and yet ...

Then Nalina realised she was standing idle in front of The Curatory while everyone was watching and waiting for her to enter the building. She coughed to hide her confusion and stepped forward to the entrance.

Sadly, first Nalina had to pass through a lanyard of four lackeys. They shouted her name out loud. People murmured and whispered, staring at her; as soon as she would reach them, they would feign respect and bow. Nalina tried not to notice this even though it hurt her.

I want to feel loved by my people. To feel accepted. I don't know what else I could do for them. I volunteer in The Curatory; I try to find the most diverse properties of plants and grass in The Omnibus ... It seems it's just not enough. People will always talk, like old Magda says.

The whirlwindy white building of The Curatory contributed even more to her sense of dizziness. On the outside, the edifice itself was impressive. It was reminiscent of The Whirlwind of The Fount but built of white stone.

The foundation began with the tiniest stone circle that was always turning around its axis. On it was the next stone circle, somewhat broader, then the next one, and so on to the very top. During The Dark, all Rings would descend to the same level, touching the ground.

That's such a neat trick! It's incredible how, once you get in, you don't even notice that Rings are moving and circling. It must be because The Mind and The Fount had an impact on the construction as it was the case with The Glass Dome. Perhaps it would be interesting to stand at the main entrance and quickly run in and out. Just to see how that would feel. Maybe not on this Light. There is a whirlwind swirling in my head and my stomach. That's enough twisting and turning, thank you very much.

"Your Majesty," one of the lackey's approached her. "Will you stay with the Leader for a long time?"

Nalina looked at him and smiled. "I'm not sure. First, I have to see my father; then I'll talk to Head Curators about the properties of herbs. Maybe I'll go to The Library Ring too."

"I understand. Your chariot will wait for you."

The image of the magnificent serpent's glittering jaws and the bouncy rear seat of a terrible carriage flashed through her mind. "Um ... There's no need for that. I mean, the distance between The Curatory and The Mushroom is short. Just enough for a nice walk. And maybe I'll stop by The Market Square to get more dry plants ..."

Nalina was desperately trying to let the lackey know she didn't want to return in the carriage.

"Your mother, the Queen," he started, fear evident in his voice.

"Yes, I'm aware the Queen has given everyone an explicit order to get me back in the carriage, but ... I'll deal with her. I'll be back on foot, and you can take Grogmog," Nalina pleaded her cause.

The lackeys nodded and then hobbled over to a giant snake. Grogmog's transparent eye scrutinised her for the last time before he turned his back on Nalina and slithered in the opposite direction.

Nalina watched him go until he became an only barely visible dot. Then she clapped her hands, feeling free and relieved of the role she had to play.

She stepped into the lobby of The Curatory, allowing the crowd to envelop her. She liked being a nameless part of the multitude: imperceptible and equal to everyone.

The first, narrowest ring was The Emergency Cases Ring. This was where Curators and their Assistants in white trousers and shirts ran around the variety of patients who demanded their attention.

Besides the chalky clothes that made them stick out easily in the indiscernible mass of human bodies, they had something else in common. They all wore red Goggles on their noses. The Goggles had a single Etching. It allowed them to quickly gain insight into where the injury or problem was on patients' body. In this way, Curators could identify the disease and determine the appropriate treatment.

Another invention of The Etchers, Nalina thought. There were moments when she was grateful to them for the symbols they engraved on various objects. The Etchings improved the general quality of life of the inhabitants of Lagad.

Yet sometimes, Nalina was afraid of them.

Nobody is sure what they do in their quarters at The Mushroom. How do The Etchings give a new purpose to the object? My mother trusts them. I mean, who knows? They might be planning to kill us all in our sleep, she fantasised.

A short Assistant with a pimply face and slightly tilted body saw Nalina and rushed towards her, smiling. He tripped.

Ouch. Oh no! He almost broke his Goggles! The spare ones are soo difficult to get! She covered her eyes with her palms so as not to look at his fall.

"Nalina!" he exclaimed when he reached her. "I didn't expect you this early."

For some time they stood next to one another unsure of how to greet each other.

Should I embrace him ... Or like ...Plant a kiss on his cheek? Ugh! Nalina solved the dilemma by manly shaking hands with him. "What's up, Trulion?" she smiled at him but maintained her distance.

Is my face red? I think it's red.

Nalina was never sure how to react to Trulion and his determined gaze. It's as if he knows how I look like underneath the dress. "How are you? Oh, yes, I came earlier because I had a ride if you can say so," she said in a voice that was more masculine than usual.

"You started using the privileges that a princess life is offering to you," he joked, placing his Goggles back on his nose. "Theere you go, beauties ... No ... Don't fall ... Come to papa ... Whew. It's all good now," Trulion sighed in relief. "Can you believe this is the third time today they fell off?"

Nalina actually could believe it, but she didn't want to say to him so that she wouldn't hurt him. It's enough he himself knows he's clumsy, I don't have to rub it in.

"I see you're perfectly healthy," Trulion added, grinning, and focusing the lenses towards her.

Ugh, if he could only take off that stupid smile from his face. Oh, Mind, I hope those Goggles serve only for detecting the diseases, Nalina thought uneasily.

"Yes, yes, that's very nice to hear," Nalina coughed. "Listen ..."

"The usual tour for you, right? First, we go to The Fourth Ring, to see Milen, The Leader, I mean, and then you'll climb into The Fifth Ring and help yourself with the books from the library?" Trulion prattled on.

"Yes, I think I'll talk to my father first, thank you," Nalina beamed.

"Shall I escort you?" he offered himself dutifully.

Oh, my Mind! I can practically imagine dog's tail coming out of the back of his white trousers, and spinning in tiny circles! Nalina almost laughed out loud.

Trulion didn't even wait for Nalina's reply. He simply went along with her. "There're many people in The Curatory today," he said, letting her walk in front of him as they were moving towards the staircase to The Second Ring.

Nalina froze. "I'm not sure where to turn when we pass this Ring. So yeah, come on, you go first," she said, feigning naivety.

I don't want you staring at my thighs and legs as we climb the stairs, she growled inwardly. "So how is everything around here?" Nalina employed a conversational tone.

"You won't believe this!" Trulion exclaimed. "We don't know what's causing it but ..."

He tripped again.

I wish he would watch where he's going! He is constantly looking back at me and that's what's making him fall down.

"Sorry," Trulion muttered, wiping his white trousers, getting up from the floor. "Now, where was I ... Yes, we don't know what's causing it but ... It's as if the wounds of the injured heal much slower. It started one Light ago. We don't understand why. I mean, we have been using the same herbs. The Curators are pretty confused and scared. But you didn't hear this from me," Trulion leaned towards her ear whispering conspiratorially.

"Interesting," Nalina said, taking a step back. "I could talk to my dad about it, or to The Curator who is responsible for him."

"You know it's The Head Curator, Nalina. The Leader's healer shouldn't be anyone but The Head Curator."

She continued to walk behind Trulion, now deep in thoughts. Is it possible that the herbs are losing their strength? Maybe that's affecting the treatment? And if it's not that ... What causes these changes on the patients' skin? Nervousness and curiosity crossed swords in her mind.

Trulion's squeaky voice interrupted her thinking: "Shall I carry your notebook for you?"

"Nah, man, don't sweat it, I can do it myself." Nalina refused again, somewhat more crudely. She clutched her leather cased notebook under her armpit. She didn't wish to allow Trulion to do any service for her, not even the smallest one.

I can't repay it to him in the way he would want it.

"I like that about you. You are modest, direct, you are not presumptuous and you are very kind and good to everyone. I mean, heck, you're a princess. And you don't behave as such. You're humble, you treat all people the same way," he said, now sweating profusely. They now stood at the last step of the staircase.

Trulion boldly lowered his hand on her shoulder.

Nalina looked at him straight in the eye and recited: "Oh, you know what's good for those acne of yours? You can rub your face with white onion. I know, I know, you'll say: 'It smells disgusting.' Yeah sure, but it does the trick. Or ... You take a slice of lemon at home: and pour a drop or two exactly on that yellow tip! It will dry out in a jiffy." Nalina blurted it out all at once, then ran away, leaving Trulion behind, staring in shock. 

The only thing she liked about him was his cheerfulness and kindness. That was also the only thing she knew about him, to be fair–that she was dear to him.

Every time Nalina met Trulion, he persistently highlighted her qualities. He praised her out loud, running around her. He never presented himself as something more than her admirer. Nalina wasn't certain how to respond to these clumsy attempts of courting, but she was sure of one thing: Trulion didn't attract her.

I would like to ... To choose, and not to be chosen, she thought sadly. Although the question is: how many princesses are allowed to choose their spouses? Nalina sighed and glanced around, looking for her father's bed.

The Oval Fourth Ring was full of comfortable vertical beds. They were embedded in the wall for the more economical use of space. During The Dark, when The Curatory calmed down, it ceased to rotate and its rings slowly descended to the ground around the large central hub. That was when the patients' beds would gain a horizontal position.

Nalina liked this arrangement of beds very much. Whenever I speak to Dad, I can look him in the eyes.

She thought he was comfortable, placed in that soft cavity. The lower half of Milen's body was covered entirely with an antiseptic, red, dense cohesion mixture. It at the same time benefitted the body and fastened it to the wall.

"Your Majesty," the cold and calm voice addressed her.

"Head Curator," Nalin replied curtly, without turning around.

She respected that elderly, balding old man with a goatee. His white shirt was perfectly aligned and red glasses nested impeccably on his curved eagle nose. He was not the first Head Curator she met. The shift happened when Nalina became a princess, but this one somewhat intimidated her with his presence. He was an expert in his job; she never doubted that. There was just something about him that deeply disturbed her.

Anonymity and the ability to do whatever he wishes, probably.

Nobody ever knew the name of The Head Curators. It was merely a title that marked their identity. It was as if nobody even wanted to know anything more.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you talk to The Leader," he informed her.

"Why?" Nalina's heart clenched upon hearing those words. She forced herself to calm down, meeting his gaze defiantly.

"His ... wounds earned from The Water War complicated even further," he dragged out every syllable in the sentence.

"How so?"

"When we admitted him to The Curatory ... He had only thigh wounds, the ones he got from stone axes. Those were healing extremely slowly. You already know our recovery forecasts were a bit pessimistic," he continued in a soporific tone. "And it was possible he would never walk again."

"Only" thigh wounds?

"Trulion ... Your Assistant mentioned something about slow wound healing."

Oops.

"It was not his to tell you that," the cloud of anger briefly floated on the face of The Head Curator. Then it disappeared whence it came from. "But yes, that is the truth. On the entire Leader's body, the skin is breaking and ... new wounds are opening ... so-called Living Wounds that aren't healing. He is losing a lot of water that is almost constantly pouring out of his nose. He has difficulty swallowing, so it's entirely possible we'll have to feed him through the tubes. He's in pain. We do try to prevent Desiccation by transferring water into his body artificially, but it is uncertain how long we will be able to maintain him in this state."

"What's the cause of this? You ... You must know why an abrupt deterioration in his condition took place, right?"

"Unfortunately, no. And it's not just The Leader – similar things are happening to other patients. It's as if all of their stages of the disease worsened at the same time. Something occurred that caused such a collapse of previous progress ... It may not be an internal factor. We are still performing analyses," The Head Curator concluded, placing his hands behind his back.

"Can't I see Dad, at least for a moment? I brought a notebook in which I studied the healing properties of marigold and valerian ... These plants could ease patients' pains. Put them to sleep for some time ... You know how I like to study such things. Perhaps, if I saw him, I could check the nature of the disease. I'm not a professional, but I can take a look."

"I'm truly sorry. Any approach to The Leader is prohibited until we find out what's wrong with him. Try to contact us through The ViewWall after a while, Your Majesty. That is all I am allowed to tell you for now. We shall keep you informed about The Leader's condition on a regular basis."

Nalina waved her hand dismissively. She hastened down the staircase, aggrieved, wiping the tears with her other free palm.

Won't they even let me see my own dad? I'm sure he'd have liked to see me. To hear at least some words of encouragement ... He must be scared. Neither he himself nor The Curators know what's wrong with him ...

Is he afraid for his life?