# **She Was Here Tomorrow** *The Archivist — The Midnight Conservatory* [Intro — music box, footsteps, soft bass] Seven-thirty. Coffee in my left hand. Knock with the right. No answer. That's unusual. [Verse 1] Knock once more, then count to ten, Tell myself she'll answer then, Door unlocked, her room is bare, Coat is gone, no Widget there. Bed untouched, toolkit missing, Something in my chest starts twisting, Then I notice on the floor— Grease marks leading from her door. Well. That's either reassuring or considerably worse. [Chorus] She was here, then she was gone, Left her little trail for me to follow on, Down the stairs and through the stacks, Past the point where sensible people turn back. Tick-tock, wrong clock, Something isn't right, There's a door I've never seen standing open in the night. And somewhere past that silver light— She was here. But not tonight. [Verse 2] Iron doorway, frozen air, Moonlit garden waiting there, I can see her wrench inside, Lying on the other side. One step forward— No. The hallway bends. The doorway stretches without end. I reach for brass that's inches near— And watch my fingers disappear. Not injured. Not severed. Simply... Elsewhen. Wonderful. [Chorus] She was here, she may be there, Depends apparently on when and where, Every clock is running wrong, One says Tuesday, one says she's been gone too long. Tick-tock, wrong clock, Keep your breathing light, You cannot punch a temporal field no matter how you'd like. So think. Don't panic. Find the thread. Research first. Panic later instead. [Verse 3 — quicker swing] Back upstairs and through the stacks, Three old books and fourteen maps, Temporal theory, stasis fields, Things reality politely conceals. Margin note from '43: "Never enter after three." Three what? Hours? Bells? Temporal discontinuities? Who writes these notes?! Next book says: "Should containment fail, Do not pursue beyond the veil." Very helpful. Next. [Break — music box speeds up] Conservatory. Conservatory. Midnight— There. "Temporal preservation architecture." Finally. "Living specimens are maintained inside isolated chronological—" Yes, yes. "External entry impossible after synchronization begins." ... Dang it. [Bridge — quiet piano] I should have noticed sooner. She wasn't late. Widget is never late when she has decided something matters. I brought two coffees and assumed there would be tomorrow. Funny thing about tomorrow. You don't notice how much you've begun counting on it until someone you expected to find there... isn't. No. She's not gone. She's somewhere. Somewhen. And I am an Archivist. Finding lost things is rather the point. [Beat returns] Unfortunately... I know exactly who I need. [Final Chorus] She was here, and I'll find when, If I have to tear through every clock again! Trace the field! Map the line! Find the crack between her moment and mine! Tick-tock! Wrong clock! Let the whole place chime! If the door won't let me cross through space, Then we'll go around through time! Books and gears, Maps and light, One particular fox who won't sleep tonight— I know exactly where she'll be. Oh, my word... Fidget's going to enjoy this. [Outro — hurried footsteps] Third floor. Workshop. Two in the morning. Knock. Nothing. Knock harder. Still nothing. Fine. [Fist pounds door] FIDGET! I need help. [pause] And somewhere behind that door I hear something fall over. Then— "Oh! Is this an emergency?!" Yes. "Fun emergency or bad emergency?" ... Widget is missing. [silence] The lock clicks. Good. No jokes. No questions. Just— "Show me." [Music box begins again] For the first time tonight, one clock is ticking forward. Let's go find her.
