She wakes up after about nine hours and looks around. No one is in the room at the moment. She retrieves her novel and reads, as if the world didn't just turn upside down.

She walks through the neighborhood, unobtrusively observing people returning from school, until she sees someone she recognizes, greetes her enthusiastically, secures an invitation to visit, and has a place to stay. Good. Now for the printing press.

After two hours, she's finished. She grabs a few sheets of paper and a pen and starts translating the book into Adûnaic; rewriting passages over and over until she's confident she can convey the right tone in a new language. She can probably do this for books she has memorised, too. She isn't sure whether there's much of a market for historical fiction around here, but oh well. Special interests are mysterious things, but at least it means there's something she has a near-photographic memory for.

Izindal's house is on the way to the place where she'll first ask about a printing press, so she decides to stop by there. "I found someone who can host us while we plot insurrection! Or learn about it, in your case. I told her you were a mysterious blood-drinking stranger from the far far east and she was appropriately intrigued."

"Well, I am indeed mysterious and strange and blood-drinking; so I won't object to your characterisation. Should I come with you to meet her?"

"Yes, definitely, let's head over once I've won myself a printing press."

"Need any help with that? If not, I can continue translating."

"Don't think so. You're translating your book into Adunaic? That's amazing."

"Yep! It seemed like the obvious thing to do with it, once I'd finished it."

"Not at all. Awesome, though. There are so few books written in Adunaic."

"Oh. Hmm. Will I have to learn Sindarin to read anything in the library?"

"Yeah. Language of serious people, by which I mean rich people, by which I mean people who frequent libraries."

"Right." Sigh. "Are there any things that are written in both Sindarin and Adûnaic? Preferably something with line-for-line equivalence, like poetry, but other things also work. Since they use the same alphabet, I should be able to sound out the Sindarin and pick up the language just through sufficient patter-matching."

"Hmm, maybe? Ask Izindal, he's into poetry and so forth."

"OK. Um, where is he? I haven't seen him around so far. Then again, I have been pretty focussed on my translation."

"Probably at the university? He'll be back shortly, it's not safe to be out after dark."

"...What happens after dark?"

"Oh, just, if they're going to come rough you up in the streets, that's when they'd do it. Izindal has fewer enemies than me, but enough to come home while it's light out."

"Ah, OK. Well, in that case, I suppose I shouldn't keep you any longer. Good luck acquiring a printing press!"

"Thank you! Congratulations on writing a book, that's generally a big deal!!"

"Eh, translating one, and I'm not quite done. But thank you, nonetheless."

"Nonetheless." And she blows her a kiss - that's allowed, right? and runs off.

She blushes, surprised. Then grins while waving good bye.

To a friend who's a printer, next, to find out if there are any printers who'll talk to her while she's in trouble with the law.

Carmen continues translating. She wonders whether she should be writing books in Sindarin as well, but the people who read Sindarin probably won't read printed fantasy (which is what stories from her vampire world would look like).