Map
A Clover Guild Story
By Ribombee-anon

Note: A slightly updated version of this story can be found here: https://rentry.org/RibombeeJournal#map

There I stood, staring up at my giant enemy. In its clutches, high above my reach, it held the treasure I sought: a map. I couldn’t negotiate with this colossus. I couldn’t defeat it in a fight. But somehow, I had to claim my prize from it.

“Are you okay, Booker?”

I turned as I heard the familiar voice of Guildmaster Lliam. The blue Meowstic stood in the doorway, looking at me.

“You’ve been staring at that bookshelf for a while,” he continued.

I sighed and looked back at my enemy. The bookshelf stared back. It was scaled to moderately-sized Pokemon, so they could reach every shelf with the help of a stepstool. But to a tiny Pokemon like me, it was a towering obstacle.

“I know,” I replied. “I need something on the top shelf. But I’m a Ribombee who can’t even fly, so...”

“What do you need?”

“That map,” I said, pointing at a rolled-up piece of parchment, bound with string, sitting at the edge of the uppermost shelf. “You probably already know this, but the guild doesn’t have a really good complete map of the region.”

“Oh, right. You’ve been working with Macom to gather up some of our maps and use them to make a better map, right?”

“Yeah. He said there’s a map in the library that he needs, and based on his description, I’m pretty sure that’s it up there. I offered to get it for him, but... that was before I realized it was so high up.”

“I can get it for you,” said Lliam, as he stepped into the room. I saw his eyes begin to glow as his psychic powers activated. As if by instinct, I automatically held up a hand to stop him.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll do it myself. I... I can’t rely on everyone else all the time.”

The Meowstic nodded and backed away. “I understand. Good luck. Call me if you need me.”

He left the room. I immediately regretted sending him away, but I didn’t want to run after him, begging for help. In the end, I knew this was the right call.

I sighed again and crossed my arms, wondering what to do. On my back, my wings fluttered absentmindedly and uselessly.

“I was taller than average when I was a human,” I muttered. “But then that isekai crud happened, and now I got transformed into one of the smallest Pokemon out there. Must be some kinda cosmic joke.”

I paced around the room. How could I get to the top shelf? The sides of the bookshelf were smooth wood, impossible to scale. The front of the bookshelf was no good either. The shelves were too far apart to climb like a ladder, and while I could jump and grab onto the next shelf, my arms were too weak to pull myself up.

Maybe I had to use something else in the room. The tall potted plant in the corner could work. I could climb its trunk all the way up, jump over to the top of the bookshelf, and then drop down to the uppermost shelf from there. But since the pot was smooth and flared out at the top, I couldn’t climb it. The only way to reach the trunk was to jump into the pot from the nearby low table.

The table had a haphazard pile of books to one side. Wincing at the mess, I climbed up the pile and got on the table. I checked the gap between it and the potted plant. It looked longer than I expected. As I often did, I began to second guess myself. Still, this was the best idea I had, so I made a running start across the entire width of the table and leaped with all my might at the pot. I flailed my wings desperately and randomly to increase my hangtime as much as possible. It didn’t help much. I crashed into the edge of the pot, which knocked the wind out of me. My frail arms couldn’t hold me up, and I slowly lost my grip and plummeted to the ground.

For all the trouble my small size gave me, at least it had some benefits. For example, my low weight meant I didn’t build up much speed while falling, so while this kind of fall would have crippled me if I were human size, now it didn’t hurt at all. I begrudgingly thanked my new form as I stood up, unharmed except for that bump into the side of the pot.

I resumed pacing, now with added frustration. Eventually, I decided that if nothing in the room could help me, maybe I had to bring something from another room. Or even make something myself.

My mind began to swim with ideas as I hurried out of the library and down the hall to the storeroom. It was dark and full of junk. Although most of the rubbish was out of reach, there were plenty of items lying around on the floor. I hated the mess, but this could become a blessing in disguise, assuming I could find something useful among all the easily accessible clutter. I had an idea for what I might be able to build, and after some searching, I found what I needed: a very long piece of string and a small rock.

I brought these unassuming items back to the library, then spent a long time cursing my lack of fingers as I tried to tie the end of the string around the rock. Using my mouth along with both hands, I somehow managed it, and ended up with a wonderful rock-on-a-string. It was crude, but it could solve my problem. Hopefully.

I stood in front of the bookshelf, then swung the rock around to build momentum before flinging it up towards the map on the top shelf. To my surprise, it actually reached, but it bounced off a book and fell back down, landing beside me.

After an exasperated sigh, I continue trying. After around a dozen attempts, I got the rock to fly over the map and land on the other side. Then, with one eager yank, the rock dislodged the map and sent it tumbling over the edge. I evaded the falling rock and caught the falling map, and a big grin spread over my face. I left my rock-on-a-string behind me, planning to retrieve it later, and hoisted the map over my shoulder. Despite being bigger than me, it was lightweight and easy to carry.

My wings fluttered as I ran down the hall to the map room, where Macom the Mareep sat at a low table and pored over a set of maps. The geographer heard my quiet footsteps and buzzing wings, and looked over with a smile. I could sense he was a bit annoyed at the delay, but he was still happy that I brought what he needed.

“Oh, you’re back,” he said. “You got the map, huh?”

I nodded and tossed the rolled-up map onto the table. I stood next to the geographer and crossed my arms proudly, expecting to soon get thumbs up (or whatever the equivalent would be for hoofed Pokemon) after all the effort I put into this task. I was looking forward to it. But as usual, the thought of being praised made me a bit nervously awkward.

Macom undid the string around the map using his mouth and hooves, then straightened it out and looked it over. He kept looking. And looking. It took him a while before he finally looked back down at me and said, “Um... Booker, this is the wrong map.”