Potroast only had eyes for the fresh loaf of bread as Fern led the way inside. Viv followed, feeling awkward about it, but not as awkward as Pitts looked when he tentatively ducked under the doorframe, flinching as though the shelves might topple over on him in an avalanche of paper.
Fern bustled to the counter, shoved a stack of books aside, and set down the loaf she’d bought. She went into the back and returned with a long knife and a muslin-wrapped bundle. Unfolding it beside the bread, she revealed a hard length of sausage and a yellow wedge of cheese that smelled of cream and salt and summer grass.
Without a word, she sawed off slices of bread and piled them with hunks of cheese and discs of sausage, handing them to the two orcs without really looking at either of them. Then she cut a portion for herself and flipped a rind of cheese to the gryphet, who gobbled it down and wagged his tail for more.
Finally, she met their eyes. “Well? Eat!” She took a bite herself and chewed defiantly.
“Uh, are you—” Viv began.
“Eat.”
“Okay, fine.” Viv tore off a corner with her teeth. The bread was, predictably, incredible—sour and soft with a chewy crust that flaked away in the mouth.
Pitts wolfed his down with a slightly hunted look.
Fern cleared her throat. “Thank you both,” she said carefully. She stared hard at Pitts. “Can I interest you in a book?”
Viv didn’t think he looked interested, but Pitts also seemed to recognize the path of least resistance. He reached tentatively for the smallest one he could find, and held it up between thumb and forefinger. It looked even tinier there. “This one?”
“Thorns and Pinions. A very fine book of poetry. It’s yours,” said Fern with a regal nod.
“I … gotta be goin’,” said Pitts. He made a halting bow and backed out of the shop.
Viv watched him depart, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody that terrified of a free lunch.”
Fern was staring at the closed door. She glanced down at her meal, tossed the whole thing onto the floor for Potroast to savage, and promptly burst into tears.
* * *
“Fuck,” sobbed Fern. “What am I doing here? I’m relying on charity to fix a broken board.”
Viv had never felt less equal to the needs of a moment. She ushered the rattkin onto her stool, whereupon the girl folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad … can it?” mumbled Viv.
Fern’s sigh was watery. “I can’t keep on this way. Not for much longer. Maybe a month.”
“This place has been around a while, right? I’m sure it can last a few more than that.”
The rattkin raised her head to fix Viv with a bleak gaze. “Fifty years. That’s how long it’s been here. My father opened this place. I grew up here. Used to sleep in that shelf over there when I was little.” She pointed to the far corner. “He left it to me when he died, and it’s going to be me that runs it into the fucking ground. Gods, what would he say if he could see?”
Viv awkwardly patted her shoulder. “I don’t know a lot about running a shop, but … what’s changed?”
“Nothing has changed. It’s all the same. Well, that’s not true. It’s all shabbier. Half falling apart. And I guess I’m the main thing that’s different.”
“Uh. Maybe … maybe that’s the problem, then?”
Fern’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not very good at consoling, are you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t mean you. I mean … doing things the same way.” Viv winced apologetically. “Sorry, this is really not my area.”
The rattkin laughed a little. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the most interesting customer I’ve had in a month.”
“Wow, that is bad.”
Fern’s weak laugh turned into a hitching snort. When she recovered, she said, “You know, it’s not because I haven’t thought about it. About changing things. But it always seems like there’s no time or money to patch the holes. Just enough to keep tossing water overboard.”
Viv rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, one less hole today. I guess I made that one, though, so it probably doesn’t count as progress.”
Fern shrugged, resting her chin on her crossed arms.
“If you could change something, what would it be?” asked Viv.
The rattkin was quiet for a long time. Viv guessed she wasn’t going to get an answer. Then, “So much. The inventory. Those fucking sea charts. Newer printings. Some paint on the walls. Magically transport the whole place to a city full of bibliophiles.” She glanced at Viv. “What would you change? You’ve got a recent first impression.”
Viv tried to look apologetic. “Uh, the smell? Probably that carpet too.”
“The smell?”
“Yeah, it sort of smells … yellow. And not a good yellow.” She eyed the gryphet. “Kind of like somebody dunked him in a bucket.”
Potroast hooted indignantly and nipped at her boot.
Fern laughed again, then lapsed into silence. After a while, she quietly said, “Thanks for your help today. Thanks for listening to me complain.”
“You’re the only thing keeping me sane around here,” replied Viv. “I’ve got a vested interest.”
The rattkin perked up and her expression cleared. “How’s Heart’s Blade treating you then?”
“Well, I’m …” Viv started to hedge, then thought better of it. “I’m just getting started. I’ll let you know when I finish.”
“Not enough swords for you?”
“I’m reserving judgment, okay?”
Fern pressed herself back up from the counter and shook out her whiskers. She cut another couple of slices of bread and passed one over.
While Viv chewed, the rattkin surveyed her shop again. “The carpet? Really? I’m so preoccupied with all the bigger problems, I don’t really think about the small things. I guess it could use a good beating.”
Viv swallowed and shook her head. “No. It could use a good burning.”
8
“What in the Eight are you doing here?” Highlark seemed halfway between annoyed and thoroughly surprised. “It’s two days until I’m due to see you at your room.” He glanced up and down the street, as though someone had spirited Viv to his doorstep.
She gave a half-shrug, leaning fully on her crutch. “I figured I’d get out and see the rest of Murk, and once I was here, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Not really hard to find the place.”
Highlark’s surgery sat near the center of the town snugged within the fortress walls, and everybody knew where it was. The building was tall, narrow, and neatly kept, with flower boxes in both the upper and lower windows, which Viv found oddly amusing. An iron sign in the shape of a healer’s staff and crescent was mounted above the lintel.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want? You’re caring for the wound daily like I showed you, yes?”
“Yeah, of course. But … well, maybe you could take a look. That callis oil seemed to work pretty well. Maybe I should do that again?”
“Again?” He looked shocked.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t that get me off this crutch faster?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said with an exasperated tone.
Now that he wasn’t wearing a rain cowl, Viv could see the elf cut a fine figure in a crisp white shirt and finely tailored trousers. For some reason, she’d expected him to appear at his door in a bloody smock. She was glad to note that the bruises on his neck were nearly gone.
“I doubt very much that I can offer any other advice until you’ve healed further. And even if I could, it’s clear you wouldn’t pay it any mind. Come in, if you must.” He opened the door the rest of the way and ushered her in with a resigned air.
As Viv entered Highlark’s office, she was surprised to find that it looked more like a bookshop than the real thing. One wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling shelves, complete with rolling ladder. The spines looked to be in excellent condition, gleaming as though oiled.
“Wow,” she said.