Low, soft banks of fog piled up over the dunes, obscuring the beach and stacking against Murk’s walls. The spectral shadows of a ship at anchor could be spied through the pearly gray. Above, the sky was scraped clean of cloud, flat and faded blue.
Leaving Gallina behind was a relief, although Viv checked over her shoulder to make sure the gnome wasn’t following, feeling ridiculous about it.
She hoped to collar Pitts on his morning rounds, because she’d been sitting on an idea overnight and was anxious to see if it could be done.
The fog lent the trip down to the boardwalk a peculiar, muffled quiet, where near sounds seemed to come from far away, as though the world had been stretched in all directions and only mist filled the spaces in between.
Viv didn’t see anyone until she reached the bakery, which was reliably busy. At this point, she figured that if enemies from across the sea lay siege to the fortress walls, there would still be a line at Sea-Song. And some of the besiegers would probably be in it.
When she reached the front of the line, Maylee planted both hands on the counter and leaned forward with a welcoming smile. “It was the muffins, huh? That’s what tipped it.” She winked. She seemed to do that a lot.
“I did eat all of them before I made it up the hill, so, maybe?”
“How long are you in town, hon?”
Viv shrugged. “A few more weeks, I guess. I’ve got a, uh, crew that’s coming back through. I should be fit to travel by then.” She patted her leg more enthusiastically than she should have and then regretted it.
A dockworker leaned around Viv to see what the holdup was, opening his mouth like he was about to say something.
Turned out, Maylee had a remarkably effective glare. Viv was glad it wasn’t directed at her.
“So you’re a soldier of fortune sorta gal then, huh?” the dwarf continued brightly. “I mean, to look at you, I’d figured as much. How d’you like it?”
Viv was increasingly aware of the line growing behind her and shifted her weight uncomfortably.
“Oh, well. I guess it’s what I always wanted to do? Get out there and raise a little hell. Right wrongs, that sort of thing.” She shrugged. “Although there’s a lot more spineback-hunting than I expected. A lot.”
“Mmm. Yeah,” said Maylee dreamily. Then her eyes narrowed at the man behind Viv, and she stabbed a finger toward him. “Rolf, you’ll get your buns. Hold on to your ass!”
When Viv left with a sack of lassy buns, she tried to make her expression apologetic for the benefit of all the impatient folks in line.
* * *
She continued onward to the city proper, the fog growing denser as she went. The slap of waves echoed strangely through the mist, and the ghostly creak of ships acquired a dreamlike quality. If she didn’t stumble across Pitts, at least she could see if what she wanted could still be had.
But Viv did run across him. She spied his cart first, drawn to the side where the sand piled in little humps against the salt-streaked fortress wall. Pitts sat on a dune amidst long grasses, his scarred shoulders hunched forward.
He was reading the little book Fern had gifted him.
She came very close before he noticed, looking up at her with that same mild expression he’d worn the first time Viv met him.
“Guess you liked it then?” she said.
He glanced down at the tiny orange book, then back at her, pursing his lips. “Guess I did.” He looked into the mist, as though he could see through it. “Good day for it, too. Sometimes, I just read one page and think about it. Kind of turn it over in my head like a stone and look at it from all sides.”
Viv blinked at him. That was almost more than she’d ever heard him say, and words she didn’t expect. “Hey, I had something I wanted to ask. But I’ve already gotten more of a favor out of you than I wanted already, so you have to let me pay you this time.”
She held the sack out toward him. “First though, these are for you, either way. Just wanted to thank you again. I know that wasn’t scrap wood you brought.”
Pitts accepted the sack, looked inside, and gave it an appreciative sniff.
He withdrew one of the buns, took a surprisingly delicate bite, and chewed with his eyes closed. The orc held his place in the book with one enormous finger.
After he’d swallowed, he nodded, waiting.
She indicated his cart, which was mostly empty, and told him what she wanted. He thought about it, nodded again, then stood to dust the sand from his trousers and tuck the book carefully into a pocket.
He ate another bun before they went anywhere, though.
* * *
The gnome brothers had haggled, as she’d known they would, but maybe the clammy morning air worked to her advantage, because they didn’t seem that tenacious about it. During her previous trip along the market street, she’d spied a couple of chairs in the jumble of furnishings for sale. Nothing fancy, but they had bradded green velvet cushions, and most importantly, they were big and sturdy enough that she could sit in them without danger of collapse.
Lighter a silver and two bits, she stumped along behind Pitts’s cart with the chairs in back. She’d also negotiated her way to a small matching side table.
On their way out of the fortress walls, she glanced toward the courtyard beside the chandler’s. The man in gray with the overloaded pack was nowhere to be found. She shook her head and huffed an annoyed chuckle at herself. Viv hadn’t forgotten that prickling sense of danger when she’d spied him, but he was hardly worth the vigilance.
A Gatewarden watched the comings and goings, but it wasn’t Iridia. Viv supposed even the tapenti couldn’t find fault with a wagonload of furniture, though.
When they arrived at Thistleburr, Pitts helped her unload her purchases onto the boardwalk. Then he rolled his cart away one-handed. He held a bun in the other, chewing placidly as he went.
* * *
“No fucking way. There can’t be enough room, not for both of them,” said Fern, frowning doubtfully at the furniture in front of her door. She drew her red cloak tighter against the misty chill.
“Never going to know ‘til we try. At least one has to come in, though. It’s one of my conditions, after all.” Viv grinned at her.
Potroast unhelpfully peppered her with irritable hoots as she dragged in the first chair with an awkward shuffle-gait that favored her injured leg.
Fern fussed with the positioning while Viv brought in the other two pieces. They fit remarkably well under the east-facing window, and the light from the hurricane lamp pooled around them in a cozy golden glow.
Viv lowered herself into one with a grateful sigh. The cushion was a little damp, but when she stretched her leg out fully and leaned back, it was remarkably comfortable. She laced her hands across her belly. “That’s more like it.”
Fern slid up onto the matching chair, flipping her cloak and tail out behind her as she did. She drummed her claws on the arms. “How much did these cost, though?”
Viv closed her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say they’re mine and pretend I’m taking them with me when I go. Besides, your customers might want to sit and read something, too?”
“I’ll admit, it is … nice,” allowed Fern. She leaned back and cocked her head at Viv. “You know, it’s odd, but I’ve never actually asked you any real questions. That’s pretty gods-damned rude of me, isn’t it? I’ve told you more about me than I’ve told anyone in ages. I guess I haven’t had much time for … acquaintances the past few years. I’m out of practice.”
Cracking an eye at her, Viv said, “You’re in the tunnel. I know how it goes.”
“The tunnel?”
“You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then …” Viv shrugged deeper into the chair.
“Huh.” Fern was quiet for a long moment. “All right, well, let’s pretend I’m not in a fucking tunnel right now. What are you doing here? I don’t even know what happened to your leg!”
So Viv told her about Rackam and Varine the Pale, rushing as quickly as she could past the bit where she was stabbed in the thigh.