Viv frowned. “Well, that’s a longer story. Why don’t I tell you while I paint, yeah?”
She unbuckled her sword-belt and leaned the saber in easy reach against the wall. Taking possession of the brush, she did her best to be neat about the work, with long, sure strokes. Her undamaged leg was sturdy enough that she could keep most of her weight off the other one as she worked, and Fern held up the bucket so Viv didn’t have to lean down to reload the brush.
Viv relayed all that had happened during her night behind bars and the following morning. When she got to the part about the man in gray’s disappearance, Fern squeaked and almost dropped the pail.
During Viv’s explanation about the necromancer and her suspicions about their connection, Fern couldn’t hold her peace any longer.
“So, he disappeared from a locked cell, and he’s just out there with his knives and his … his fucking magic?” she spluttered.
Viv didn’t like it either but was surprised at how incensed the rattkin was. “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”
“Then he could come back at any time?”
Viv gestured at her sword with the brush. “I don’t think Iridia is going to give me any trouble about carrying that around right now, and if she does, I’m not sure I care.”
Fern eyed her doubtfully.
“This is what I do.” Viv shrugged. “I’m menacing for a living. Hey, it just makes me twice as useful taking up space in your shop during the day, right?
“It was … odd to see you in action. I don’t like your company because you’re menacing.”
Viv frowned. “Well, only when I need to be.”
Fern glanced back at her. “That’s not what I mean. I saw his eyes when he … when he hit Potroast.” She swallowed. “They were so dead. It made me cold all over.”
“He’s wrong, for sure. All the way through.”
“I just mean to say I don’t doubt you. Don’t doubt what you did. At first, I was upset, because I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen a lot of street fights. Not very common in Murk!” She laughed weakly. “I suppose Iridia makes sure of that. Now, I guess I’m a different sort of upset. And not at you.”
They were quiet for a moment while Viv painted around the top edge as best she could. She wasn’t sure her brush technique could even be called workmanlike, but the door was definitely red.
“Last night, Potroast woke me. Hooting and barking, just like before. Do you think … ?”
Viv finished the last stroke with the brush and carefully placed it in the pail. She looked at Fern seriously. “I don’t want you to worry about it. If he’s coming for anyone, he’s coming for me, and he won’t do that here. What could he possibly need from the bookstore? Or have to fear from you?”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.”
“Like I said, this is what I do,” replied Viv. She grinned a little. “Now, you’d better take care of that paint in your fur. You look like you’ve been murdering chickens.”
* * *
“Aw, shit,” said Gallina, shaking her open hand. “Was that wet?”
Viv was so astounded to see the gnome in the bookshop, she almost forgot to be annoyed. “Didn’t you see the sign about the paint?”
The gnome braced the door open with her back—on the unpainted side—and glanced over at the window, and then up, where she finally spied it. “Outta my eyeline.”
Viv pushed away from the counter, where she’d been leaning in conference with Fern. “If that’s got fingerprints in it now …”
“Don’t get all touchy. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“If it’s on your hands, it’s not on the door,” groused Viv.
“What do you care? It’s not your—Oh, hey.” Gallina wiggled her fingers at Fern. “Nice to meetcha.”
The rattkin put her chin in her paw and sighed. “It’s fine. I guess I should be thanking you for helping Viv. Some prints in the paint are a small price to pay.”
Gallina beamed, and Viv thought she might’ve puffed out her chest, too, though it was hard to tell under all the knives. “See, yeah, that’s what I’m—Wait, helping?”
“Saving my ass. Is that better?” asked Viv. “I’m still checking the door.” She stumped the rest of the way over and gave it a careful inspection while the gnome ventured into the shop, looking around with a critical eye.
“Fern,” said the rattkin. “And you must be Gallina?”
The gnome cocked a brow at Viv.
“Yes, I told her about you,” she said patiently. “You’re very appreciated.”
Gallina settled into one of the chairs.
Her chair, Viv noted. Gallina appeared to be developing a habit.
“Hey, you’re right, this is pretty comfortable.”
Potroast trotted into view, promptly leapt onto the chair, and curled against the gnome’s leg.
“Aw, who’s this?” Gallina stroked the feathers between the gryphet’s eyes, and Potroast snuggled even closer.
Viv was more nettled by that than she would ever admit.
“That little gentleman is Potroast,” said Fern.
Gallina made a face. “What’d he do to deserve that?”
The rattkin laughed. “His real name is Pallus. My father named him after the Great Gryphon in The Fourth Wish as a literary joke, but I was little and couldn’t say the name right, so …”
“You deserve better,” the gnome stage-whispered to Potroast.
Fern directed a curious glance at Viv, who shrugged helplessly and asked, “Anything we can help you with?” Oddly, that “we” felt perfectly natural.
“I think you owe me another chapter or two,” Gallina said.
“Looking to fall asleep this early in the day, huh? Well, I don’t have the book with me.”
“Sounds like welcher talk. Are you, like, workin’ here, or what?”
Viv shrugged. “I help out.”
“For free?” The gnome seemed shocked.
“Oh, no, she’s got the run of the store. Whatever she wants to read.” Fern regarded her with amusement.
Gallina made a face. “So, basically for free. What exactly do you do in here all day?”
“Well, when customers come in—like you, for instance—we sell them books,” supplied Fern.
Gallina studied the rattkin as if trying to decide whether her tone was patronizing or not. Fern did an admirable job of providing no clues.
The rattkin continued, “We were just discussing a book for someone in particular. A gift. That’s the bookseller’s art, choosing just the right one for the person in question.”
“Who for?”
Viv cleared her throat. “Uh, just … a friend.”
“You’ve got friends here?” asked Gallina incredulously. “Oh, wait, is it me?”
At that, Viv burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it.
* * *
“What’s this?” Maylee asked as Viv handed over a parcel wrapped in brown paper and secured with string. Fortunately, Fern had tied it, or it would have been a hopeless tangle.
“I just, uh, wanted to thank you.” It was the first time Viv had seen Sea-Song without a line. The baskets and shelves sat nearly bare, and the heat and humidity weren’t quite as thick as she recalled. No fires roared in the ovens, and the slim girl with her hair in a bun industriously scrubbed pans at a deep basin in the back. The whole place seemed to be sighing in relief after a day of relentless energy.
The smile on the dwarf’s face was huge but also softer than Viv remembered, as though genuine surprise had caught it halfway to forming.
“Aww,” she said quietly, running a finger under the string. Flour edged her nails. “Can I open it, then?”
“Sure! Yeah, of course.” Viv stood there awkwardly, simultaneously wanting to make a quick exit and hoping to catch the expression on Maylee’s face when she realized what it was. She and Fern had talked things over, and while Viv had worried the choice was a little too on the nose, in the end, she trusted the bookseller more than she did herself.
The dwarf snapped the string with a brisk tug and carefully folded back the paper, withdrawing a large volume bound in wood and sturdy lacing. Her brow furrowed at first. No title graced the front, but as she opened it and her eyes scanned the first few pages, her smile returned and journeyed all the way to fullness.