The sky threatened rain all the following day. Viv made a perfunctory visit to Thistleburr but didn’t stay. Fern was busy shelving the last of the remaining books and fussing over the wrapped packages, and there wasn’t much that Viv could help with anyway. She relayed what she’d done with Varine’s book, and Fern seemed caught between anxiety and relief, but the tasks of the day outweighed either in the end.
Viv and Maylee had planned an outing, which had been a pleasant prospect until she’d drawn forth the greatsword. She tried to recapture her anticipation as she knocked on the door of Sea-Song.
They shared a leisurely walk along the beach. Maylee traced a finger up and down Viv’s forearm in a very distracting way, and Viv described the plan she and Fern had hatched to find homes for the surplus books.
“Thanks to your baking,” she said. Viv gave Maylee’s hand a squeeze.
“Everythin’ good is thanks to bakin’,” Maylee replied with conviction.
As they strolled, Maylee talked about old friends and adventures past, and Viv laughed and nodded when it was expected. But more and more, her thoughts returned to the blade on her bedframe, drawn as if by a deadly lodestone. Her steps kept speeding up, as though she wanted the walk over and done with so she could get back. Viv had to rein herself in several times.
When they parted, Viv could tell from the bruised smile on Maylee’s face that she’d noticed, and a spasm of guilt seized her.
It didn’t stop her from hurrying back to her room though.
Behind The Perch and out of view of prying eyes, Viv hefted the greatsword, turning it in the silvery overcast light. The weight of it made the muscles of her arms and shoulders strain in a deeply satisfying way. She felt firm and hard and full of purpose, and when she executed the very different practice forms suited to the larger weapon, it was as though she’d wielded the blade all her life.
Any ache in her leg was forgotten. It wasn’t fully healed, not by a long shot, but it didn’t plague her in the slightest. As she completed a diagonal chop, the metal sighing through the air, a surprised laugh escaped her lips.
The steel seemed drawn by inexorable purpose, tracing a pathway that led back toward the Ravens. Toward where she truly belonged.
She felt the grin transform her face, a savage, joyful baring of fangs. Sweat pooled in her clavicle and flew from her forearms as she snapped the blade back and up.
Gods, it felt good.
* * *
On the day of Fern’s boardwalk sale, Viv descended the front steps of The Perch feeling more herself than she had in days. Her shoulders were tight from the bladework, but it would pass soon, she could tell. The rain that had seemed imminent yesterday was nowhere to be seen, the clouds torn up into ragged white ribbons.
She made her way out of the valley of dunes and sea-grass leading from The Perch. Drawing near the bookshop, she was surprised to find Pitts setting up four trestles out front. His wagon waited nearby, loaded with a stack of long planks.
As she approached, Pitts nodded and returned to the cart. He slid out four planks together and easily hoisted them onto one scarred shoulder, then set them across the top of one pair of trestles side by side, forming a rough tabletop.
“Here, I’ll grab these,” said Viv. She matched him, retrieving the other four to assemble a second table. It felt good to easily handle physical work that only a week ago would’ve had her leg folding underneath her.
“Thanks, Pitts.” Fern stepped out onto the boardwalk, and Potroast trotted behind her, his arrow of a pink tongue lolling out of his beak. He didn’t even growl at Viv, for once.
The rattkin clapped her paws together, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Let’s get to it then, shall we?”
“You’re roped into this too, huh?” Viv asked Pitts.
He shrugged. “Got a little exchange worked out. A couple of things just for me in the next shipment.”
“More poetry?”
Pitts studied her with a small, calm smile. Then he recited, “A worthy hand at patient rest. An endurance of moments. Contentment blossoms there.”
Viv nearly offered a teasing response, but her mind caught up with his words. Instead, she frowned at Fern. “How come you haven’t tried me out on any poetry yet?”
“I was just waiting for you to get all contemplative on me. You have to approach these things delicately,” replied Fern. “Now’s not the time for delicacy, though. We’ve got a load of these packages to shift outside, and the passenger ship arrives in a few hours.”
“Yes, m’lady,” said Viv, imitating Satchel’s solemn tone.
Fern brought a paw to her mouth to suppress a laugh, and Pitts gave her a quizzical look but didn’t say anything.
* * *
As they stood surveying the two tables and orderly ranks of neatly wrapped book bundles, Fern clapped a paw to her forehead. “Shit! I almost forgot!”
She hurried into the shop and returned struggling under the weight of a chalk sandwich board. Printed on both sides in white chalk were the words …
mystery
book
sale
… with a neat arrow beneath.
“I need to get this down to the beach,” she panted.
Potroast hooted supportively.
Viv went to relieve her of it, but Pitts beat her to it.
“Got to head that way anyway,” he said, taking the sign easily with one hand and carrying it over to his cart. “I’ll set it up. Good luck to you.”
With a wave, he stepped into the traces of his cart and got moving, heading downslope.
“Well,” said Fern, fiddling with her clasp. “I guess … now we wait?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Viv, although she wasn’t sure. Not exactly.
* * *
The frigate debarked close to noon, and for the hour afterward they waited. And waited.
And waited.
“Oh hells, this isn’t going to work, is it?” fretted Fern. “They’re off the boat by now. Fuck.” She plucked nervously at the twine bow of a package that read FAMILY, BUSINESS and DWARVEN POLITICS.
“Give it a little time,” said Viv, although she worried Fern was correct. “Anybody coming ashore probably had things to take care of first. Lodgings. Food. You know … stuff.”
“Maybe you’re right,” replied Fern, but she didn’t sound convinced.
Then, in the distance, a few scattered figures appeared. Fern shaded her eyes and watched anxiously, but they turned into Sea-Song. “Oh,” she murmured, and it broke Viv’s heart a little to see the slump of her shoulders.
When the figures reemerged later, though, they continued up the slope, angling in their direction. Viv was worried the couple—a pair of stone-fey in finely cut clothing—would pass right on by for The Perch, but they approached the tables with interest.
“A mystery book sale?” inquired the lady, whose white hair was pinned in high coils. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Well,” said Fern, her words tumbling out fast. “I’ve selected several books that fit a theme and gathered them together. And we’ve hinted at what’s inside but … well, it’s a sort of surprise.”
The gentleman hefted one of the packages, his thin brows rising as he scanned the words inked on the paper. “Why wouldn’t I select them myself?” he asked doubtfully.
“Because she’s a genius at picking them,” said Viv, leaning against a boardwalk pillar with her arms crossed. “Never steered me wrong yet. Besides, everybody likes a surprise, right?”
“And you won’t find a better deal,” added Fern. “Only thirty bits for three books.” Her whiskers twitched with nervousness. Even if Viv was pretending to be at ease, she shared the feeling.
“Knitting, murder, and wine,” said the lady. And then she laughed. “Well, that sounds delightful, doesn’t it, Fellan?”
“Mmm,” he replied noncommittally as he moved to examine another package.
“Oh, hush. I’d like this one.” The lady smiled at Fern as she held it up. “We’ve got a four-day journey north to Stellacia after this stop, all the way around the cape. I nearly went mad with boredom on the previous leg. I won’t say I’m desperate, but it’s a near thing.”
“Knowing what’s in that one, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” said Fern, as the lady nudged her companion for their purse.
“Treason, clockwork, and horticulture?” said the gentleman, blinking at the bundle he held.