He eagerly received the cup and thrust his nose into the curls of steam rising from the golden cream on the surface. After a delicate sip, he closed his eyes, clearly savoring it, and Viv leaned her elbows on the counter to watch.
The rattkin’s eyes opened, and he dipped his head in thanks. He quietly took his mug to a booth, where he sipped his drink and kicked his dangling paws.
“A promising start,” said Tandri. “That’s all so far?”
“So far.”
The washerwoman departed, leaving her mug at the table, and eventually, the rattkin finished as well, delivering his empty cup to the front counter. He bowed politely and scurried out the door, leaving scattered dustings of flour in his wake.
Tandri heated a kettle on the stove, filled the washbasin, and gathered the mugs to soak. “That was a good idea,” she said, indicating the menu on the counter. “Really helpful.”
Viv gave her a sidelong glance. “You could do better, though.”
“Well.Betterisn’t the word I’d use.”
“I’m going to pick up a slate and some chalk later. Got the idea from a pub on the High Street. We can hang it back here, and then you can work the same magic you did with those signs. Is that all right?”
“My pleasure.”
Early morning customers—the sort of folks who rise well before dawn to begin the day’s labor—arrived in a thin trickle. Viv and Tandri worked in tandem, explaining the menu as best they could and trading off between brewing and cleaning. The shop was pleasant and warm, and the smell of roasted beans permeated the air, drifting out into the street.
More than a few folk clearly followed their noses in the door.
Viv dared to hope.
* * *
The morning surgedried up after a few hours, and business evaporated, even though traffic outside the shop increased.
“And now it’s looking like yesterday all over again,” muttered Viv.
“Let’s not worry yet,” said Tandri.
But Viv noticed that the woman was scrubbing mugs she’d already cleaned. Before long, Tandri was aggressively wiping the surface of the machine, polishing it for the fifth time.
The next few hours were frankly agonizing.
At last, around noon, their first post-morning visitor walked through the door.
He was young, tall, and handsome, in an underfed and aristocratic way. His looks were somewhat spoiled by an inadvisable beard—too wispy, too patchy. He glanced around as if searching for someone. A satchel of books weighed down one arm, and he kept looking down at one cupped palm. He wore a split-hemmed cloak, and the pin on its left breast looked a lot like the head of a stag.
He didn’t approach the counter, wandering instead into the dining area.
Viv watched him with a wrinkled brow.
“Ackers Student,” murmured Tandri.
“Ackers?”
“The Thaumic Academy.”
“Oh. Visited it my first day here, but didn’t know the name. He looks pretty well-to-do. Maybe we’ll even get some word of mouth. Students talk to each other, right?”
“They talk, all right,” muttered Tandri, with a hint of venom that made Viv look at her askance.
The young man circled the big table and benches twice, then sidled into one of the wall booths, unpacked some books, and began consulting them.
Viv shot Tandri a questioning glance, but the succubus shrugged. They both continued to watch him.
