“Some of the words Fern uses are alongway from plain,” called Viv. “But if you ever need to strip some paint, I bet she can make it a lot easier.”
“Oh, fuck off,” replied Fern mildly over her shoulder.
Cal barked a startled laugh, and that clinched her opinion of him, too.
“Windows’ll come, o’course,” said Cal, tipping his cap back as they stared together at the vacant frames.
To Fern, the building bore an expression of horrified surprise, not unlike that of a rattkin who’d sold her bookstore and most of her worldly possessions to travel halfway across the Territory and set up shop in a moldering derelict.
Fern had been honest about paying no attention on her way to the Redstone district and the coffee shop. Now, she wondered if she would have made it in the door if she had noticed the place.
She swallowed hard.
“Don’t worry!” Viv clapped a hand on Fern’s shoulder. “My shop used to be a crumbling livery with a hole in the ceiling.Thenit burned down. You’re already leagues ahead. It’s going to beperfect. You’ll see.”
Cal studied Fern from under his cap. He nodded once. “Hm. S’going to be fine.”
Somehow that was a lot more reassuring.
It was only one story tall. Separated from Legends & Lattes by a narrow alley, the bright whitewash and neat stonework of its neighbor only made the peeling paint and sagging eaves look more desolate. Still, it wasn’t as though her old shop in Murk wasn’t in need of a lick of paint. Maybe if Fern’s nerves hadn’t already been thoroughly frayed, her first impression might’ve been gilded with a bit more optimism.
“The bones are good,” she muttered to herself, but when she said it a second time even quieter, it felt more like a prayer.
“I’ve got something to show you,” said Tandri gently. She gestured for Fern to follow, then opened the door to lead her inside.
Cal and Viv came after.
The interior wasn’t much more encouraging. Evening light slanted through the gaping window frames, revealing raw beams and heaps of sawdust marking Cal’s efforts thus far. Pale stains on the floor described the ghostly shapes of furniture long since removed.
“It does seem bigger once you’re inside.” Fern tried to sound optimistic. “Should hold plenty of books, at least.”
“The bones’re good,” said Cal, gruffly repeating her earlier words. “She’ll clean up smart.”
Fern became even more aware that the worry sloshing around inside her was over-spilling enough for all of them to notice. Hells, the tension in her tail alone probably gave it away.
“This isn’t what I wanted to show you though,” said Tandri, opening a door at the back of the echoing storefront and passing through. At the rasp of a striking match, soft lantern-glow buttered the walls inside.
Fern stepped into a cozy bedroom, Viv and Cal crowding into the doorway behind her. They’d tucked a narrow bed in the far corner, complete with a quilt and a big, squashy pillow. A side table holding the lit lantern squatted beside it. A writing desk crouched against the near wall, and a wardrobe sat to the right of the door. Just above the desk hung a watercolor painting of a long swell of shoreline tufted with beach grass, and low clouds pinking at evening.
At the foot of the bed waited a large wicker basket with a blanket tucked around a cushion nested inside.
“Oh,” managed Fern, remembering Potroast asleep back in the coffee shop.
Then she burst into tears.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Viv had one enormous hand curled around Fern’s outstretched paw on the tabletop back in the coffee shop.
Fern sniffed, then used her other hand to bring a mug of tea to her lips. “Oh, hells, I’mfine. The shop, the room, it’s all lovely.Thankyou.” She nodded meaningfully at Tandri. “I just feel all . . . rattled around. Like I crossed a bridge that collapsed the second I reached the other side. You’re relieved you made it, but weak in the knees at the same time.”
Viv looked thoughtful. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Huh. You would, wouldn’t you? I bet you had a lot of near misses in your time.” She grimaced. “In your time. Bleagh. That makes you sound like an octogenarian.”
Then she remembered her own near-death experience on the road not a week past. “Eight hells,” she breathed. “That’sit. No wonder I’m not myself!”
“What?”
And then she told them about Astryx and the pescadines and the coach door torn off its hinges.
