“Astryx One-Ear,” sighed Viv in obvious admiration. “Gods, I’d love to meet her.”
“Who?” asked Tandri.
Viv looked affronted. “The Blademistress? The Oathmaiden? The most famous elven adventurer for the last thousand years?”
“I’ve readthreedifferent histories about her,” added Fern. “Which is pretty impressive, considering she’s still alive.Scarred by Purpose?Steel Maiden?Flight of the Silver Hawk? Amazing they got written, since she never seems to stick around after any heroics, which I personally can attest to.”
“Not ringing any bells.” Tandri shrugged. “A thousand years seems like an awfully long time to do the same thing, though.”
While they argued good-naturedly, Thimble appeared out of nowhere and slipped a plate piled with some sort of long, brittle cookies in front of Fern.
“Hello,”he whispered.
Then he wrung his paws in front of his apron and vanished as quickly as he had come in a dusting of flour.
Fern didn’t have the energy to puzzle him out.
She was simply relieved to have found a plausible reason for the sick feeling in her stomach that required no further investigation. A near-death experience would make anyone feel that way, obviously.
Also, the cookies were mighty fine.
2
“That’s the last load,” said Viv, grunting as she lowered a stack of lumber to the floor. She shrugged her arm a few times and rubbed life back into her shoulder. “I’ve got to head over to the shop. You going to be all right for now?”
Fern glanced up from a set of shelves, a paintbrush heavy with wood stain in one paw. She fanned her cheek with the other. With the window glass in place, the interior of the shop was choked with midday heat. She blew out a breath and waved the brush. “Sure. With Cal here, there’s no possible way I can damage anything load-bearing.”
Viv searched her face.
She was smiling, but Fern thought she was also trying to figure out whether there was any lingering panic in the joke. The prognosis must have been good, because her smile deepened. “See you after I close up, then. But come on over if you need anything.”
In their letters, Viv had been clear that she would handle all the organizational work in advance of Fern’s arrival. She’d been true to her word, and if there was any consideration shehadn’tcovered, Cal clearly knew what he was about. After a few days to give her bruised tail a chance to recover from the long carriage ride, Fern threw herself into transforming the shell of a building into a shop worth the upending of her entire life.
Watching her purse flatten also turned out to be a powerful motivator. Fern knew Viv would’ve been happy to assist there, too, but her old friend had already sunk plenty of sovereigns into the place. She couldn’t countenance letting her add any more.
“Front counter?” prompted Cal. The hob stared down at a few planks he’d arranged to mark the perimeter of the structure in question. Potroast snored between the boards in a makeshift bed consisting entirely of Fern’s cloak and his shed feathers.
Stretching—and wincing—Fern balanced the brush on the pot of wood stain and joined him. She regarded the rest of the shop’s interior, now crowded with shelves just like the ones she’d been finishing. “Hmm. A few feet this way, I think. It’ll have to be if we’re going to line up the bookshelves in three rows.” She closed an eye and framed the space with both paws.
Cal squatted to scratch Potroast behind one triangular ear. The gryphet snorted through his beak, rocking to the side to make his belly available. The hob obliged him, squinting up at Fern as he did. At least she was pretty sure he squinted. His eyes were mostly hidden by his bushy brows and the shadow of his cap. “So. You feelin’ more plumb these days?” He angled his other hand so it ran straight up and down.
Fern’s tail quirked in exasperation. “Honestly, everyone seems worried I might collapse in a heap at any moment.” She hiked a thumb in the direction Viv had gone. “The building isn’t going to fall down, and neither am I. We’re both just a little crooked.”
“Don’t doubt you’ll be fine a little crooked. But we’re already in here straightenin’ things out.” He stood and slapped the wall. “Just figured you deserved at least as much attention as this old wreck.”
She sighed. “Thanks. And I do mean that. But.Thisold wreck is just fine.”
“Hm.”
They contemplated one another for a long moment. Fern thought it was strange that she could in any way feelrelatedto someone she’d barely said two words to, but the hob might as well have been an uncle, as far as that went. The kind you liked having by to visit, because they fixed all the squeaky doors, and they didn’t embarrass everybody at the dinner table.
“Fair enough,” Cal allowed. Then he pointed a gnarled finger at the shelf Fern had been laboring over. “S’pose since you’re just fine and all, it’d be worth pointin’ out that you’ve been fillin’ that brush so heavy, you’ve got a little lake formin’ on the bottom plank. Want me to show you how to do it proper?”
He had the good grace to cough to cover his chuckle when Fern turned the air blue.
As, of course, the best kind of uncle would.
Fern decided that the unending work of the following weeks had a therapeutic quality. She was too exhausted to fret about anything—funds, future,orfriendship. Her new bookshop slowly took shape as the shelves found their places, fresh boards replaced rotted ones, wax gleamed on floorboards, paint refreshed the walls, and ancient stains vanished under lye and water.
