“Wood was just scrap,” said Pitts, without turning around.
Somehow, Viv didn’t believe him.
Apparently, Fern didn’t either. “Come on up here, Pitts. You’re not getting away without some damn lunch.” She fixed Viv with a glare that seemed entirely unwarranted. “And neither are you.”
Potroast only had eyes for the fresh loaf of bread as Fern led the way inside. Viv followed, feeling awkward about it, but not as awkward as Pitts looked when he tentatively ducked under the doorframe, flinching as though the shelves might topple over on him in an avalanche of paper.
Fern bustled to the counter, shoved a stack of books aside, and set down the loaf she’d bought. She went into the back and returned with a long knife and a muslin-wrapped bundle. Unfolding it beside the bread, she revealed a hard length of sausage and a yellow wedge of cheese that smelled of cream and salt and summer grass.
Without a word, she sawed off slices of bread and piled them with hunks of cheese and discs of sausage, handing them to the two orcs without really looking at either of them. Then she cut a portion for herself and flipped a rind of cheese to the gryphet, who gobbled it down and wagged his tail for more.
Finally, she met their eyes. “Well? Eat!” She took a bite herself and chewed defiantly.
“Uh, are you—” Viv began.
“Eat.”
“Okay, fine.” Viv tore off a corner with her teeth. The bread was, predictably, incredible—sour and soft with a chewy crust that flaked away in the mouth.
Pitts wolfed his down with a slightly hunted look.
Fern cleared her throat. “Thank you both,” she saidcarefully. She stared hard at Pitts. “Can I interest you in a book?”
Viv didn’t think helookedinterested, but Pitts also seemed to recognize the path of least resistance. He reached tentatively for the smallest one he could find, and held it up between thumb and forefinger. It looked even tinier there. “This one?”
“Thorns and Pinions. A very fine book of poetry. It’s yours,” said Fern with a regal nod.
“I… gotta be goin’,” said Pitts. He made a halting bow and backed out of the shop.
Viv watched him depart, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody that terrified of a free lunch.”
Fern was staring at the closed door. She glanced down at her meal, tossed the whole thing onto the floor for Potroast to savage, and promptly burst into tears.
“Fuck,” sobbed Fern. “What am Idoinghere? I’m relying on charity to fix abroken board.”
Viv had never felt less equal to the needs of a moment. She ushered the rattkin onto her stool, whereupon the girl folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad… can it?” mumbled Viv.
Fern’s sigh was watery. “I can’t keep on this way. Not for much longer.Maybea month.”
“This place has been around a while, right? I’m sure it can last afewmore than that.”
The rattkin raised her head to fix Viv with a bleak gaze. “Fifty years. That’s how long it’s been here. My father opened this place. I grew up here. Used to sleep in that shelf over there when I was little.” She pointed to the far corner. “He left it tome when he died, and it’s going to bemethat runs it into the fucking ground. Gods, what would he say if he could see?”
Viv awkwardly patted her shoulder. “I don’t know a lot about running a shop, but… what’s changed?”
“Nothinghas changed. It’s all the same. Well, that’s not true. It’s all shabbier. Half falling apart. And I guessI’mthe main thing that’s different.”
“Uh. Maybe… maybe that’s the problem, then?”
Fern’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not very good at consoling, are you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t meanyou. I mean… doing things the same way.” Viv winced apologetically. “Sorry, this isreallynot my area.”
The rattkin laughed a little. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the most interesting customer I’ve had in a month.”
“Wow, thatisbad.”
