Fern’s weak laugh turned into a hitching snort. When she recovered, she said, “You know, it’s not because I haven’t thought about it. About changing things. But it always seems like there’s no time or money to patch the holes. Just enough to keep tossing water overboard.”
Viv rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, one less hole today. I guess I made that one, though, so it probably doesn’t count as progress.”
Fern shrugged, resting her chin on her crossed arms.
“If youcouldchange something, what would it be?” asked Viv.
The rattkin was quiet for a long time. Viv guessed she wasn’t going to get an answer. Then, “Somuch. The inventory. Those fucking sea charts. Newer printings. Some paint on the walls. Magically transport the whole place to a city fullof bibliophiles.” She glanced at Viv. “What wouldyouchange? You’ve got a recent first impression.”
Viv tried to look apologetic. “Uh, the smell? Probably that carpet too.”
“Thesmell?”
“Yeah, it sort of smells… yellow. And not a good yellow.” She eyed the gryphet. “Kind of like somebody dunked him in a bucket.”
Potroast hooted indignantly and nipped at her boot.
Fern laughed again, then lapsed into silence. After a while, she quietly said, “Thanks for your help today. Thanks for listening to me complain.”
“You’re the only thing keeping me sane around here,” replied Viv. “I’ve got a vested interest.”
The rattkin perked up and her expression cleared. “How’sHeart’s Bladetreating you then?”
“Well, I’m…” Viv started to hedge, then thought better of it. “I’m just getting started. I’ll let you know when I finish.”
“Not enough swords for you?”
“I’m reserving judgment, okay?”
Fern pressed herself back up from the counter and shook out her whiskers. She cut another couple of slices of bread and passed one over.
While Viv chewed, the rattkin surveyed her shop again. “The carpet? Really? I’m so preoccupied with all the bigger problems, I don’t really think about the small things. I guess it could use a good beating.”
Viv swallowed and shook her head. “No. It could use a good burning.”
8
“What in the Eight are you doing here?” Highlark seemed halfway between annoyed and thoroughly surprised. “It’s two days until I’m due to see you at your room.” He glanced up and down the street, as though someone had spirited Viv to his doorstep.
She gave a half-shrug, leaning fully on her crutch. “I figured I’d get out and see the rest of Murk, and once I was here, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Not really hard to find the place.”
Highlark’s surgery sat near the center of the town snugged within the fortress walls, and everybody knew where it was. The building was tall, narrow, and neatly kept, with flower boxes in both the upper and lower windows, which Viv found oddly amusing. An iron sign in the shape of a healer’s staff and crescent was mounted above the lintel.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want? You’re caring for the wound daily like I showed you, yes?”
“Yeah, of course. But… well, maybe you could take a look. That callis oil seemed to work pretty well. Maybe I should do that again?”
“Again?” He looked shocked.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t that get me off this crutch faster?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he said with an exasperated tone.
Now that he wasn’t wearing a rain cowl, Viv could see the elf cut a fine figure in a crisp white shirt and finely tailored trousers. For some reason, she’d expected him to appear at his door in a bloody smock. She was glad to note that the bruises on his neck were nearly gone.
“I doubt very much that I can offer any other advice until you’ve healed further. And even if I could, it’s clear you wouldn’t pay it any mind. Come in, if you must.” He opened the door the rest of the way and ushered her in with a resigned air.
As Viv entered Highlark’s office, she was surprised to find that it looked more like a bookshop than the real thing. One wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling shelves, complete with rolling ladder. The spines looked to be in excellent condition, gleaming as though oiled.
