But Vivdidrun across him. She spied his cart first, drawn to the side where the sand piled in little humps against the salt-streaked fortress wall. Pitts sat on a dune amidst long grasses, his scarred shoulders hunched forward.
He was reading the little book Fern had gifted him.
She came very close before he noticed, looking up at her with that same mild expression he’d worn the first time Viv met him.
“Guess you liked it then?” she said.
He glanced down at the tiny orange book, then back at her, pursing his lips. “Guess I did.” He looked into the mist, as though he could see through it. “Good day for it, too. Sometimes, I just read one page and think about it. Kind of turn it over in my head like a stone and look at it from all sides.”
Viv blinked at him. That was almost more than she’d ever heard him say, and words she didn’t expect. “Hey, I had something I wanted to ask. But I’ve already gotten more of a favor out of you than I wanted, so you have to let me pay you this time.”
She held the sack out toward him. “First though, these are for you, either way. Just wanted to thank you again. Iknowthat wasn’t scrap wood you brought.”
Pitts accepted the sack, looked inside, and gave it an appreciative sniff.
He withdrew one of the buns, took a surprisingly delicate bite, and chewed with his eyes closed. The orc held his place in the book with one enormous finger.
After he’d swallowed, he nodded, waiting.
She indicated his cart, which was mostly empty, and told him what she wanted. He thought about it, nodded again, thenstood to dust the sand from his trousers and tuck the book carefully into a pocket.
He ate another bun before they went anywhere, though.
The gnome brothers had haggled, as she’d known they would, but maybe the clammy morning air worked to her advantage, because they didn’t seem that tenacious about it. During her previous trip along the market street, she’d spied a couple of chairs in the jumble of furnishings for sale. Nothing fancy, but they had bradded green velvet cushions, and most importantly, they were big and sturdy enough that she could sit in them without danger of collapse.
Lighter a silver and two bits, she stumped along behind Pitts’s cart with the chairs in back. She’d also negotiated her way to a small matching side table.
On their way out of the fortress walls, she glanced toward the courtyard beside the chandler’s. The man in gray with the overloaded pack was nowhere to be found. She shook her head and huffed an annoyed chuckle at herself. Viv hadn’t forgotten that prickling sense of danger when she’d spied him, but he was hardly worth the vigilance.
A Gatewarden watched the comings and goings, but it wasn’t Iridia. Viv supposed even the tapenti couldn’t find fault with a wagonload of furniture, though.
When they arrived at Thistleburr, Pitts helped her unload her purchases onto the boardwalk. Then he rolled his cart away one-handed. He held a bun in the other, chewing placidly as he went.
“No fucking way. There can’t be enough room, not forbothof them,” said Fern, frowning doubtfully at the furniture in front of her door. She drew her red cloak tighter against the misty chill.
“Never going to know ‘til we try. Atleastone has to come in, though. It’s one of my conditions, after all.” Viv grinned at her.
Potroast unhelpfully peppered her with irritable hoots as she dragged in the first chair with an awkward shuffle-gait that favored her injured leg.
Fern fussed with the positioning while Viv brought in the other two pieces. They fit remarkably well under the east-facing window, and the light from the hurricane lamp pooled around them in a cozy golden glow.
Viv lowered herself into one with a grateful sigh. The cushion was a little damp, but when she stretched her leg out fully and leaned back, it was remarkably comfortable. She laced her hands across her belly. “That’s more like it.”
Fern slid up onto the matching chair, flipping her cloak and tail out behind her as she did. She drummed her claws on the arms. “How much did these cost, though?”
Viv closed her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say they’re mine and pretend I’m taking them with me when I go. Besides, your customers might want to sit and read something, too?”
“I’ll admit, it is…nice,” allowed Fern. She leaned back and cocked her head at Viv. “You know, it’s odd, but I’ve never actually asked you any real questions. That’s pretty gods-damned rude of me, isn’t it? I’ve told you more about me than I’ve told anyone in ages. I guess I haven’t had much time for… acquaintances the past few years. I’m out of practice.”
Cracking an eye at her, Viv said, “You’re in the tunnel. I know how it goes.”
“The tunnel?”
“You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then…” Viv shrugged deeper into the chair.
“Huh.” Fern was quiet for a long moment. “All right, well, let’s pretend I’m not in a fucking tunnel right now. Whatareyou doing here? I don’t even know what happened to your leg!”
So Viv told her about Rackam and Varine the Pale, rushing as quickly as she could past the bit where she was stabbed in the thigh.
