If Rackam didn’t come back soon, she’d have to leave and find him herself, before she did something she mightreallyregret.
3
Still seething from her encounter with the Gatewarden, Viv considered The Perch with a renewed lack of enthusiasm. Unable to face a tedious, lonely walk to a tedious, empty room for the rest of a tedious, pointless day, she angled for the boardwalk and the nearest occupied shop.
As she brought her crutch down in front of Thistleburr Booksellers, there was a tortured crack. She swore as the rotten wood buckled beneath the weight. Viv almost went tail over tusks for the second time in a quarter of an hour but managed to hike the crutch up before it went all the way through.
She stared at the half-disintegrated plank. “Shit.”
With adrenaline still sizzling up her arms from the near miss, she pushed open the door and staggered into the dim light of the bookshop.
The interior smelled almost exactly as she’d imagined—of old paper, mildew, and disappointment—but with the additional odors of dog and…henhouse. She wrinkled her nose.
Books crowded a long, narrow shop—squeezed into leaning shelves, scattered on top of them, teetering in stacks on the floor. Some volumes seemed new, but most were old, witherrant threads poking from leather or cloth-covered wooden bindings.
Sea charts and maps lay in a disorganized heap on a low shelf below the front windows. A hurricane lamp with a cracked chimney flickered weakly where it was mounted on the wall.
The inside was constructed of the same planks as the exterior facing. Once painted white, they now looked tea-stained and peeling.
Charting an unfortunate path through the room was a shabby carpet crusted with salty sand and… stray feathers?
A tiny countertop crouched at the back, with another wall of books stacked behind. It seemed in danger of disappearing under a landslide of old words. A crooked hall ran into the rear, and she thought she heard rustling around the corner. A battered old woodstove—alsopiled with books—squatted to the left of the hall. Nobody appeared to be manning the shop.
“By the Eight, what a pit,” said Viv, curling her lip. This had been a terrible idea.
As she awkwardly turned to go, her saber slapped three piles of books, which scattered in a tumble of pages and dust. Viv winced, took a breath… and then two adjoining piles slumped over to skitter atop the rest.
A strange, barkinghootechoed from the rear of the shop. Suddenly, a thunder of paws preceded the appearance of a squat little animal that barreled directly toward her in a cloud of feathers and shed hair. Its claws caught in the ragged carpet and bunched it together in dusty humps beneath its belly until it shot forward again, sounding for all the world like a dog barking underwater.
She didn’t flinch as it came to a skidding stop before her,bouncing on four stubby legs, its short golden hair abristle along its spine. Its head was owlish and oversized, with great luminous eyes and a small black beak. Sprigs of fur and pinions hinted at vestigial wings. Triangular, canine ears were folded back over the feathers of its head in the righteous fury of a guard dog.
Viv put a hand on the hilt of her saber, but despite the creature’s aggressive squawking, she couldn’t imagine she was in much danger. Her surprise was already turning into a disbelieving chuckle.
“Oh,fuck!” cried a small, high voice. “Potroast,no!”
Viv glanced up, surprised at the profanity. The reallysincereprofanity. But she was even more surprised by the owner of the voice.
A tiny rattkin wearing a short red cloak hurried into the light, shaking a severe finger at the animal.
“It’s okay,” said Viv, wrestling her laugh into a lopsided grin. The absurdity of the situation had scrubbed away the last traces of her raw fury over her encounter with the Gatewarden.
“I’msosorry!” exclaimed the rattkin as she bent to wrap her arms around her vibrating savior. Then she caught sight of the tumbled volumes and slumped. “Oh, gods-dammit.”
“Yeah,I’msorry about that one. My fault.” Viv gestured to her leg and crutch, even though they hadn’t been the culprits. She was almost embarrassed to be carrying the sword now, which was weird.
“Potroast! Get in the back! Go on, get!” the rattkin hissed. To Viv’s surprise, the creature obeyed, its stubby tail drooping as it slunk behind the counter. It popped its head out the side and regarded Viv with distrustful eyes the size of grapefruits, but it stayed put.
Viv began the laborious process of squatting to help gather the confusion of books.
The rattkin stopped her. “Forget it.” She heaved an enormous sigh. “Let’s not tempt fate, hm?”
It didn’t take her long to create new, more precarious piles, but at least they weren’t scattered across the floor. While she did, Viv surreptitiously straightened the carpet by dragging one end with her crutch, which triggered a ridiculous, bubbling growl from Potroast.
“All right. Shit. I’m flustered,” said the rattkin, fanning herself with one paw. She shook out her whiskers and inquired, “Can I help you with something?”
The words were delivered in a polite tone so at odds with her very foul mouth, Viv couldn’t help it anymore, and a laugh finally escaped.
“Oh, gods, I’m sorry,” she said, trying to choke it off. “It’s just… every rattkin I’ve ever met was such a soft, shy little thing, and I thought—”
