“At last,” said Satchel, his tone gleefully anticipatory. “If I may, m’lady?”
He didn’t even wait for permission, cracking open the urn of paint. Viv thought he might actually have chuckled.
“It doesn’t seem like I couldstopyou,” said Fern.
Satchel and Viv handled most of the initial work. Theyused trowels to scrape the walls down and peel away flaking paint, which shed onto the sailcloth and floor like the bark of an aspen. Fern tidied it into piles as it fell. Viv had expected to do a lot of the work herself, given how high much of the exposed wood was, but the homunculus had impeccable balance and certainly wouldn’t be injured by a fall. He climbed the shelves with alacrity, even draped in the sailcloth as they were, crouching atop them in impossibly contorted positions no fleshly creature would be able to endure.
Fern filled small pots from the urn and passed them up. Over a series of industrious and companionable hours, they painted the entire front room. Viv could even reach the ceiling, and though it put an awful crick in her neck and abused back muscles that no amount of swordplay ever strained, she managed.
When it was done, Viv removed the stones from the sailcloth and carefully folded it, hauling it to the boardwalk. They threw open the side windows, and Fern swung wide the back door to let the air pass through. Then they gathered and surveyed their handiwork together.
“It’s… definitely an improvement,” admitted Fern.
“Hang on,” said Viv, stepping over to the hurricane lantern and removing the cracked chimney. Carefully unwrapping the one she’d purchased, she settled it onto the lamp’s base. “Nowit’s better.”
“It is indeed,” agreed Satchel, the blue flames of his orbits pulsing lazily. “Averycreditable transformation.” He sighed a long, hollow breath of satisfaction, and although Viv never would have guessed a skeleton could look relaxed, he somehow achieved it.
The rattkin rolled her eyes. “It’s just some paint.” But Vivcould tell by the curve of her tail and the way her whiskers twitched that she was pleased.
Over the following hours, Viv muscled the furniture into the shop, and they fussed over rearranging it. Eventually, they repositioned several of the freestanding shelves, or rather, Viv did, by carefully lifting one end and then another, walking them ever so gently into new locations.
They placed Fern’s new table at the end of two back-to-back shelves and arranged a small seating nook with the additional chairs near the front windows. The still-empty vases they positioned in the corners. The reconfigured interior allowed more space for the original padded chairs and side table as well, and when they finally unfurled the new carpet, its deep burgundy added surprising warmth to the room.
By then, the paint had dried enough for Viv to bang a nail into the wall behind the counter, where she carefully hung the painting Maylee had chosen.
It did indeed look very nice.
“What was the plan with this table then?” asked Viv, rapping it with her knuckles.
“I guess we’ll see,” said Fern. She went about the shop, selecting a few different books, studying their covers and nibbling at a paw as she did. Viv and Satchel watched, nonplussed, as she traveled back and forth to the table, arranging the volumes upright or angled, with other books as backing or stacking them just so. Sometimes, she’d take one back and reshelve it, only to replace it with another.
Eventually, she snatched the gull—or rabbit—bookends from the counter and positioned them strategically, sandwiching a series of volumes between them in a few different arrangements until she was satisfied.
Viv didn’t know what invisible signal indicated that she was done, but Fern stepped back with a satisfied nod.
And she had to admit, it looked nice.
The rattkin appeared to awaken from a daze.
“Well,” breathed Fern, surveying the interior with both brows raised. “Fuck me.”
Satchel drew back from her in alarm, and his eyes seemed to widen as the flames within them burned brighter.
Viv leaned down near his skull and whispered, “It’s just a figure of speech, not a request.”
“It’s a damned good job,” said Maylee, scanning the room approvingly. “Looks practically new.” She looked over her shoulder at Viv. “And that fresh lamp chimney really ties the place together.”
Viv executed a mock bow, and Fern snorted.
Gallina snagged one of the lemon cakes the baker had brought, stuffed it into her face, then settled back into her padded chair. She made vaguely affirmative noises through a mouthful of crumbs.
Fern had gathered beach grass and filled the new vases, and the lantern shushed inside its fine—and undamaged—new chimney as twilight crept down outside. The fresh white paint fairly glowed, and in tandem with the sweetly scented grass, it was amazing how much the removal of the disreputable old rug had improved the smell.
Even the books on the shelves seemed richer. Cleaner.Tidier.
“Viv says you’ve got a new shipment of books comin’ in?” continued the dwarf.
Fern sat at the counter, absently nibbling at her own squareof cake while Satchel leafed through a chapbook. “Mmm? Yeah, sometime soon. I think I’ll just… stay closed until they arrive.”
