36
“What do you think?” asked Fern, holding one of the large sheets up and examining it critically.
She’d just returned from the small printworks in town with a stack of typeset handbills. They read:
THISTLEBURRBOOKSELLERS
est. 1343
New Stock—Grand Reopening
One-Day Sale
With Notable Local Author
ZELIA GREATSTRIDER
In Attendance!
Freyday—Open to Close
BEACH ROW
Viv looked up from the sandwich board she was laboring over, studied it, and nodded. “Seems like it should get the job done, yeah?”
They’d planned the opening to coincide with the arrival ofthe weekly passenger frigate, which gave them another day to post the flyers everywhere they could think of.
“Here are yours then,” said Fern, dividing the pile of handbills into two stacks.
“Just have to finish this.” Viv frowned at her handiwork. “I’ve redrawn the damn thing three times now, and it’s still crooked.”
After erasing the previous text with a rag, Viv had done her best to chalk the required words. They still sloped down and to the right, but at least the arrow she’d drawn under them was mostly straight. “Hells. I’m not much of an artist.”
Satchel bent over her shoulder to study the result. “Alas, I concur.”
Viv sighed and held out the chalk. “Here you go.”
The homunculus plucked it from her fingers with a bony hand. “Many thanks. Do you think copperplate or blackletter would be most appropriate?”
“Do both of those make words?”
He looked at her with his burning blue eyes. “I… well, yes, obviously?”
“We trust your judgment, Satchel,” said Fern.
Viv climbed to her feet, while the homunculus began drafting sure lines in what seemed random locations all across the surface of the slate.
Fern drew Viv’s attention by thrusting a mallet and a packet of tacks at her, then followed it up with the handbills. “Here you go. Happy hammering.”
Hefting the tool, Viv examined it with professional curiosity and gave it an experimental swing. “Feels good to hold a maul again. Did I tell you I lost mine?”
Fern rolled her eyes. “Don’t go braining anybody, please. Not until after they’ve bought a book, anyway.”
“Mmm, yes, I think this will be satisfactory,” said Satchel, stroking his jawbone with a skeletal finger.
Viv and Fern stared open-mouthed at the sandwich board.
Wreathed in crisply executed geometric borders, he’d printed the same words Viv had scrawled, but in ornately chalked text.
