“That figures? How does that figure? Why would a cursed sailor steal books?! I told him he could look through them as much as he wanted!”
“I mean, he’s not strictly a sailor,” she says.
“What kind ofnonsailor would live shipboard and be ironically cursed to be afraid of large bodies of water?” I sputter.
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously? Have you ever seen a sailor dressed like that?”
I pause. “I haven’t seen many sailors outside of their formal dress clothes,” I admit. I’ve actually never seenanysailors—or, really, anyone—outside of their formal clothes, but it’s not worth explaining that no one dresses casually around royalty. “So I don’t really know what a sailor might dress like if he couldn’t, you know. Sail.”
“Tandy,” Sasha says, wearily. “Like, I’m not one for judging based on what people wear, but if you were to make any assumptions about a man who says he’s a sailor, has long hair, a lot of charisma, a flirtatious nature, a billowy shirt that’s open way too far down his chest, and super,supertight pants…what would you assume?”
“Um,” I say.
“Oh my actual dragon god,” Sasha says. “Would it make more sense if he had a peg leg? An eye patch? A cutlass?”
“Oh,” I say.
“You get there yet?”
“You’re right, we shouldn’t assume.”
“He did steal a bunch of books for like, no reason.”
I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. I bet no one stole from Beulah Bonecrusher. “I have spells set up all over to keep people from stealing,” I say.
“Maybe the fact that you told him he could use them negated those,” Sasha suggests. “Maybe he has a talisman or something that allows him to wiggle around basic anti-theft measures. You know. Because he’s apirate.”
I sigh. “Because he’s a pirate.”
Sasha and I spend the next two hours working on the third floor before she heads home and I close up shop and retire to my apartment. I should feel pretty good about things; Sasha did great work and her idea for a pulley/contraption thing to get stock out of the third floor by way of the window could make a huge difference to my plans for the shop, as long as she doesn’t mind being the person to handle the outside elements of the job. Instead I feel distinctly out of sorts, in part because I’m mad that a manflirted with me and then stole from me, and in part because I’m mad at myself for falling for it. I have spent my whole life surrounded by beautiful people, charismatic people, compelling people, even flirtatious people; I should be immune. But one attractive, wildly flirtatious pirate shows up and my ability to think and act rationally goes flying out the door. Ironically, given that nothing else about me can go flying out the door.
Annoyed, I go out into the garden and stare at my turnips. Not for any real reason; just because they’re there and I’m annoyed. Mostly at myself.
What does Honey say to do when one’s irritated? Write it all down, then crumple it up and burn it. I go back inside, sit down at the little table by the little fireplace, pull a piece of paper toward myself, and write down today’s date.
Dear Honey,
You’d be proud; I think I’m acquitting myself rather well so far as Tandy Shopkeeper. I’ve hired my first assistant and suffered my first theft. That all makes it sound rather lovely, but to be honest—
I pause. Honesty. No one will ever see this letter. I can be honest.
To be honest, it’s also rather quiet. I suppose I never noticed before that I’ve never been by myself, except when I was younger and could creep away from everyone and hide in a quiet room, or a dark corner of whichever garden. You’ve been with me since I turned thirteen. Before you, there were nannies and nurses andtutors and guards, and my sister (doing her best to avoid me). Here, I’m finally alone. By and large, I’m not lonely. Now I have Sasha. What I don’t have is customers, so the days can drag a little.
I pause again. I’ll have to think about how to get more customers in later.
But I finally have all the time I want to read.
I smile.
Today I met a pirate who’s been cursed so that he’s afraid of water, and he flirted with me. He’s the one who stole several of my books. So his flirting must only have been a ruse to put me at my ease. You always tell me I’m too trusting, too nice.
I won’t ever be able to send this to her; it’s already too deeply personal. But she was right; it does feel good to write my feelings down. Mytruefeelings.
I’m disappointed to admit it to myself. He was handsome. He looked like everything dangerous I’ve never been allowed to have: a ride on a wild stallion, or a magic carpet. I idiotically didn’t even realize he was a pirate until Sasha pointed it out; I was so caught up by him that it never occurred to me that he’d be anything other than what he said he was. And I loved being flirted with, feeling like he was attracted to me for noreason other than my, I suppose, self. He didn’t seem to know who I was. Who I am, I suppose.
So, my assistant. Sasha: How can I describe her? She’s a local teen who affects an air of depressed resignation to her existence. The daughter of the Lord Mayor. I don’t want to generalize, but mostly she gives off the strong sense of someone who wants to move on to her adult life, which she (rightly? wrongly?) perceives as more interesting than being a teenager. I suspect she’ll be off to the biggest city she can find as soon as she’s old enough. For the moment, however, she’s stuck here—and working with me. Loves to read, or at least sit on the third floor looking out the window and sighing heavily while surrounded by books. Obviously I think she’s wonderful. We’ve been clearing out the third floor; I’m trying to keep my enthusiasm and my thoughts to myself, since acting as though I’m keen will likely send her screaming out into the streets, never to be seen again. But I’m secretly hopeful that once we tidy things a bit up there and make it comfortable, she’ll bring her friends by and maybe they’ll even buy a book or two. How I’d have loved to have had a quiet corner of a bookstore all to myself at her age.
I hope the pirate finds what he’s looking for in those books he stole. They weren’t at all helpful for me.
