Bookshops & Bonedust (Legends & Lattes, #0)(6)
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, with errant 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—also piled 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, barking hoot echoed 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 really sincere profanity. 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’m so sorry!” 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’m sorry 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—”
The rattkin’s eyes narrowed. “And I thought all orcs only ate books, but here we are.”
And then Viv lost her grip on her laughter entirely.
After a second, the rattkin managed a chuckle or two as well, wiping her forehead and staring around as though wondering how on earth she’d gotten there.
“Fern, by the way.” She held out a paw to shake.
Viv obliged, swallowing it in her own massive grip. She tried to be gentle about it, though. “Viv. Again, real sorry for the mess.”
Fern waved it off. Sort of. “You buy a book, all’s forgiven.”
“Uh, so … I left my wallet back at The Perch …” She gestured at her empty belt. A convenient excuse, since she hadn’t really intended to buy anything anyway.
Another big sigh from Fern. “From the look of that leg, I don’t imagine you’ll be galloping over the hills with an ill-gotten novel, so take it on credit and come back tomorrow. Does that work for you?”