Viv was more nettled by that than she would ever admit.
“That little gentleman is Potroast,” said Fern.
Gallina made a face. “What’d he do to deserve that?”
The rattkin laughed. “His real name is Pallus. My father named him after the Great Gryphon in The Fourth Wish as a literary joke, but I was little and couldn’t say the name right, so …”
“You deserve better,” the gnome stage-whispered to Potroast.
Fern directed a curious glance at Viv, who shrugged helplessly and asked, “Anything we can help you with?” Oddly, that “we” felt perfectly natural.
“I think you owe me another chapter or two,” Gallina said.
“Looking to fall asleep this early in the day, huh? Well, I don’t have the book with me.”
“Sounds like welcher talk. Are you, like, workin’ here, or what?”
Viv shrugged. “I help out.”
“For free?” The gnome seemed shocked.
“Oh, no, she’s got the run of the store. Whatever she wants to read.” Fern regarded her with amusement.
Gallina made a face. “So, basically for free. What exactly do you do in here all day?”
“Well, when customers come in—like you, for instance—we sell them books,” supplied Fern.
Gallina studied the rattkin as if trying to decide whether her tone was patronizing or not. Fern did an admirable job of providing no clues.
The rattkin continued, “We were just discussing a book for someone in particular. A gift. That’s the bookseller’s art, choosing just the right one for the person in question.”
“Who for?”
Viv cleared her throat. “Uh, just … a friend.”
“You’ve got friends here?” asked Gallina incredulously. “Oh, wait, is it me?”
At that, Viv burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it.
* * *
“What’s this?” Maylee asked as Viv handed over a parcel wrapped in brown paper and secured with string. Fortunately, Fern had tied it, or it would have been a hopeless tangle.
“I just, uh, wanted to thank you.” It was the first time Viv had seen Sea-Song without a line. The baskets and shelves sat nearly bare, and the heat and humidity weren’t quite as thick as she recalled. No fires roared in the ovens, and the slim girl with her hair in a bun industriously scrubbed pans at a deep basin in the back. The whole place seemed to be sighing in relief after a day of relentless energy.
The smile on the dwarf’s face was huge but also softer than Viv remembered, as though genuine surprise had caught it halfway to forming.
“Aww,” she said quietly, running a finger under the string. Flour edged her nails. “Can I open it, then?”
“Sure! Yeah, of course.” Viv stood there awkwardly, simultaneously wanting to make a quick exit and hoping to catch the expression on Maylee’s face when she realized what it was. She and Fern had talked things over, and while Viv had worried the choice was a little too on the nose, in the end, she trusted the bookseller more than she did herself.
The dwarf snapped the string with a brisk tug and carefully folded back the paper, withdrawing a large volume bound in wood and sturdy lacing. Her brow furrowed at first. No title graced the front, but as she opened it and her eyes scanned the first few pages, her smile returned and journeyed all the way to fullness.
“Well, if that … aw, Eight …” She glanced up at Viv, eyes wide. “Is this what I think it is?”
“I felt a little weird, giving you a book of just recipes, because, well …” She waved around her. “Do you really need them? But—”
“Just recipes? This is a book of gnomish pastry recipes.” Maylee laughed. “Hells, I don’t even have to make ’em. Just readin’ ’em is a treat. Some of these … gods! The steps! And look at these woodcuts! I love it, hon.”
“I’m glad,” said Viv, although at the same time she felt a spike of embarrassment that she hadn’t thought of this particular book on her own. “And thanks for thinking of me. Uh, in prison. You didn’t have to, but it was … it was nice.” She flushed. Giving gifts involved a lot more careful navigation than it ought to.
“Thinkin’ of you?” Maylee leaned on the counter. “Hon, I ain’t stopped since you got here.”
“Oh. Um.” Viv’s thoughts were obliterated as surely as if she’d been brained with a cudgel.
The dwarf watched Viv’s expression, her own a mix of amusement and something else besides.
“Take care of that leg, Viv.” Maylee winked, gave the book a loving pat, and went back to cleaning up.
Viv left the shop confused, but not unpleasantly so.
16
Viv maintained a state of heightened suspicion for the first few days following her night in prison, but those feelings ebbed into a background alertness not far from her usual state of being.
No furtive men in gray were in evidence. Still, she kept her blade at her side, Iridia be damned.
She tucked it behind the counter when she was at the shop, though, after Fern pointed out that it wasn’t the most welcoming thing to spy through the front windows.
And for once, there were actually customers to deter. Neither Viv nor Fern could decide whether it was the fresh paint or the slightly less chaotic interior or some other nebulous perception of activity. It was hardly a flood of traffic, but a steady trickle wandered in throughout any given day—sometimes curious browsers who left empty-handed, but actual buyers too. Once or twice, even two people at once. A few shot curious looks Viv’s way, but when that happened, she made sure to pick up her own book, and their gazes wandered elsewhere.
Gallina dropped by off and on, usually on the pretext of visiting Potroast. More often than not, though, she ended up hanging around for a while on one of the chairs.
The inactivity was good for Viv’s leg, which regained some of the ground she’d lost after her inadvisable tussle in the street. Highlark even seemed grudgingly satisfied with her progress. But the quiet did nothing to relieve her restlessness over the whereabouts of the Ravens, and a hundred imagined scenarios where she missed their return, or they didn’t return at all. Rackam surely wasn’t the sort to break his word, but Viv was hardly a veteran of the company. She couldn’t silence a nagging voice that said he’d be happy to be well shut of a reckless orc that got herself into trouble she couldn’t get out of.
Words were the best distraction she could hope for.
“All right,” she said, entering the shop. “I finished the book.” The fog was piled high up the slope in front of the building, and it curled behind her like cold smoke.
Potroast regarded her with narrowed eyes and hid behind some shelves.
“Oh, really? Took you long enough. Too many chapters only suitable for your room?” Fern smirked at her from behind the counter.
“Hm,” replied Viv.
“You know, she’s local.”
“Who is?”
“Zelia Greatstrider, the author. She lives around here.”
“In Murk?” Viv asked incredulously. She unbuckled her sword-belt and hid her blade in its accustomed place. She slid Sea of Passion onto the counter.