“Wish I knew. You got any ideas?”
Maylee thought about it as they continued, two strides to every one of Viv’s. She stared out over the breaking waves, and finally asked, “You think there’s any harm in him?”
Viv thought it over as they walked, then sighed. “Maybe not in him. But maybe he drags it behind?”
“So you’re tellin’ me you want to stay out of trouble? Who’re you kiddin’？ Remember, I used to do this stuff, too.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean I want to bring trouble down on everybody around me.”
“I’ll risk a little trouble. I’m a big girl.” Maylee looked Viv up and down. “Relatively.”
“You are trouble. A nice kind of trouble.”
“Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to find out how much. Also, I want to meet it. Him.”
“Fair warning. I don’t think he eats much.”
“Well, half a loaf is better than none.” Maylee swatted her arm, but Viv wouldn’t have minded if the touch had lasted longer.
* * *
Having Maylee along did more than lift Viv’s mood. It also worked a remarkable transformation on Highlark’s attitude. Not a single long-suffering sigh passed his lips as he cleaned, examined, and rebound Viv’s wounds. Healing appeared to be proceeding well, and the elf administered a new and pungent salve that he said would reduce stiffness and scarring.
As she examined the model skeletons suspended from their metal arms, Viv thought idly of asking if he knew anything about osseoscription, but reconsidered. Instead, she nodded in all the right places, and soon the two of them were back outside his office.
“I should’ve had you with me from the beginning,” said Viv. “I think that’s the first time he’s treated me like he was getting paid to do this.”
“Sourdough loaves,” Maylee said in sage tones. “He picks ‘em up at least three times a week.” She leaned into Viv and said seriously, “Don’t mess with your baker.”
“Especially when your baker has a mace upstairs.”
“Oh, the rollin’ pin works just fine, hon.”
* * *
“He’s out,” Viv said flatly as the door to Thistleburr closed behind her.
Satchel regarded her from where he was sweeping the back hallway, his eyes twin blue rings of flame. Fern glanced up from the counter with a start, and a guilty expression stole across her face.
Viv couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or not. Did she even have a right to be? She’d assumed they’d talk it over and decide together what to do about him. But it was Fern’s shop, and the homunculus—Satchel—wasn’t a thing.
Still, she felt a prickle of dread. A premonition.
“And you have him sweeping? Like some kind of—”
“I tried to stop him,” blurted Fern. “I tried. I stared at that gods-damned bag all morning. Couldn’t keep from looking at it, thinking of him folded up in there, and I just … couldn’t leave him.” She wrung her hands anxiously. “But as soon as he was out and about, he insisted on being useful. Eventually, I gave up trying to get him to relax.”
“I’m quite incapable of that,” agreed Satchel. He resumed sweeping.
“At least the shades are drawn.” Viv sighed. “But I walked right in, and he was the first thing I saw. What if somebody else gets a look at him?”
“Well …” Fern said slowly. “What if?”
Viv opened her mouth to reply and then couldn’t think of one.
“Right? What are they going to do?” asked Fern.
Still, Viv couldn’t bring herself to give up the argument so easily. “What if whoever killed Balthus wanders in? Or somebody like him? What if it’s Varine?”
Fern made an exasperated noise. “Well, we’re fucked anyway at that point, right? What difference does it make? And as long as we keep the bag out of view, nobody else is going to make any connections. All they can do is ask questions we don’t have to answer.”
Viv looked at Satchel, as though for assistance.
He shrugged.
She couldn’t stop a burst of laughter from escaping and tossed up both hands in surrender. “Eight hells. Okay! You win. I guess that means I don’t have to put Maylee off meeting him.”
Viv made her way to one of the chairs and gently lowered herself into it. Highlark might not have aggressively probed her wound with Maylee around, but it was still tender after the hike into Murk and back, on top of the previous day’s activities.
“We have a lot to talk about, though, don’t we? I mean … ?” She gestured at the sweeping homunculus. “Why don’t you sit down, Satchel?”
“If it’s all the same to you, m’lady, I have a great deal to do. This place is …” He examined the shelves, and somehow managed to look like he was trying to be diplomatic. “Desperately in need of my further attention.”
Viv raised her brows at Fern. “Well, he seems to be settling right in.”
The door banged open and Gallina trotted inside. “Holy hells, he’s out!” she said, in an echo of Viv’s entrance. “And he’s sweepin’？”
“We’ve already had this conversation,” replied Fern, with narrowed eyes. “The housekeeping wasn’t my idea.”
“Now that we’re all here, we have to decide what to do with him though, right?” asked Viv. At Fern’s expression, she amended, “Or … we have to find out what he wants to do. Assuming a necromancer doesn’t swoop into town and murder everybody before then.”
She caught Satchel’s gaze, hoping he’d have a response, but he only looked uncomfortable as he fingered the spines of the books.
“What do you want, Satchel? If you could choose?” asked Fern.
The homunculus glanced between them, and the fires of his eyes twirled faster. “It does not matter. I can never be alone. I must always serve a master. There is no other way.”
“You don’t have to serve nobody. We could just, like …” Gallina rubbed two fingers together. “Dust you and let you get on with it. Right?”
Satchel was silent for so long, his broom immobile, that Viv thought he might have seized up, his enchantment somehow halted. But then he slowly replied, “I should like to simply be for a while. To … serve in the way I choose.”
Fern’s voice was firm. “Of course. But you don’t have to serve anybody but yourself. Do you understand?”
He nodded, but Viv wasn’t sure that he believed it. Or maybe he just disagreed. At any rate, it wasn’t going to do any good to belabor the point.
“Hey, somethin’ else you said yesterday,” said Gallina. “That guy, Balthus. You said you weren’t all he stole.”
Viv had forgotten about that, and from her expression, Fern had, too.
Satchel bobbed his head but said nothing.
“Well?” prompted Gallina. “What else did he take?”
The homunculus hung his head. “Alas, the Lady’s secrets bind me. I cannot say.” Then, in an abrupt change of subject, he addressed Fern. “I do so look forward to tidying here. Sorting. Organizing. It gives me great peace. I wonder, what do you discover when you bring order to things?”