“Mmm. Maybe moist,” suggested Fern with a wicked grin.
Viv laughed aloud. “Wonder how many of those you’d sell? Maybe you should put that on every package.”
Addis exited the shop without so much as a wave, the door banging shut behind him.
“Bye, Addis!” Fern called after him.
Viv shook her head in annoyance.
From within the box on the counter, Satchel’s sepulchral voice issued, brimming with sudden interest.
“Moist books?”
* * *
“Use the heels of your hands.”
“It’s sticky,” grumbled Viv, trying to shuck globs of dough from around her knuckles.
“That’s why you can’t use your fingers,” said Maylee, with a laugh buried in her voice. “Yeah, that’s the way. Now fold it over and do it again. Keep it up. You got the arms for it.”
Sea-Song was locked tight for the day, but according to Maylee, there was still plenty to be done. Viv had offered to lend a hand, with the vague notion that this might mean scrubbing or sweeping or something equally straightforward. The dwarf, however, had other ideas.
She looked at Maylee askance as the shorter woman sprinkled flour in front of the ball of dough in an easy arc. “Are you trying to domesticate me?”
“You said you wanted to help, and I’ve got bread to bake. Besides, you seem to be domesticatin’ yourself just fine at Fern’s place.”
Her tone was teasing, but the words made Viv tense, like she expected a manacle to snap onto her wrist. A ridiculous reaction, she knew, and yet she couldn’t help but infer something hopeful in Maylee’s gaze.
“That’s different.”
“Oh, yeah? How d’you figure that?”
“Well,” said Viv, grunting as she folded the dough and pressed into it. The countertops were built for dwarven stature, and she had to really hunch to bring her weight to bear. “I did get tossed in jail over a street fight, there’s been at least one dead body, and we have a talking bagful of bones, so I think there’s a lot more adventuring going on than you’d expect.”
“You seem to be gettin’ a lot of aggression out on that poor dough, too. Though maybe it’s just you. Either way, flour looks good on you.” She tossed a playful pinch.
Viv bared her teeth in a mock growl, only to get a faceful.
“D’you figure he’s goin’ to bring trouble?” asked Maylee, suddenly serious.
“Satchel?”
She nodded, then touched Viv’s hip to move her to the side, taking over kneading the dough. The easy press and release of her hands and the sway of her body were unexpectedly sensual.
Viv tried not to stare.
Dusting flour from her arms, she parked her butt against the counter. “Honestly? Yeah. I do.”
The dwarf sighed. “So do I. I’ve just got that feelin’。”
Viv knew exactly the one she meant. Like the sound of a battle three hills over.
She was reminded that Maylee wrestled dough with hands that had once wielded a mace. There was some safety in that which Viv couldn’t untangle just yet.
Maylee stopped kneading and gave her a searching look. “That doesn’t really upset you, does it?”
“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Viv hedged. But that wasn’t really an answer at all.
* * *
A galleon from the far south was anchored in the deeper waters offshore, and small boats had been ferrying passengers, merchants, and crew members to the beach throughout the late afternoon. Coaches rattled in both directions along the southern road to Cardus. As a result, it was one of The Perch’s livelier nights.
Viv was comfortable enough on her leg to be seated at the bar. Her favorite table was occupied anyway. She nursed a second beer while she tried not to race through the last three chapters of The Lens and the Dapplegrim. Brand was a blur beyond her vision, and the noise piled up against the walls, leaving her alone in the center of a perfect sphere of story. Each word tumbled into the next, a rockslide of prose that would end in a dramatic confrontation between Investigator Beckett and the deliciously devious Aramy, with Leena’s life in the balance. At least that’s where she expected things to go. The book had a way of confounding her expectations, and every time it did, she experienced a thrill of delight.
When someone sat down beside her at the bar, she paid them no mind, absorbed as she was.
As she recognized her neighbor, though, the raucous sound crashed back in on Viv, and she found herself fully, instantly present.
“I’ll confess, I didn’t imagine you were the literary sort.” The voice was husky, dryly amused.
Iridia.
Viv did her best not to sigh in annoyance, marking her place with a thumb.
The woman tapped the bar-top and nodded at Brand for a drink. She was perfectly at ease. Her longsword was still belted at her waist, lantern on the opposite hip. Viv didn’t think it looked very comfortable.
Iridia downed a swallow of her beer before eyeing Viv. “I see you’re on the mend. I expect you’ll be off soon, then.”
“When Rackam returns, yeah,” said Viv evenly. “No idea when that will be. I guess you’re stuck with me until he shows up.”
The tapenti silently considered her.
Viv waited for something further, and when no words seemed forthcoming, she ventured, “What do you want? I was just minding my business. Being literary. That ought to make you happy, right?”
Iridia ignored the question. “Varine. Have you seen her?”
Viv blinked. “No. Plenty of her spawn, but never her.”
“Would you even know her if you saw her?”
Viv took another slug of her beer. “I’ve got a description, but even if I didn’t, I think I’d know.”
“And why is that?” Iridia’s tone was hardly warm, but it wasn’t as antagonistic as it had been during their prior interactions.
Viv studied her. “What are you after? You don’t like me much, you made that plain. So what is this?”
The tapenti sighed. “I don’t dislike you. I dislike what you mean.” She tapped her mug with a finger. “To be clear, that doesn’t mean I like you either.”
Viv snorted at that and raised her mug. Iridia cocked a brow and clinked hers against it.
“To annoyed mutual tolerance,” said Viv.
It’s possible the tapenti’s lip might have curled in a smile, but Viv couldn’t be positive.
After another drink, something shifted in the Gatewarden’s posture. The scaled flesh of her hood relaxed, and she swept the long, dry threads of her hair to the side.
“We’ve found nothing on whoever murdered our gray-clad stranger.”
Viv almost blurted his name but caught herself in time. There was no easy way to explain how she knew it.
“Oh, yeah? I guess I’m not surprised.” Then, carefully, “Did you find that bag you were looking for?”
“No.” Iridia toyed with her cup. “I pride myself on my practicality. Adaptability. Too many Wardens are set in their ways. Authority gives them an excuse to be lazy.”
“And to hassle wounded mercenaries minding their own business?” Viv grinned wryly.
“Oh, no, that’s just good sense,” said Iridia, and Viv was pretty sure she was joking. Maybe. The tapenti continued, “I told you I’d take Varine seriously, and I have. But maybe not seriously enough, because I realized I haven’t spoken to the one person who has recent information.”