“Well, for starters …” Viv pointed at the cracked hurricane lamp. “Every time the door slams, I expect that damn thing to shatter all over the floor.”
“So you think a new lamp is going to solve my problems?” Her voice was a little exasperated, but she was trying for good humor.
“Bothers me every time I see it. But maybe some fresh paint, too. Maybe an actual new rug? This one doesn’t stink so bad anymore, but it’s still …”
“Malodorous,” supplied Satchel.
“Can you even smell anything?” asked Fern in surprise.
“My Lady was very particular about such things,” he said primly.
Potroast squawked an agreement.
“None of this changes what I sell, though,” said Fern. “This isn’t a hotel. It’s a bookshop! It’s not that I don’t want it to be nice. I do. But it’s just hard to believe that any of that will make a real difference. You don’t weed the garden when the house is burning down.”
Viv tried to figure out how to frame what she wanted to say. She snapped her fingers. “The bakery! If it was, uh …”
The rattkin saw where she was headed. “Like my shop is now,” she said grimly, motioning for Viv to continue.
“I wasn’t going to mention your shop. I was just going to say … dirty.”
Fern snorted. “Nice try.”
“Anyway, do you think Maylee would do as well?”
“No, but that’s different. That’s food. If it’s repulsive there, you lose your appetite.”
“I guess I’m saying that you kind of have to have an appetite for this, too.”
“Hmmm.” Fern didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“What’s the worst that could happen if we did a little work in here?”
“We could waste all the money I earned in the sale, and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference?” replied the rattkin.
Viv blinked. “Okay, I guess that is the worst case.”
Fern took in the shaggy paint, the cracked lamp, the shabby drapes, and the disreputable carpet. “I don’t really even see those things anymore. It’s just home. I’m … used to them.”
“Maybe you’re resigned to them.”
The rattkin sighed. “Okay, so say we were to try a few things—”
Satchel perked up. “M’lady, would it be all right if I were of assistance now?”
“Call me Fern, Satchel.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
* * *
Notwithstanding her furtive trips by the bounty board, Viv really hadn’t spent much time within the actual city of Murk. Apart from the distance, there wasn’t a lot she needed to do there, and the potential of running into Iridia—even given their temporary peace—usually put it out of her mind.
Now, though, she was eager to find out if the gnome brothers were still selling estate furniture.
With the CLOSED sign posted on the door, she and Fern headed toward the fortress walls. They’d tried to convince Satchel to ride along in his bag, but he’d demurred, saying he preferred to stay back and read.
It occurred to Viv that she’d never really gone anywhere with Fern before. Potroast tagged along, trotting by Fern’s side and goggling at everything with his pink tongue out.
“Hang on a second,” said Viv when they reached Sea-Song. “I think Maylee might like to come. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. If you don’t work harder at worshipping that woman, she’s going to escape. Then how am I supposed to get free scones? I’ve got a vested interest.”
It took more than a second, but Viv returned with Maylee alongside.
“If the bakery burns down with Helsa runnin’ things, I’m holdin’ you responsible,” the dwarf groused, but Viv was warmed by the smile underneath it.
The sun reflected off the placid sea in streaks of blinding white, and heat shimmered off the sand. Down on the dry flats of the beach, she could see folk sitting on blankets or under big umbrellas made of sailcloth. Some even braved the waves, swimming and bobbing on the swells like corks.
All three of them were relieved to pass underneath the arch and into the relative cool of the walled city, where the shadows cast pools of refuge.
“First, the most important thing,” said Viv solemnly. She hooked a thumb at the chandler’s shop—the one where she’d first seen Balthus all those days ago.
Grinning at Fern’s quizzical expression, she led them inside, where she purchased a new chimney for the hurricane lamp and asked to have it wrapped to pick up later.
“Well, at least the important thing is out of the way,” said Fern dryly. “You and that cracked lamp.”
Next, they visited the gnome brothers’ lot. There was indeed a fresh variety of furniture, ranging in condition from irreparably decrepit to surprisingly sturdy and clean.
Maylee held up an ornate bookend. “Huh. Some kind of seabird?”
“Turn it on its side. Maybe it’s a rabbit,” said Viv.
Fern snorted a laugh and examined the table it had been sitting on.
The dwarf tilted it sideways and shot Viv a suspicious look, at which Viv chuckled. “Tell you later. But maybe hold on to that. Bookstores need bookends, right?”
“What can I help you ladies with?” asked the bearded brother, while his clean-shaven sibling fussed over a crate of knickknacks.
“Any carpets?” asked Fern, still running a paw over the table.
“Far too many,” replied the gnome.
“A clean one,” said Viv, giving him a meaningful stare.
He looked affronted and motioned Fern over to a stack of rolled rugs and some wider ones draped across the back of a sturdy wooden chair.
Together, they picked through the furnishings, cookware, tools, and oddments. Potroast had to be dissuaded from nibbling the hems of several old dresses piled on an ottoman.
Fern kept coming back to the table.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Viv.
“I’m just thinking about the front of the shop and the new books.”
She didn’t elaborate further, but Viv saw something in her eyes. Something almost like tentative excitement.
They selected a suitable carpet, a couple of vases, two new chairs for the front corner, and the table Fern kept fussing over, as well as a painting that Maylee insisted would add some class when hung behind the counter.
Viv made sure to toss in the gull bookends.
Maylee turned out to be an excellent haggler, and the brothers were both regulars at Sea-Song. Viv could see dismay in the pained wrinkles on their brows as they balanced the baker’s good humor against their potential for profit.
Possibly an unfair advantage on Maylee’s part.
Viv pitched in some additional cash to have it all delivered, patted her thigh, and declared, “If Highlark saw me hauling any of it back, he’d probably stab me in the other leg.”
A few fresh pots of white paint from a cabinetmaker off the market street, and Viv considered the trip pretty successful.
“Dinner is on me,” she said. “About time I ate someplace besides The Perch.”
“I knew there was a reason I came,” said Maylee, slipping her fingers into Viv’s hand. She smelled of ginger and sunlit skin.