“Huh.” She let that sit for a minute. “So, you’re … ?”
“Oh, I make myself useful,” he replied. “Mostly.”
“Sure.” She couldn’t help thinking about the lifespans of humans and elves and about the silver in his hair.
The corner of his mouth rose in half a smile, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “Sometimes, it’ll never be the right time.”
Viv thought about Maylee and what she’d said about seeing people through a tiny window as they passed, and how nothing seemed to happen exactly when it should.
Then she saw Fern’s face, bright and laughing as she passed a book into hands that probably needed it.
“And sometimes, we aren’t the right people yet,” murmured Berk.
While she and he had different individuals in mind, Viv thought they might be thinking exactly the same thing.
* * *
Fern fell into her chair with an explosive, exhausted breath. Potroast leapt into her lap, still wriggling with reflected energy from the day, and spun around in an effort to find a comfortable angle.
Viv was on the verge of locking the door when a knock came from low on the wood.
She cracked it to find Maylee on the step, peering through the gap as though to reassure herself the shop was still there. “How’d it go?” she asked in a stage whisper.
Fern laughed and gestured at the shop. “Better than it had any right to. And not a single scone survived.”
Only crumbs graced the platters on the counter, and while hardly empty, the shelves did indeed look picked over. Every last copy bearing the name Greatstrider on the cover had been sold, and a great many more besides. When the supply was exhausted, customers had asked Zelia to sign books from other authors, which she had acceded to with a very amused smile.
Greatstrider had stayed until the end, when Berk ushered her out the door and into the fog after the last exiting customer, even as he buckled his longsword back onto his waist.
“I’m glad for you, hon,” said Maylee, clapping Fern on the shoulder. Potroast extended his neck to sniff at her apron, hoping she’d hidden something in it for him.
After she finished locking the door, Viv threw the latch on Satchel’s box, and he appeared in a mesmerizing tumble of bone.
“Sorry you were cooped up all day,” she said with an apologetic frown. Maylee sidled up to her and wrapped an arm around her hips.
“It was a pleasure to observe,” he said. “Still. I have no memories from the times before … this. And yet, I know the heat of a hearth fire, even though I cannot feel it. Today was like that. Knowing the feel of a thing, without being able to experience it.”
Maylee’s arm tightened, and when Viv looked down, the baker’s face had a pained set to it. “Gods-damned isn’t fair.”
“I think it’s time to get you out of here,” Viv said to the homunculus. “Tomorrow. Gallina’s like to cut herself waiting if she fidgets any harder with those knives. You said you wanted to help with the spinebacks? Let’s do it, then. You’ve been in a box long enough.”
“Spinebacks?” Maylee asked.
“Hells, I guess I didn’t tell you about that,” Viv admitted. “Just an easy critter hunt south of here that Gallina picked up. Some farmer’s sheep are disappearing. Shouldn’t be a big thing.” She was about to downplay it even further, but thought better of it, instead asking, “You don’t want to go, do you? It’s been a while, but maybe …”
“Nah.” Maylee patted Viv’s leg, looking up with a tight grin. “Too much to do, and I’d only get in the way.”
Viv thought of Berk saying, Sometimes it’ll never be the right time.
When Satchel was sure that no more words were forthcoming, he said, “I should be glad to go.”
“Did you hear that, Fern? You might as well sleep in tomorrow,” called Viv.
But Fern was already asleep, her gentle snores echoed by the gryphet in her lap.
37
Viv and Gallina slipped quietly out of The Perch in the crisp hour before dawn, the cool air thick with the scent of wet sand and damp driftwood. It was clear, the previous day’s fog settled offshore or hunkered down in the northern hills. The moon was a huge silver coin above, haloed in a phantom of its own light.
Viv tried to let go of the anxiety that had kept her up half the night. She’d shared her plans with Brand, probably to the point of annoyance, in case Rackam returned while she was away. The thought that she’d miss their arrival while she was off gallivanting after some local pests was almost more than she could stand.
Behind that was the concern that kept nipping at her day after day—that they wouldn’t show up at all. Neither potential reason for such an outcome was one she wanted to examine.
With the book in Iridia’s keeping and Satchel coming along, she’d convinced herself that Fern and Maylee would be in no real danger.
Mostly convinced.
“Can’t believe you’re bringin’ both,” said Gallina with a snort, keeping her voice hushed.
Viv shrugged, feeling Blackblood shift against her shoulders and tapping the pommel of her saber. “Terrain matters. Better to have options.” Satchel’s bag jostled against her hip.
Gallina rolled her eyes but didn’t argue as they hoofed it down to the main road where it emerged from the long lines of clapboard buildings closer to the beach.
“You’re sure they’ve got a mule?” asked Viv. “I don’t want to walk the whole damn way.”
“Yeah, yeah, unless they didn’t listen. I know. No horses.”
There were two mules, in fact. They stood hitched to a short wagon, lipping dispiritedly at the few sprigs of beach grass in reach. A long-legged sea-fey waited on the buckboard while finishing his breakfast, a lantern beside him.
“You know where we’re goin’？” Gallina called up to him.
“Yep,” he said, licking his fingers and picking up the reins. “Need a hand up?”
“Not likely,” replied Gallina. She tossed a small travel bag into the back, leaping nimbly after it, and Viv followed. A few sacks of grain awaited them as seating, piled toward the fore. Viv unbelted her weapons, and they both sat. When Viv reached over to rap the buckboard, the driver flicked the reins, and they got moving.
By unspoken agreement, it was too early for conversation. Viv passed Gallina one of the day-old biscuits she’d tucked into her jacket, and they ate in companionable silence.
For a while, the only sounds were the snort of the mules, the occasional slap of leather, and the rattle and bump of the wagon. Eventually, those were joined by the growl of Gallina’s stomach.
“Gnomish metabolism, huh?” asked Viv.
Gallina shoved a hand into her travel bag and withdrew a hard sausage. Then she remembered the shared biscuits and grudgingly fished out another to offer to Viv. After a pause, Gallina slipped one of the knives from her bandolier and passed it over too.
Viv took them both, but made no move to eat. “You ever done this before?”
“Rode in a cart?” Gallina rolled her eyes.
“Hunted beasts.”
The gnome opened her mouth for a fast retort, but then closed it again. Instead, she pared a slice from her sausage and popped it into her mouth. She took her time chewing, and then mumbled, “Sort of.”