Page 2 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

F irst, though, I needed to stop by the Artisans Guild to restock my metalsmithing supplies.

It was basically on the way to the tavern where I was staying anyway.

To appease my rumbling stomach, I grabbed one of those dough sticks that had been tantalizing me—appropriately called sticklers, according to the street vendor.

Then I set my boots toward the guild, tallying up a mental list while I wove around people through the busy square, trying and failing to eat the deliciously sweet fried confection before the jam ran down to my fingers.

Silver, definitely. I barely had enough left to make a thin ring or two.

A new file, since the handle on mine had broken clean off and was rusting to boot.

More spare chains, particularly the long dainty ones that were in style and too tedious to make myself.

I’d much rather have more time and creative energy to spend on my pendants that hung on the chains.

Twisting to avoid passersby, I turned left down a quieter side street that led to the guild, wiping the last of the sticky jam off my fingers with a handkerchief.

Spotting a couple of the town’s many stray cats lazing on a stoop, I placed the stick between them so they could enjoy the remaining tidbits of dough.

After a few quick pets, I moved along. The sun was still shining, and the townspeople of Povon strolling through the streets seemed in high spirits.

Most of them anyway , I thought, the rude man’s angry face flashing in my mind. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson, and I wouldn’t have to see him again. But it might be time to move on soon.

As I reached the wide, welcoming entrance of the Artisans Guild, my thoughts strayed from that dickhead to the mysterious lavender-skinned half-giant who’d tried to intervene.

I wished he hadn’t rushed off so soon. I passed underneath the open stone archway and walked through the small courtyard, its floor inlaid with rustic mosaic tiling, and headed toward the main hall where the vendors would be setting up for market day.

Inside, it was nearly as bustling as the square.

This wasn’t a large town, so its guild buildings were modest. The Artisans Guild of which I was a longtime member, occupied this cozy spot consisting of a central main hall where artists displayed and sold their works, a few tiny side rooms used for meetings, a long shared underground room filled with cots for starving artist types, and a small outdoor forge tucked in the back.

I was welcome to sell my wares here in the hall—and had a couple times so far, making some new friends with fellow artisans—but I’d opted for the square today to take advantage of the general town market.

It was wonderful to see, however, this turnout in the guildhall.

Povon seemed to have a deep appreciation for art and culture, I’d already gathered from my short time here—rare for such a small town, but always gratifying to discover.

I spotted Shree, a friendly middle-aged human vendor I’d met a few days earlier, and beelined to her table in a corner of the hall. Her warm brown face cracked in a smile as I approached.

“Morning, dear!” she chirped.

“Good morning, ma’am! I’m on the hunt for a new eight-inch hand file,” I said, returning her grin before scanning the wares laid out across her space. “And I know you’re the best woman to come to for tools around these parts. Got some I could look at?”

She chuckled, pulling over a wooden box. “You flatterer. Yes, dear, I’ve got some. Coarse or fine?”

“Fairly fine. A half-round if you have it,” I said as she laid out a few. “Oh, these are perfect!”

We talked through options, gossiping about guild drama all the while. After a time, I settled on a file, and we pleasantly haggled a bit just for the sake of it.

The steady buzz of voices in the hall suddenly dipped, and I looked round to see what had drawn people’s attention.

Him. It was the half-giant from the square, so tall he had to duck slightly under the doorway. What was he doing here?

The noise filling the hall went mostly back to normal, the nosy but mostly kind people of Povon not outright staring at the massive man towering above the crowd.

He slowly made his way through the room, waiting for folks to move or carefully shifting around them rather than pushing through like I’d seen many big men do.

As he grew closer to Shree’s table, stopping at a couple of other vendors to check out their wares, I passed her my payment and quickly ducked into the neighboring stall of a tapestry artisan before he could spot me.

My heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest. Safely hidden behind a huge woven image of a squidspider— who would want this hanging in their home?

! —I peeked around to see what he was doing.

The elderly artisan slouched in an armchair behind me seemed to be in the middle of a very deep, snore-filled nap.

They wouldn’t mind me using their booth as a temporary hideout.

I didn’t even know why I felt the need to hide. Maybe I wanted a chance to observe him, after the way he’d ruffled me in the square and then had the nerve to just walk away.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable, big shoulders hunched up to his ears as he muttered gruff apologies to passersby.

When he came to Shree’s table, his eyes lit up.

Lifting a pair of long iron blacksmith tongs that looked, frankly, like a set of children’s training chopsticks in his large hand, he cleared his throat and asked, “Excuse me, how much for these?”

Shree looked him over from head to toe, an appreciative glint in her eye. “For you, sugar, one silver and four coppers.”

The man reached into the coin purse at his belt, not even trying to haggle. I snorted at his naivete, and he turned. In a flash, I ducked back behind the tapestry and held my breath, vision going wonky. A beat passed, and then another.

Shree, seeming to interpret his silence as a customer’s hesitation, chirped, “But I could go down to one silver and a small favor.”

“A favor?” he replied.

“Mm-hmm. Our guild here has been trying to reach that wee kitten up on the rafter all morning.” She pointed to a high beam near the ceiling behind her, from where I now noticed the occasional plaintive meows through the din of the guildhall. Some wooden boxes were piled up on the ground below.

“Poor thing got stuck up there sometime in the night, and none of us can reach it. Always getting themselves into trouble, these stray cats,” she said, shaking her head affectionately. “We were waiting for Farmer Ling to bring her ladder later today, but since you’re here…”

Shree raised her eyebrows, tilting her head back toward the trapped kitten.

After a few moments, in which the half-giant seemed frozen in place, he finally placed the tongs back on the table and moved wordlessly around it.

Stepping close to the back wall, he reached one long arm up.

From my perch behind the wall of tapestries, I could distantly hear him murmuring, “Come on now, you. Time to get down, love… We’ll get you a nice chicken dinner, how about that, hmm? ”

After some truly pitiful yowls and more gentle coaxing, the man finally scooped up a small gray ball of fur and held it to his broad chest. After doing a quick inspection, he passed it over into Shree’s hands.

A few of my fellow guild members nearby clapped at the rescue.

I got a glimpse of his lavender cheeks tingeing mauve as he ducked his head.

Well. That was fucking adorable. Be still, my clit.

“Seems all right,” he said quietly, eyeing the kitten. “Probably just needs water and some food.” He reached into his coin purse, then placed some money on the table and picked up the tongs. Nodding a polite farewell to Shree, he turned to go, posture rigid.

“You forgot your discount, lad!” she trilled, pushing a few coppers back across the table to him with a smile.

He shook his head. “Keep it, ma’am. Just give that fluffball a good meal, all right?

And try to keep it from climbing if you can.

” Cheeks still flushed, he hunched farther into his brown coat when a couple people tried to talk to him, seemingly trying to disappear despite looming a good two feet above folks.

He moved toward the exit as quickly as he could without bumping into anyone.

I stood there awhile longer, eyes closed and back pressed against the squidspider tapestry’s bulk as I replayed the image of that man cradling a tiny kitten in his palms. So gently.

The stall owner’s snores ratcheted up to a choking crescendo, startling themself awake and jolting me out of my reverie.

We blinked at each other. Then I flashed them my most stunning smile, saluted, and pushed aside a heavy tapestry to reenter the fray of the guildhall.

Stopping at other vendors to collect the rest of my supplies, I forced myself to put the lavender dreamboat out of my mind by focusing on charming my way into the best deals. It mostly worked. Sort of.

With my purchases safely tucked away, I hefted my rucksack and slipped back out onto the city streets, rumbling stomach leading me to find supper.

“This is HEAVENLY,” I groaned, startling the server who had placed the heaping bowl of bread pudding in front of me. It steamed, soft and gooey with cream drizzled over it in swirling rivulets. I inhaled cinnamon and nutmeg. “Perfection.”

After the day I’d had, I’d earned this. And to be fair, I had started with a respectable vegetable stew and one dry cider. Which turned into three ciders…