Page 27

T himble squeaked for emphasis, pointing at a woodcut print in the gnomish catalog Viv had spread on the counter top. The rattkin stood on a stool to get a proper view.

The stove depicted in the advertisement was twice as wide as theirs, with dual extra-large ovens and fireboxes and a back panel with temperature control gauges and knobs.

Viv found it difficult to make out much detail from the woodcut, but the look was very modern, and the listed features set Thimble’s eyes sparkling with longing.

“You’re sure?” She raised her eyebrows at the price.

She’d come to Thune with a nice nest-egg, but renovations, equipment costs, and specialty food orders had whittled it down.

The beans she regularly ordered from Azimuth came dearly, too.

A new stove would nearly wipe out her remaining funds, although she was pretty sure they’d recover it in a few months, given the popularity of Thimble’s baked goods.

The rattkin nodded decisively, but at her expression, he hesitated, and then reluctantly indicated a less expensive model further down the page.

“No, Thimble,” she said, pointing at him. “The best deserve the best, and that’s you. I’ll have Cal make sure we can install it, and I’ll put in an order.”

Her gaze snapped up when she heard a familiar voice speaking to Tandri.

“Here for this week’s delivery. And… let me see, one of the lattes please, my dear.” Lack stood opposite, humming as he stared at the menu board.

While Tandri brewed his drink, Viv retrieved the reserved sack of rolls from underneath the counter and, after a moment’s thought, added two of Thimble’s crescents, as well. She gave the man a slight nod as she passed the bag over. “Let me know what the Madrigal thinks of this week’s tribute.”

“I’ll do so.” Lack returned the nod, accepted his drink, and went quietly on his way.

* * *

“Is… will there be music today?”

The girl was young and looked a little breathless and windblown.

“We’re never sure,” said Viv with a shrug. “Pendry comes and goes.”

“Oh.” The girl seemed disappointed, but covered it quickly.

“Anything I can get you?”

“Er, no, thank you. So… you don’t know when he might be back?”

Viv thought she was trying—pretty unsuccessfully—to downplay her interest in the answer to that question. “Afraid not.”

After the girl left, Tandri arched a brow. “That’s the third one this week.”

Viv gazed thoughtfully after Pendry’s admirer. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“You pin him down. I’ll make the sign.”

* * *

The next time Pendry darkened the doorstep, Viv thought his bearing was a little more assured. He nodded cheerfully, comfortable enough to head to his impromptu stage without permission.

“Hey, Pendry,” she said, catching him before he disappeared around the corner. “Got a second?”

“Uh… sure.”

The old worry started to creep back into his expression, so Viv forged ahead. “You still don’t have your hat out for coin, do you?”

“Well… no. I just… just like to play. It feels sort of like… begging? To ask? If my da ever heard tell of me–” He broke off, grimacing hugely.

“What if I paid you? More like a wage, maybe.”

He looked surprised. “But… why would you? I… I… already….”

“Well, I’d need you to be a little more regular, of course.”

“Regular?”

“Say, four times a week? Every other day. And at the same time, every time. Maybe five in the evening? Six bits a session. How’s that sound?”

Pendry looked disbelieving. “Well, I’d… you’d really pay me? To play?”

“Yep. That’s about the size of it.” She extended a hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pumping it vigorously with his own.

“Oh, and Pendry…? You should still put your hat out.”

By the end of the day, another sign hung outside the shop, painted in Tandri’s flowing script.

- Live Music -

Mornday, Tauday, Vintus, Freyday

Five in the Evening

* * *

Viv started awake at a painful tearing sensation in her right palm, the skin splitting and peeling away. She was up in an instant, the bedroll thrown open, searching her hand for the wound that must be there.

Her flesh was smooth and undamaged.

The feeling persisted, though, lancing up her forearm.

Viv’s instincts had not yet entirely fled her, despite the months of inaction, and she lunged for Blackblood’s accustomed resting spot beside her bedroll.

Of course, it wasn’t there, instead hanging uselessly on the kitchen wall, tangled in garlands.

Hemington’s ward.

Fennus .

The elf must have heard her flinging the bedding aside, the creak of the boards. Mustn’t he?

She crept to the ladder, anyway, hunched and shifting her weight carefully from bare foot to bare foot. The tugging, ripping feeling in her hand abated. She heard nothing from below. When she peered over the edge, a scant bar of moonlight blued the dining area.

The chandelier loomed almost in front of her face, and beneath she could see the softened silhouette of the big table, the dark slabs of the booths surrounding it, the sketchy strokes of the flagstones.

Her night vision wasn’t particularly good, but she held her breath, staring hard for any hint of motion.

A minute passed.

Another.

Then the ghost of a scent, something foreign under the pervasive aroma of coffee. A faint but recognizable perfume—floral and ancient.

He was cloaked and hooded, but it was him.

Not so much as the rustle of cloth betrayed his presence, but Fennus had always been impossibly stealthy, usually to the advantage of their party. Now on the receiving end, Viv marveled at his noiseless advance with a grim new respect.

She had to squint hard to track his motion, but she saw him pause at the end of the big table.

The glimmer of one pale hand appeared, gently resting on its surface.

The Scalvert’s Stone lay hidden directly below.

His head tilted inside his cowl, as though listening, or using some elven sense Viv didn’t share.

There was no point in waiting.

She leapt, landing heavily.

There was no point in stealth, either.

“Hello, Fennus,” she said.

He didn’t even have the grace to appear startled. Turning smoothly toward her, he folded back his cowl, and a pale, yellow light burst into being in his cupped left hand. His face was illuminated from below, as infuriatingly mild as ever.

The elf nodded to her as though he were greeting her at his own doorstep. “Viv. I’m intrigued that you heard me,” he said, in a tone that was anything but interested. There wasn’t a shred of shame, either.

“Had a little help.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking why you’re here?”

“Of course not. And I imagine the guilt has been preying on you.”

“Guilt?” Viv asked incredulously. “What in the eight hells do you mean, guilt? ”

The elf sighed, as though her obtuseness disappointed him. “You didn’t deal fairly with us, Viv. I had my suspicions from the beginning, you know. You were so evasive .”

“It was a fair cut,” said Viv levelly. “Especially for what amounted to rumor and chance. The scalvert’s hoard was plenty to balance the scale.”

“I don’t agree,” he replied silkily.

She found his patient, reasonable voice incredibly irritating.

Then his lips wrinkled in uncharacteristic annoyance.

For the first time, his mask of cold indifference slipped.

“You were hardly subtle. All that muscle, and not half the wit for guile. Was it taxing for you, the plotting and planning? Clever Viv , untangling a fabulous mystery! Why, you must have thought you were the first! How amusing. Then with the Stone in hand, off you scurried, as fast as you could, afraid you’d let something slip if you lingered too long. Or perhaps the shame sent you packing?”

“Shame?” Viv laughed. “You’re full of shit, Fennus.”

“Am I? Tell me then, do the others know?”

“That I made a fool’s bet based on a few lines from a song? No. But not because I was ashamed , Fennus. Embarrassed is closer to the truth.”

He gestured expansively at the building. “A fool’s bet? It seems not.”

Viv ground her teeth. “A deal’s a deal, and I kept my end of the bargain. You really need it, Fennus? What do you think it’ll do for you? Or are you defending a principle by creeping around in the night to take what’s mine?”

“Mmm, a principle? Something like that,” he murmured. His eyes flicked to her greatsword on the wall. “When you put that blade away, never believe you exchanged it for scruples.”

“I figure I’ve talked enough. Do what you’re going to do, and I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Oh, Viv, it’s a shame that–”

Fennus leapt suddenly, gracelessly backward as an enormous, sooty shadow lunged over the table, narrowly missing him with a swipe of fearsome claws. Amity landed with predatory grace and whirled on the elf with a hitching snarl.

“Gods-be-damned thing! ” spat Fennus.

The dire-cat stalked toward him with slow, deliberate steps, her muzzle bunched up above impressive fangs. Viv hadn’t even known the beast was in the building. How had she missed her?

Amity’s growl throbbed louder, and then Fennus ghosted past with a nimbleness even the cat couldn’t match. In an instant, he was out the door and had vanished into the night.

The dire-cat stared after him for a moment, then lazily blinked her enormous green eyes. She padded back to the pillow and blankets in the far corner, circled on them, kneaded them with her claws, and then settled back down to sleep again.

Viv cautiously knelt and stroked the big cat’s fur. The vibration of her purr rattled all the way up to Viv’s shoulder.

“When in the eight hells did you start actually sleeping here?” she wondered aloud. And why didn’t I see her before?

Either way, Viv was going to make sure there was extra cream on hand. And maybe a nice joint of beef.

* * *

Despite the sure knowledge that Fennus couldn’t have disturbed the stone—he plainly hadn’t had time—Viv couldn’t sleep without reassuring herself.

She checked up and down the street before shutting and re-locking the front door. Pushing aside the table, she squatted and turned over the flagstone in order to stroke the Scalvert’s Stone where it lay.

The shop, Tandri, Thimble, Cal… and now Amity.

The way each week seemed to flower into the next, budding into the fulfillment of a heretofore unknown need?

Up ’til this moment, speculation over whether her fortune was due to the Scalvert’s Stone had been almost academic. Why probe a good thing too closely?

Now, the question seemed like it always should have been… what would happen if she lost the Stone? If it truly was the root of everything she had grown, then if it were cut away, would the plant wither and die, or could it continue on? And if so, for how long?

She thought about the last few months. And she especially thought about Tandri, and the spartan room upstairs.

Maybe her friend was right. Maybe the shop wasn’t her life. Maybe she should be prepared to lose it.

Without it, though, what was she, really?

She could only arrive at one answer.

Alone.