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“Mind if I sit?” she asked and then sat anyway, leaning Blackblood against the back of the chair. Truth be told, she wasn’t really accustomed to asking permission.

Ansom stared at her over puffy lower lids. Not hostile, but wary. A tankard sat before him, nearly empty. Viv caught the tavernkeep’s attention and gestured at it, and Ansom brightened considerably.

“Much obliged,” he muttered.

“I hear you own the old livery on Redstone. That true?” asked Viv.

Ansom allowed that he did.

“I’m looking to buy,” she said. “And have a feeling you might be looking to sell.”

Ansom seemed surprised, but only briefly. His gaze sharpened, and while he might not have had a head for business, Viv was pretty sure he had one for haggling.

“Maybe,” he rumbled. “But that’s some prime real estate. Prime! I’ve had offers before, but most of ’em don’t see past the place to really appreciate the value of the location . That is to say, they underbid.”

At this point, the tavernkeep swapped his tankard for a fresh one, and Ansom visibly warmed to his subject.

“Oh, yes, so many embarrassing offers. I have to warn you, I know what that lot is worth, and I can’t see myself selling to anyone but a serious businessman. Er… business woman ,” he amended.

Viv flashed her toothy and amused grin, thinking of Laney.

“Well, Ansom, there’s all kinds of business.

” Very conscious of Blackblood leaning behind her, she thought of how easy her business—her old business—would’ve made this negotiation.

“But I can say for sure that when I do business of any kind, I’m always serious. ”

She reached for her satchel, removed the purse of platinum chits, and hefted it.

Withdrawing just one, she held it between thumb and forefinger, inspecting it and letting it catch the light.

Platinum was a currency hardly ever seen in a place like this, and she’d need to exchange it for lower denominations soon, but she’d wanted some on hand for just this sort of moment.

Ansom’s eyes widened. “Oh, uh. Serious. Yes! Serious, indeed!” He took a long pull of his beer to cover his surprise.

Sly dog , thought Viv, trying not to smirk.

“As one serious businessperson to another, I don’t want to waste your time.

” Viv leaned on an elbow and slid eight platinum chits across the table.

“That’s probably eighty gold sovereigns.

I think that covers the value of the lot.

I’m sure we can agree that the building is a loss, and I think the odds of another…

businesswoman tracking you down to pay cash on the barrelhead is vanishing. ”

She held his gaze.

He still had the tankard to his mouth, but wasn’t swallowing.

Viv began to withdraw the chits, and he hurriedly reached out, pulling up short before touching her much larger hand. She raised her eyebrows.

“I can see you’ve got a keen eye for value.” Ansom blinked rapidly.

“I do. If you want to take a moment this morning to bring the deed and sign it over, I’ll wait here. But I won’t wait longer than noon.”

Turned out the old badger was a lot nimbler than he looked.

* * *

As Viv made her mark on the deed and pocketed the keys, Ansom scooped the platinum into his purse, looking relieved the deal was complete. “So… I didn’t figure you to be interested in livery-work,” he ventured.

It was common knowledge that horses didn’t like orcs much.

“I’m not. I’m opening a coffee shop.”

Ansom looked nonplussed. “But why would you buy a horse stable for that?”

Viv didn’t answer for a moment, but then she stared hard at him. “Things don’t have to stay as what they started out as.” She folded the deed and tucked it into her satchel.

As she left, Ansom hollered after her. “Oh, and hey! What in the eight hells is coffee ?”

* * *

Viv had three more stops to make before returning to the livery.

The Exchange at the trade depot put some copper, silver, and gold in her purse, and then she was off to the Athenaeum at the small Thaumic university on the north bank of the river. She’d wanted to know the location anyway, in case she needed to do any reading.

More importantly, the Territorial Post ran between the scattered Athenaeums and libraries in most major cities, and it was dependable. Those copper-clad steeples she’d seen made it easy to locate.

Seated at one of the big tables between the shelves, she wrote two letters, using a few sheets of her parchment. The smell of paper and dust and time put her in mind of all the recent reading she’d done in places just like this.

A lifetime of training her muscles and her reflexes and her hardness of mind, traded for reading and planning and amassing details. She smiled ruefully as she wrote.

The gnome at the post counter couldn’t stop goggling at her as she stamped the wax seal. The woman had to take the addresses twice, she was so flustered at seeing an orc in the building.

“I’m looking for a locksmith. Know of anyone reputable?”

The gnome’s mouth hung open a moment longer, but she recovered herself and flipped through a directory behind the counter. “Markev and Sons,” she replied, “827 Mason’s Lane.”

She gave some sketchy directions.

Viv thanked her, and then left.

Markev and Sons was there, as advertised. A silver and three coppers lighter, she left with an enormous and quite heavy strongbox under one muscular arm.

* * *

Back at Parkin’s Livery, as the sun set, Viv unlocked the office door, rebarred the stable doors, and hauled the strongbox behind an L-shaped counter in the office. She stowed the deed and her funds inside, locked it, and strung the key around her neck.

After some testing with her feet and fingertips, she found a loose flagstone in the main pathway between the stalls and, flexing mightily, levered it up and out.

She scooped earth from beneath and then carefully placed the Scalvert’s Stone in the hollow.

Covering it with the dirt, she replaced the flagstone and took a stiff and shedding stable-broom to the area to ensure it looked undisturbed.

She stared down at it for a few moments, all her hopes centered on this small stone, buried like a secret heart in Parkin’s Livery.

No, not a livery anymore.

This place was Viv’s.

She looked around. Her place. Not a temporary stop or a spot to sling her bedroll for one night. Hers.

The brisk evening air swirled through the hole in the roof, so for tonight, at least, it would probably feel like any other night under the stars.

Viv glanced up at the loft and the ladder leading to it.

She tested one of the lower rungs with a foot, and it shattered like balsa.

She snorted, unstrapped Blackblood, and with both hands, tossed it into the loft, startling a bunch of pigeons that escaped through the roof.

Gazing after it for a moment, she then unfurled her bedroll in one of the stalls.

There’d certainly be no campfire, and there were no lanterns to speak of, but that was all right.

In the dimming light she surveyed the interior, amidst horse apples of antiquity and the dust of neglect. She didn’t know much about buildings, but it was clear that this one needed an unbelievable amount of work.

But at the end of it? Something she built up, rather than cut down.

It was ridiculous, of course. A coffee shop? In a city where nobody even knew what coffee was? Until six months ago, she’d never heard of it, never smelled or tasted it. On the face of it, the whole endeavor was ludicrous.

She smiled in the dark.

When at last she lay back on her bedroll, she started to list her tasks for the following day, but didn’t make it past the third.

She slept like the dead.