Page 5

She suddenly felt very alone, which was odd. Viv had spent plenty of time with no company to speak of—long treks, lonely campgrounds, cold tents, dripping caves.

But in a city, she was almost never alone. One of her crew would’ve been with her.

Now, in this city, filled with people of all races and backgrounds, the solitude was terrible. She knew three people by name. None of them were really more than an acquaintance, although Laney seemed friendly at least, and Cal was strangely calming to be around.

She locked up and headed toward the main thoroughfare—pointedly away from Rawbone Alley.

You feel you need company? Well, fine, here we are. New place. New home — for good this time.

Viv found the brightest, loudest establishment she could, a restaurant and pub that seemed to do good business, with no staggering drunks in the street out front and no puddles of piss to step over.

She ducked under the lintel and entered, and there was a momentary drop in the conversational volume, but Thune was pretty cosmopolitan, and orcs weren’t unknown, just a little unusual. The noise picked right back up.

She took a deep breath and tried to relax her face into a nonthreatening expression, something she’d been practicing. Not hauling a greatsword around and wearing plain clothes hopefully added to the effect.

There was a long, clean bar-top, sparsely populated, and a mirror on the wall behind. Lanterns blazed throughout the dining area. It wasn’t cold enough for a fire, but the room was still cheerfully lit.

The tables were mostly occupied. Viv drew up a stool at the bar-top, and she tried not to fidget.

She felt awkward—so many people, so close—and for the first time, she wasn’t just passing through.

It suddenly seemed that any faux pas or stumble here might follow and shame her forever, before she’d even properly settled down, irrational though the thought was.

A moon-faced man approached, red cheeked, his ears just a touch pointed. Probably a little elf in him, though his girth hinted at a very human metabolism. “Evening, ma’am,” he said and slid a chalk slate menu in front of her. “Eating or drinking?”

“Eating.” She smiled, trying not to bare her lower fangs too much.

His expression didn’t change a whit. Rapping a knuckle on the slate, he said, “The pork’s good! I’ll let you think on it,” and breezed away.

When he returned minutes later, she ordered—the pork—and while she waited for her meal, she gazed around, musing. She hadn’t dared to think this far ahead before, except in a very abstract way, but with Cal signed up, she allowed herself to dream on it a little.

The café she’d visited in Azimuth had been the very definition of gnomish architecture—precisely-fitted wall tiles, geometric shapes, and pavers arranged in intricate, interlocking patterns. The furniture had, of course, been gnomish in scale as well—she’d had to stand.

She’d known her place would be different, but now, she tried to make that real in her head.

She looked at the decorations inside the pub, here an oil painting in an old gilt frame, there a huge ceramic vase on the floor with fresh ferns to sweeten the air.

A simple chandelier with three fat candles, clearly changed regularly, with no sloppy wax threads.

Viv began to imagine her own place. Brighter , she thought, with that tall barn ceiling. Some light coming in from high windows . She could see what Cal had meant about the booths as well, but maybe another long table down the middle with benches, a kind of community seating.

Viv saw it with the big stable doors thrown wide, perhaps a few tables there in the entry to catch the breeze and the sun. The flagstones polished. Clean, whitewashed walls….

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her meal, the rich smell of it reaching her first. She discovered that she was ravenous.

“Before you go,” she said, “I wanted to ask… is this your place?”

The half-elf blinked and then smiled a little wider than his regular, professional pleasantness. “Sure is! Four years now.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you get started?”

He leaned on the bar-top. “Well, it’s not a family business, if that’s what you’re asking. And my first place sure wasn’t here on the High Street.” He chuckled at that.

“And was business slow, at first? Or did they come all at once?” She waved at the room.

“Oh my, slow. Very slow. Fair to say I lost more money than I could afford to… and then I lost some more. But these days, I lose just enough to get by. You planning to open a pub around here? Can’t say I’d advise it.” He winked at her, clearly joking.

“Not exactly, but maybe something like it.”

He seemed surprised but recovered swiftly.

“Well, best of luck to you, ma’am.” He spoke behind his hand in a stage whisper. “I’ll thank you not to take my customers, though, hear?”

“Not much chance of that, I don’t think.”

“Well, that’s all right then. Eat up, now, or it’ll get cold.”

Viv quietly ate her meal and didn’t speak to anyone else.

Her mood was meditative as she left the pub.

She found a chandler’s shop still open, bought a lantern, and returned to the livery.

There, she lay awake, staring into its flame.

The visions of what might someday be were far from the cold and derelict place where she bedded down.

Tomorrow, though, the real work would begin.