Page 5 of The Cobbler and His Elves

My blood ran cold. “Close the tannery? But that would?—”

“Affect half the town, yes. No leather means no work for cobblers, saddlers, bookbinders... It’d be a disaster.”

I slumped, the weight of the situation crushing me. “What am I going to do?”

Mabel reached across the counter, squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

I squeezed Mabel’s hand back, bittersweet memories flashing through my mind. Through hardships and personal losses, the Wilsons and Harts had always banded together. Mabel’s parents would slip us extra loaves when times were lean, and we’d patch their shoes for free. “That’s the mark of good folk, Milo. Not just surviving, but making sure your neighbor survives too. It’s how we weather the storms together.” Grandpa’s words echoed in my mind. I could almost feel his calloused hand on my shoulder, smell the rich scent of leather that always clung to him. The memory brought a lump to my throat. “You’re right, Mabel. We’ve always found a way, haven’t we?”

I left the bakery with a heavy heart and a paper bag of danish rolls. Mabel had pressed them on me, refusing payment as usual. Her kindness only added to the burden of guilt I carried.

As I walked home, a thought nagged at me. The Sterling brothers. Their shop stood to gain the most from Thompson’s closure. With no local tannery, smaller shops like mine would struggle to get supplies. But Sterling’s Fine Footwear, with its connections to big city merchants, would thrive.

Before I could think better of it, I found myself darting across the street. Crouching low, I crept along the side of Sterling’s Fine Footwear, my fingers brushing rough brick as I made my way to the back of the building. A sliver of light shone through the back window. They were still here, working late.

I crept around to the alley behind the store. A partly open window provided a perfect vantage point. I told myself I just wanted information, but the truth sat bitter on my tongue. I was spying, plain and simple.

Jack Sterling’s voice drifted out. “...can’t let Thompson close the tannery. It’d ruin half the businesses in town.”

“I know,” Elijah replied. “But what can we do? It’s not like we can magic the leather back into his tannery.”

“We could offer to buy out his stock,” Jack suggested. “At least keep things running until the sheriff sorts this mess out.”

I frowned. This didn’t sound like the gloating of successful thieves. If anything, the brothers seemed genuinely concerned.

“It’s not just about the money,” Elijah said. “Thompson’s pride is hurt. He feels like he let everyone down.”

Jack snorted. “As if he’s the only one affected. I can name several people who are depending on his tannery’s leather for their very livelihood. What about Hart? His little shop won’t last a month without local leather supplies… even if he only gets scraps.”

My breath caught. They were worried aboutme? I strained my ears, barely catching Elijah’s words through the window.

“We could do something about it,” Elijah said.

Jack replied, his words unintelligible. I strained to catch Elijah’s muffled reply. The old brick building conspired against me, swallowing most of the sound. I caught only fragments—something about “...could help...” and “...not our problem...” My fingers dug into the wood window frame as I silently willed them to speak up.

The unexpected note of sympathy in their voices caught me off guard. I’d never thought the Sterling brothers paid me much mind, let alone considered my struggles. A strange mix of emotions churned in my gut—surprise, confusion, and a reluctant flicker of... what? Gratitude? Anger at being pitied and looked down on? I pushed the confusing jumble of feelings aside, reminding myself they were still my rivals.

I leaned closer, eager to hear more?—

CRASH!

I stumbled back, my elbow connecting with a stack of crates. They toppled, spilling their contents across the alley with a cacophony of thuds and clangs.

“What was that?” Jack’s voice, suddenly alert.

“Someone’s out there!”

Footsteps approached. I looked around frantically for an escape route, but it was too late. The back door flew open, spilling light into the alley. Jack and Elijah stood framed in the doorway, their expressions a mix of surprise and suspicion.

“Hart?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

My mind raced. I couldn’t tell them the truth—that I’d been eavesdropping like some common sneak. An idea struck, born of desperation and half-truths.

“I... I came to ask for help,” I blurted out. “I have an order I can’t fill. A wealthy customer, needs special leather. I thought... maybe you had some scraps you were planning to throw out?”

The brothers exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher. Then, to my surprise, their faces softened.

“Come inside,” Elijah said, stepping back. “Let’s talk.”