Chapter Three
Lucy
Another day, another…several hours spent in near-solitude, with no customers. Rachelle was in and out many times, anxiously awaiting Lucy's next supply delivery. Supply she wasn't quite sure where she would put, since she hadn't sold enough books to make room on the shelves.
Keeping her hands busy with a stack of tattered old books to rebind, Lucy considered showcasing some of them as "custom special editions" and charging special edition prices.
That would mean breaking her promise that all books she repaired would go in the Take-a-Book-Leave-a-Book corner.
But that corner was well stocked, and she'd only made that promise to herself, so who would know?
She sighed, frustrated with herself more than anything.
She'd spent one month getting this place ready to open, and her shop had been open almost a month now.
Which meant she had about one more month, maybe a little more, before she might have to pack all this up and move back to the plains and hear her family's teasing that the city was no place for her.
Unless she could start actually selling some books.
When her hands needed a break, Lucy rose and paced her shop, tiny bells ringing from her horns with each step. She straightened books that didn't need it. She tried to surreptitiously scan the street outside her shop for anyone who might come in.
The supply shipment came in the afternoon.
Rachelle insisted on helping so she could get her anxiously awaited Burgundy Barricade volume as soon as possible.
The halfling teenager was stronger than Lucy expected, built from years of hauling sacks of flour and sugar for her baker parent.
Lucy was grateful for the company more than anything else.
They unloaded all the crates, checked them until they found Rachelle's prize, and stacked them high in the corners. As Rachelle left, already reading her book, Lucy had a newcomer.
Windemere Retton, the playwright-director-producer, was leisurely perusing Turn the Page, though he seemed more interested in the spinning column and crank shelves than the books.
Lucy grinned and walked over. "Hi, Windemere! Great to see you again. How can I help you?"
His pointed ears couldn't move the way someone with more elf blood's would, but they gave a twitch as he swept a flourishing bow.
"The lovely Miss Lucy! As promised, I'm here to see this shop Dainley told me so much about.
" He cranked the handle on the horizontal unit that moved shelf after shelf into the user's view. "I came as soon as I woke up!"
A quick glance at the little clock on her table showed the late afternoon hour.
Lucy hid her nervous smile with a friendly chuckle.
Windemere spun one of the columns, studying the smooth movement.
"This doesn't make a peep!" He slowed it to a stop and started turning it the other way. "Where did you find these?"
Lucy placed a hand over her heart, shoulders jumping to her ears with pride. "I built them myself! We used to make stuff like that for—"
"Hold up!" Windemere abruptly stopped the column's spin and rounded on her. "You made these?" He scanned her up and down and added, "I see those shoulders. I believe it." He reached and brushed the tails of one of her ribbons with his fingertips. "The pretty bows almost fooled me."
"They have their uses," she shrugged.
Windemere leaned casually against a column, idly looking through the titles nearest him.
"I'll level with you, Lucy. The next show I'm planning is my thirty-third show I've written and directed.
I want to do something special, and that means redoing part of my stage.
But my favorite set designer is out of commission while he cares for his ailing mother.
" He tapped the top of the column unit. "How big do you think you could build something like this?
" Windemere started pacing the length and width of the store, measuring it.
Now that she knew where this was going, Lucy wasn't sure what to do about it.
"Well…I don't know. I once helped make a dining table that can spin, but I haven't tried bigger than these column shelves by myself.
" She masked her disappointment that the playwright wasn't here to buy a thousand books by straightening the books that had tipped over while he played with the shelf.
"What about a floor as big as this room?" Windemere asked. "Can it be done?"
"Oh," Lucy puffed out a breath while she considered it, tilting her head back and forth. "I'm sure it can, with the right hardware. You'd need a smith to make the steel parts."
"Tch," Windemere clicked his teeth and waved it off, "I got a guy for that.
What I need is a designer and a carpenter who can build the quality I need.
These?" He pounded a fist on top of a column, "They would hold up to a dragon taking down this building.
When you scale it up, a chorus of orc tap dancers would be nothing. "
The compliments to her work felt wonderful.
Being able to build things had always been a means to an end for her, a secondary passion to make her dreams happen.
It meant a lot for the quality of her work to be recognized, even for that secondary passion.
It would ache to decline the request, but Lucy had to put her shop first.
Windemere must have sensed it, because he suddenly grew very serious. "I'll have you know I'm not asking for favors. I do have a budget for materials and labor."
That might change things. Having some kind of income would buy her bookshop more time to pick up business.
Lucy timed her shop hours so she could accommodate people who finish their work earlier in the evening.
If she started moonlighting as a stage builder, it would mean some very long nights.
Lucy chewed the inside of her cheeks, thinking.
"It's just…" She slowly moved to a different column to fidget with straightening books. "This sounds like an awful big job for one person."
"Dainley will be around. He helps out with my shows from time to time. And he's great with his hands," Windemere winked, "I think we can talk him into assisting you."
Lucy pulled her lips between her teeth. Dainley.
The handsome dwarf with an iron gray beard who she was sure thought her a little dim after the cobbler/shoe thing.
She would like a reason to see him again.
And if they were working on Windemere's stage, she would actually be out after shop hours, instead of closing up, going to bed, and coming back the next morning.
She was about to answer with something like, "Let me think on it for a day or two," but Windemere snapped his fingers and pointed at her.
"Tell you what!" His brilliant smile was back.
"Come to tonight's performance of The Jackdaw.
It's about a thief who is murdered along with her husband, and the Jackdaw Spirit grants her restless soul the opportunity to seek vengeance.
" Lucy blinked and Windemere continued, "This is the last weekend of the run.
You'll see the space, how I use it now, and best of all—you'll get to see some of the best fight scenes I've ever written.
" He moseyed for the door. "Complimentary, of course!
The box office will know to expect you. Bye, dear! "
If he had entered her shop unseen, he left like summer storm passing through.
Lucy sighed. She hadn't even said yes yet, but apparently Windemere knew how far his charm got him.
She spent a pensive few minutes slowly spinning one of her columns, imagining how she would build a whole revolving stage.