Chapter 28
We ultimately sell hundreds of books; the fact that Yenny went outside and directed his trumpeters to play fanfares if more than a quarter of an hour passed without a sale certainly made a difference.
If only to get them to be quiet. Sasha’s windows inspire sales; our little notes pinned to various shelves and making recommendations move stock; we sell nearly every copy of every book I’ve set on the “trust me, just try” shelf.
All in all, it’s a good day at the shop. A noisy day, but a good one.
Once Yenny’s departed in search of dinner, taking his trumpeters with him, things begin to quiet down.
The pirate vanished at some point when I wasn’t paying attention; I tell myself to go looking for whatever he stole and left behind once the store’s closed, and ignore my disappointment that he left without saying goodbye.
I can’t quite talk myself out of thinking that, one day, he’ll vanish as he always does, and never return again.
I find that, in the secret corners of my heart, I hope that he’ll stick around till my curse is broken—even if he breaks his own beforehand. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
At six, Sasha and I flip the little stone to “closed” and take stock of the aftermath of our busiest day of sales yet.
The third floor, Sasha’s domain, has been eviscerated; whole shelves are empty.
She sighs and drops onto a cushion, and I have to keep myself from doing the same. I’m completely worn out.
The fact is, I think to myself as I tidy a stack, none of the princes so far have been quite as bad as I’d feared.
Even Bel, who thinks so little of me, has made himself a bit of a hit with Sasha’s friends, drooping about, quoting improving aphorisms, and suggesting morose poetry for them to read.
How odd to think it’s taken an experience like being cursed and more or less forced to kiss princes to discover that those princes aren’t really quite as tiresome as I’d always thought.
Driz and I had always been friendly, but these days…
well, now we feel like we’ve become true friends.
The others: I might be on the same road with them, though rather more slowly in some cases.
How overwhelming.
“We’ll have to find more books about chickens,” Sasha says, startling me out of my thoughts. She’s staring up at the poultry shelf. “They’re all gone. Who knew?”
“I have no idea how we go about that,” I say. “I’m pretty certain Mrs. Gooch bought lots of books from estates. And it’s not as though I could go do it myself. And,” I add, a little ferociously, as I see her open her mouth, “you have school.”
“We could ask one of the princes to help. They haven’t got anything better to do, and at least one of them would hang the stars in the sky for you if you asked.”
“Good dragon goddess, Sasha; who on earth do you mean by that?”
“Driz, obviously,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes. “He’s madly in love with you.”
I groan. “We’re just friends.”
“Sure.”
“If he’s so in love with me, I couldn’t possibly take advantage of that by asking him to do things for me,” I point out.
“It’d be so terrifically unkind, not to mention horribly unethical.
” I still feel a little guilty about having Yenny help me sell books today, no matter how enthusiastically he threw himself into it.
Sasha turns and regards me for a long moment. “You know what your problem is, Tandy?” she says, finally.
“Besides being cursed to stay inside a bookstore for, maybe, ever?”
“Obviously. No, your problem is that you’re—”
“—too nice,” I conclude for her, with a sigh. Honey’s favorite comment.
“Too nice,” she agrees. “Just, like, do something for yourself for once.”
“I’m doing plenty for myself,” I point out, gesturing at the bookstore. “I could just sit in my little apartment and drink turnip tea and be melancholy, but I’m not.”
Sasha throws her arms up in performative despair. “You wouldn’t be playing at running a bookstore if you weren’t being forced to do it, would you? You’d be off instead doing, what? Cutting another ribbon?”
Actually, I’ve been here long enough that my road duties would be over by now; I’d be heading home for a few royal balls before packing up to move to the Winter Palace, for more balls.
So I’d be getting new gowns fitted, waist-training for my winter regalia, keeping up with correspondence with various heads of state, and arranging my dance cards from now until February. How horrible to contemplate.
“That’s beside the point,” I say, hoping to turn the conversation away from this rather uncomfortable subject and back toward the issue at hand. “I can’t ask Driz to go buy books for my bookstore simply because he likes me. It wouldn’t be—”
“Don’t you dare say nice.”
“I wasn’t going to. It wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage of him.” Plus, I like having him around when he can tear himself away from the inn, where he appears to have befriended half the town.
“Fine. Forget I said anything.”
I can see she’s miffed that I haven’t taken up her idea in all enthusiasm.
“What do you think the, uh…” I pause and make myself say it.
“What do you think Bash does all day?” Speaking his name gives me the same sensation I have when lighting the fire: a strange kind of shivering sensation across my skin, like the barest hint of breeze on a warm day.
I’ve avoided calling him anything other than “the pirate” out of fear that someone might hear me and know what I’m actually saying. Whatever that might be.
“The Barn Pirate?” she says, sounding startled. “You can’t possibly be thinking of making him go buy books about chickens for you. He’s so lazy.”
“I think he’s bored, not lazy,” I say. “He did, apparently, used to run a ship.”
“I suppose,” she says. “He appeared about a week before you and moved into the barn and, I don’t know. Lounges around. He used to spend all his time in the town square, till you showed up. He completely scandalized my granny by flirting with her, you know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I say, encouraged—she doesn’t seem to be reading anything untoward into my interest. “But all day? Every day? What does he do when he’s not here? He’s not in the bookstore all the time.”
She shrugs. “I know he spends time at the inn, bothering the princes. Driz loves him. They keep him fed, I think. Half the girls at school moon about him going for long walks in the hills,” she adds, a little severely.
“So I suppose he does that.” She rolls her eyes. “Apparently it’s terribly romantic.”
I nod, moving books around rather sightlessly. I can certainly understand the impulse to moon about a handsome man wandering the hillsides—tragic romances are rife with them—especially one that looks like, well, him.
“Makes sense,” I say, my voice reassuringly even.
“I think it’s the breeches, but no one asked me,” Sasha continues. “There are much better things to do than get all giggly about some guy.”
“That reminds me,” I say. “What was the idea you had?” I say. “Earlier? About bags?”
“Oh!” Sasha brightens immediately. “You need bags with the shop’s name on them, bags that people can carry around even after they’ve taken your books out and put them away.
It’d be like, like…like free advertising.
It’d definitely bring in more customers.
And since you’re kind of like a tourist spot…
you could make them free with purchase, or if people don’t want to buy books but want to show that they’ve been here, they could buy them individually! Like a souvenir!”
I privately question exactly how much of a tourist draw I am, given how few people we have in the store when there aren’t princes with trumpeters standing outside, but it’s a good idea.
“Just…the name of the shop?” I ask.
“Yeah, but like…okay, so you could copy the way it’s painted on the sign outside.” Sasha’s eyes are gleaming with excitement.
I only caught a glimpse of the sign twice before being consigned to life inside the store, but if I recall correctly, it’s pretty shabby.
“It’s not a very pretty sign, is it, though?” I can’t imagine it’s the sort of thing people would want reproduced on bags.
“No, but…” Sasha suddenly looks uncharacteristically uncertain. “What if you had it redone? Totally repainted, in a really cool new way, so it really stands out?”
“I suppose,” I say. The Inn of the Three—now Four—Princes has had its sign repainted four times in the last few months. So, by the transitive property, I can safely assume there’s a sign maker somewhere nearby, if not actually in town, who takes commissions on short notice.
“I might know someone,” Sasha continues, again looking uncertain. I sharpen my gaze; she suddenly looks very young. It’s easy to forget that she’s only fifteen.
“Oh?” I say, careful to keep my voice neutral.
“Someone at school,” Sasha says, gaining confidence. “She’s so talented; definitely the best artist there. I can, um, bring her in someday after school? You could meet her? Look at some of her stuff? She’s really great.” Sasha sounds so uncharacteristically anxious—
Ah.
“That’d be marvelous,” I say, smiling. “Whenever she has the time…I’m always here.”
Sasha smiles, looking relieved. “I’ll ask tomorrow.”
Aw, young love. Sasha’s positively glowing. Whoever the mysterious artist is, Sasha’s clearly going to enjoy having an excuse to talk to her.
“Hey,” she says, after a moment. “Have you figured out if the Barn Pirate stole anything today?”
Speaking of blushing. I pull a little bit of braided straw out of my pocket and hand it to her. The golden stalks have been twisted into a curious shape, a little like a harp. It’s quite a lovely thing, really. “I found this on my desk,” I say. “A broken quill I’d set aside to mend was gone.”
Sasha shakes her head. “He has it so bad,” she says.
The idea is preposterous. “Balderdash,” I say, and turn away to straighten a book. “It’s some sort of pirate nonsense. He explained it to me.”
Behind me, I hear her chuckle.