Chapter Two #3
He took stock of the furniture, wrapping a kerchief around his face so he didn't breathe in all the dust. Despite the decades of neglect, the furniture was sound.
Good, heavy, sturdy stuff meant to last. A good cleaning and some minor repairs and he'd be set.
The mattress was useless, long given over to rodents, but the frame would take almost no work at all to set to rights and he could make a new mattress.
There were more shelves above the stove and a table that held a wash basin, holding tins of what was probably herbs and tea, a jar of honey that sent a thrill through him, and other expected kitchen stuff.
A lot of work would need to be done, but the end result would be a genuinely nice home.
House. He wasn't making a fucking home of the Forbidden Forest. This was temporary, he needed to remember that.
Back outside, he hacked away at more of the ivy and weeds, working on the wall nearest the door and around to the back—where he found a shed, built up against the house. Well, well, well.
Inside was everything he could have hoped for: a machete and other gardening tools, even a wheelbarrow.
It would all need cleaning and repairing, and some of the tools might be too rusted, but it was a start.
There was also a bucket…and spare parts for a well.
Which meant there was a well around here somewhere.
Much better than trusting the pond water, though it had looked clear enough at a glance.
He pulled the machete from its place on the wall, and was more than a little pleased to see that it hadn't rusted at all. Either the storage conditions were phenomenal, or it had a spell on it to prevent such things. If so, the spell work was beyond exceptional.
Getting back to work, he had most of the house completely cleared of vines by the time the shadows started to grow long.
Reluctantly abandoning the work, eager to get it done, he turned his attention to making a camp for the night.
He'd have to clean the house thoroughly before it was safe to sleep in, but ideally by tomorrow night he'd be safely inside.
Fire, pheasant, wash up, bedding, eat, sleep. Would his little trader be sad he was no longer around? He wouldn't have had anything to trade tonight, anyway.
He set up wards, lay down, and was out almost immediately.
Dawn was barely encroaching when he woke—and then screamed in alarm to see someone else sitting nearby.
As he fumbled to his feet, he registered he knew the intruder.
"You!" he hissed. "What in the Deep Ice are you doing here?
" He scowled and banished the ward before raking his hands through his hair and turning to the fire.
"Where did you go yesterday? How do you just vanish like that? "
Euclid gave him another of those slow blinks that might have been charming if the bastard wasn't so confounding.
"Vanish? I just walk away. Why are you so snarly?"
"Snarly?"
Euclid's mouth curved into one of his sunshine smiles. "Like a baby cat, what are they called? So small they fit in your hand, but they try so hard to be fierce. Hiss, hiss, growl, hiss. Then a minute later they're fast asleep or crying for milk."
"I'm not a kitten!" Dipak hissed, storming off to relieve himself and wash up before he set to work on breakfast. When he returned, Euclid had made himself comfortable by the fire, staring intently at the kettle.
Giving him a look, Dipak got the kettle filled with water and set over the fire before taking out the last of his berries and most of the remaining nuts. He'd have to make time to do some hunting later in order to have food for the night and tomorrow.
First, though, he was going to get his new house in order. Well, no, first he had to deal with his unwanted guest. "What do you want?"
Euclid stared at him, blinked slowly. "I wanted to meet you. We don't get anything new in this forest very often, and when people do wander in, they always want to destroy or kill something. But you seemed very sad and soft."
"Soft?" What in the world did that mean?
"I'm not soft. If I was soft, I'd be dead.
" Why was everything that came out of Euclid's mouth confounding or offensive or both?
Grabbing up the machete, he set to work finishing up clearing the outside of the house.
When that was done, he dragged the furniture outside, then fetched the bucket from the shed and set to work scrubbing.
Eventually he looked up, but Euclid was nowhere to be seen—but sitting by his bed was an enormous fish with shiny purple scales. He almost hyperventilated to see such an expensive fish just lying there like a fucking minnow.
And the piles and piles of foliage that he'd stripped from the house were gone.
Something prickled along his spine. Surely not.
Euclid hadn't been able to get past his wards, so it couldn't be him.
What kind of trade was a costly fish for a bunch of weeds anyway?
Also, there was no way Euclid could just carry such a massive pile of weeds away like they were nothing and without Dipak noticing.
Then again, the man could move more soundlessly than a ghost, so who the fuck knew. He hated this stupid forest.
Heaving a sigh, he resumed scrubbing, until the bed frame, table, chairs, and rocking chair were all clean. The furniture really was in shockingly good condition. Once he had time to make a proper mattress, everything would be as close to perfect as anything could get.
A wave of sadness hit him then, so hard he had to kneel doubled over in the grass, stomach knotted in agony and eyes stinging with tears he ultimately lost the fight to.
Damn it, he'd told himself he'd stop doing this.
It was over. Everything was done. All he could do was move forward.
No use crying over things he couldn't change.
"Are you all right?"
Dipak jerked upright, then to his feet—but the angry, defensive words on his lips died as he stared at the open, genuine concern on Euclid's face.
No one had ever looked at him like that, like they actually gave a damn.
Why would some weird eccentric hiding in the Forbidden Forest care about his feelings?
"I'm fine. Bad memories. What happened to all those weeds I chopped down? "
"Weeds? What's a weed?"
Dipak opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing any answer he could give actually didn't make much sense in the current context. "Poor choice of words. The plants I tore from the cabin."
"Darrow ivy and creeping roses," Euclid replied cheerfully, moving closer to Dipak with fluid, eager movement. "Highly sought after by moss owls and petrichor pixies. Traded them. I left you a royal trout in trade. Was that not sufficient?"
"Not—" Dipak choked. "Euclid, back home people would pay in gold for a fish like that. If anything, I'm in your debt." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you the one who took my nuts and berries?"
"I would never just take something," Euclid replied with astonishing somberness. "Stealing is unrefined and dishonorable. I trade with fairness and honor."
That was certainly in keeping with trading nuts and berries for meat. But Euclid couldn't get through his wards. "Fine, then. Thank you for the fish. What did you get from the uh, owls and pixies?"
"The pixies gave me some lovely honey, and the owls gave me some feathers. Did you have interest in either?"
"I wouldn't mind more honey," Dipak replied, "but I've nothing to trade currently."
"If I may keep your company for the remainder of the day and all of the night, I would consider that an equitable trade."
Dipak stared. Why did this man consistently leave him flustered and bemused. "You'll give me honey in exchange for keeping me company?"
Euclid smiled like it was his sole purpose in life. "Yes."
"All right," Dipak said, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? "Let me move this furniture back into the house, and then I'll butcher the fish and get dinner started."
"That sounds wonderful. I'm terrible at cooking fish, so I never get it. I will go get the honey and return soon." He turned and darted off before Dipak could say a word.
How was the bastard so quiet? He talked and talked, but when he moved, there was barely any sound at all. Dipak had been a hunter, then a scout, then a courier, all jobs that required being quick and quiet, and he couldn't move that soundlessly, let alone so effortlessly.
Shaking his head, Dipak got back to work, ignoring the strange eagerness to be finished working for the day and get to dinner.