Cobe

The Store:

The Store:

Several days’ travel away from where Cobe lay unconscious, Adriana surveyed her small shop one more time, setting her best work ever on the counter. She was proud of her accomplishment. Since taking over her mother’s business, she’d worked day and night to build a respectable reputation. It took her months of work, but she finally snagged a commission to create an intricate music box with two female dancers on top, the music of a long popular tune made into the mechanism.

Now that commission sat wrapped in the highest quality paper she could find. If the sale fell through, she might lose the shop and return to the street corner repairing other women’s creations like her mother had starting out. That might crush her more than she could bear.

To be safe, she took the prized package and set it under her shelf. She retired to the back of the shop to make sure the forge was shut down for the last time. Her mother warned her that the forge was dangerous, and Adriana took the lesson to heart. She always checked it three times before she left.

Many things turned into three times. She would count change three times, check a contract three times before signing, and she would always check the forge three times before leaving the shop. When extremely stressed, she might even silently count irrelevant things while she passed, posts seemed to be a favorite. The counting of objects gave her a sense of control in an otherwise out-of-control world.

While in the back, she heard the front door open and the small wind chime she installed tinkle in perfect tune because she checked it three times. “Just a moment, I’ll be right there,” she called. She caught a rustling sound and a couple of deep-voiced sniggers.

“Go ahead, take your time. We can take care of ourselves,” came a small whiny man’s voice from the front.

She checked the forge for the third time, and a slightly disconcerting feeling came over her. She grabbed the poker to take with her, just in case. At the door, she stuck her head out, and there stood the most weaselly looking man she’d ever seen in her life. Behind him, blocking the entrance, stood a block of flesh slightly larger than the door opening. She wouldn’t be surprised if the creature possessed dragon’s blood flowing through his veins. “Can I help you?” These two didn’t look like her usual music box customers.

The Weasel wore a coat of a dead animal skin or perhaps several, sewn together in a chaotic, crazy quilt pattern. He scratched his chin, which supported a patchy five-day growth. The best words to describe his eyes were beady and hungry. He scanned the small sales area, soaking in his surroundings. Adriana often had a hard time understanding and reading human emotions, but she found an unsettled stirring in her lower stomach.

She tried again, “Can I help you?” His eyes locked on to her, and instantly she felt as prey might under the gaze of a predator. Never feeling like this before, she didn’t know how to react.

Adrenaline flowed freely through her veins. She was ready to attack or to run for the back door before he spoke in a voice like he gargled with acid. “Right nice shop you have here. I’ve never been in here before.”

She forced herself to remember his face, pockmarked, it matched his voice perfectly. “It was my mother’s before I took it over.” She desperately struggled to sound like an adult but failed. A slight tremor came into her tone when she spoke of her mother, the aching hole the death left still fresh.

“Yes, it is a lovely shop, it would be a pity if something happened to it.” The Weasel ran his fingers over her counter.

“Oh no, I’m very safe, I check everything.” Now on the defensive and quick to ensure a potential customer how systematically she worked, even if the man creeped her out.

“Yes, but Accidents happen, and you never know when things might get broken.” He stared her down—if she’d been normal, she might’ve gotten the implication.

The man standing in the doorway finally spoke in an odd squeaky tone for such a bulky man. “Yeah, broken.”

“I agree, but I’m always very particular when I work. I can assure you I’m the epitome of safety. Do you have a specific request?” Adriana knew her appointed time with her powerful customer approached quickly.

“We’re here to offer you… assistance.”

“I can assure you I don’t need any help. Mine is a very small shop, and I do well on my own. I prefer to work on my own.” Unsure where this conversation was headed, Adriana gripped the poker twice as hard. Her knuckles turned white, ready to defend herself and her shop.

“Instead of assistance perhaps it would be better to call it protection. Protection from things being broken.”

“Yeah, broken.”

“I already told you two men, I’m very safe. Now I need to keep an appointment with a very important woman. If you’ll please excuse me, I need you both to leave.”

The two men refused to leave, and the encounter caused Adriana to sweat. Little rivulets ran down her back causing even more discomfort.

“If you don’t pay us a hundred gold per month to keep the Accidents away, they might start happening frequently.”

The giant behind the Weasel cracked his knuckles to prove a point.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to pay you money, so you don’t break things?”

“We will be here to protect you, so things don’t get broke. As you know, Accidents happen.”

“You are to leave my establishment right now, or I will scream for the guards…” She brought out the poker from behind the wall. “And beat you two within an inch of your life. Remember I swing a hammer all day long. How will this hunk of iron feel if I wrap it around your testicles?” Adriana held her shoulders back and thrust out her small chest, the poker held back and low ready for a deadly upswing as far as the men were concerned.

“You’re lucky it’s time for us to go, we will be back this afternoon for the money. If you don’t pay us, remember Accidents happen. We wouldn’t want them to happen to your pretty little raven head, now would we?” With that, the Wall of Flesh that blocked the door stepped aside, and the Weasel left, quickly followed by his muscle. He slammed the door so hard, one of the panes fell out and shattered on the stone floor.

Adriana recognized she was late, but she rushed to the other side of the counter and barred the door behind them. Shaken, she fought hard not to cry. I’m a woman, dammit, women aren’t supposed to cry. She never understood people that cried, anyway. I never cry! Taking three deep breaths to force herself to calm down, she looked down at her hands, and they were shaking even with the poking iron still gripped firmly. “I wish I could be brave like mother.”

In her typical cautious manner, she set the poker down on her display case. Obviously, the two men could’ve broken many things to prove their point, but the guards were only a few paces away, and they would’ve surely been caught.

Adriana pulled a small silver mirror from under her counter. It had belonged to her mother, and she would always do her best to keep it safe. She appeared frazzled, but she didn’t understand why. Her black hair turned into ringlets that circled her face as her perspiration rose. She’d never experienced that reaction to an event in her life. Even when her parents died, she never…

That didn’t matter now, she would be late for her delivery if she didn’t step lively. She needed a big tip out of this job with lots of good word-of-mouth for more work. Almost out the door, she’d forgotten the package and her tool pack. A tinker never knew when they might need to tinker. What was a tinker without her tools?

She covered her hair with her hood to hide her damp hair. Halfway to her appointment, she realized the front lock hadn’t been checked three times; that would bother her the whole day.

Adriana made the appointment but just barely, at least by her standards. She’d only five minutes to wait before shown in precisely at the appointed time.

The patron lounged in a luxuriously appointed room, the long sofa holding her perfectly as she lay back. Her elegant gown flowed over her body, barely hiding her healthy curves from view.

Adriana chanced a peek around the richly appointed room. Sheer curtains covered the windows allowing air and light in while keeping the biting insects out. Gold and silver decorated everything. It seemed such a waste to Adriana. She owned her mother’s single silver mirror. Seeing such opulence made her stomach ill. To her, precious metals were for creating new and unusual mechanical creations.

“I’m glad you’re on time, that is always a good thing to be. I assume that package is for me.” If condescension could pour from someone’s mouth, it would’ve from the matron’s. Adriana never reacted when the older woman spoke down to her.

Snapped back to reality and still flustered from her early engagement, she only slightly stammered when she answered, “Yes, matron.”

“In that case, girl, show me what you’ve created. Show me that I wasn’t mistaken taking the risk on someone so inexperienced.” The speed of her voice picked up, as if Adriana wasted her time.

Adriana wanted to scream. She had worked, prepared, and created objects much more difficult than this for over ten years. First as her mother’s apprentice and now in her own shop inherited from her mother. She said simply, “Yes, matron.” Better to make the sale than upset the customer. Swallow your voice, stupid.

She set the small folded paper box on the table in front of the older woman and pulled the bow like her mother taught her. The simple tug, and the box unfolded and became part of the show as it opened to reveal the small music box. As planned, it played the agreed-upon tune as soon as the sides of the container touched the table. The two dancers spun and twisted precisely as if in real life, though this time they were made from silver the length of Adriana’s index finger.

Before the music box finished, the matron said, “Very well, it seems as ordered.” She motioned to one of her servants a few steps away. “Pay her.”

The man gave a slight bow and stepped forward, producing a jingling bag.

“Thank you, matron.” Adriana took the bag and shook it slightly.

Any capable tinker needed a calibrated elbow, and Adriana concluded that this bag contained less than expected. With her right eyebrow lifted she asked, “Matron?”

The older woman picked up an elegant glass cup containing a steaming brown liquid, which she now gazed over while inspecting Adriana. “Your fee is there plus the customary five percent tip.”

“The customary tip is ten percent. I provided the merchandise on time.” Adriana held her ground, not understanding why the older wealthy woman shorted her on the tip.

“The customary tip for a seasoned tinker is ten percent. You, on the other hand, are a novice. I think five percent is more than fair.” The older woman sipped her steaming drink.

Adriana wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that she worked many hours creating this music box. She deserved the full tip like any other tinker would receive. That the old woman should rise off her fat bloated ass and do a day’s work and see how hard it was. She said, “Thank you, matron,” and backed out of the room before she lost her temper. She never lost her temper. Her mother taught her well how to behave.

All the way home she needed to convince herself that the shop would be all right. If she’d checked the lock three times, this never would’ve happened. It was turning out to be a day she would rather forget. If anything happened to the shop because she hadn’t checked the front lock three times, it would make the day almost the worst day of her life.

Anxiety on the verge of overtaking her, she touched things as she walked down the path to her shop. Talking to herself under her breath, people stopped and watched her pass. They whispered behind her back. They didn’t think she understood them, but she did.

Much to her surprise, she made it to her street and found the small shop still standing. She opened the door and slipped inside, barring it behind her. It took a few minutes, but she talked herself down from a full-blown anxiety attack. She spoke to her mother in the quiet of the shop and could hear her responses in her head. It felt almost like having her around, but not really.

Next came her regular routine: walking around the shop, touching things in a specific order three times each, making sure everything stayed where it should be. Each item had its specific place. Those two motherless dogs rattled her. Forgetting to check her front door shook her even more. Her time with the matron nearly drove her over the edge.

It had been many years since she experienced a full-blown meltdown. There were times she didn’t think the stress of keeping her true self hidden worth the energy, but then she remembered her mother’s words. “If you want to fit in with the people around you, you must meet their norms. Remember the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” She wished she had time to calm her thoughts, but she needed to divide the money and be on her way to pay bills.

She moved about her shop like one of her automations. Things needed to be done, bills must be paid, and obligations had to be met. Somewhere in all of that, she acknowledged she deserved a passable meal and one glass of alcohol. After paying her bills, she estimated the doors would stay open for at least another month. Time to celebrate.

Running on adrenaline, she completely forgot about Weasel and Wall and their demand for a hundred gold to keep the Accidents at bay. If she had remembered, she would’ve never paid, even if she had the money.

Later that night on her return home, she caught the glow of fire down her street. Her heart sank. She somehow knew it was her place, her mother’s place. Everything left to her sat in that shop.

She sprinted to reach the glow of the building fire. Her heart raced and there it stood, her mother’s shop fully aflame. Several of her neighbors were throwing water on the adjacent buildings to keep the flames from spreading. All she heard over the din, “Accidents happen,” made her realize the Weasel set the fire. She knew she checked the forge three times. Her world ended. Her only belongings carried on her person. The fire reflected off her eyes, lighting a fire deep in her soul. Revenge burned as bright in her as any flame.