Chapter 3
Emory's day started well before dawn. He'd rolled out of bed, thrown on the bare minimum amount of clothing required to be decent and trundled downstairs to clean up the shop in preparation for their guest.
The building was wide and shallow so the struggle for work space was a constantly evolving battle. It was a multi pronged assault between the five work tables, racks of leather, and the honeycomb wall where they stored their client orders when they weren't being worked on. Emory redrew the battle lines as quietly as he could without waking his father and forged order out of the chaos; tables got polished, the door glass got cleaned to a crystal shine, and everything got straightened up or polished until years of patina became character instead of grime.
His father was up about mid morning. He ambled down the stairs and thumped down in his chair almost without realizing anything had changed. He looked around as he buttoned up his shirt and gave Emory a bemused nod of approval.
Emory was the apprentice, even now, so opening up and getting things ready was his job. It didn't require anything of his father except his presence, so the minimum was what he would give until around mid day. Still, he made them both some tea- probably to kill his hangover or whatever.
Tila and Morin gave him questioning looks when they showed up to start the day, Morin looked as if Emory had punted his potted plant across the room.
"Oi, Emr'y. What gives?"
Emory tried for a smile he didn't quite have the energy to keep up. "Thought it'd make the place feel more open. I didn't move anything."
"Psh," the old man scoffed. "And how'm I supposed t'flirt with Tila so far away?" He swept his hand between the tables. No more than shoulder width, really. "Can't tell her no war stories without disrupting the customers."
Tila, who'd been busy wiping wax tablets for the day's work, gave him a dirty look and scoffed. She plucked a scrivener from her cup and wrote in huge letters on one of the tablets: "Lost in field. Very exciting."
"What's that say?"
Emory's father glanced over, laughed. "She says she'd love to hear more."
Tila slopped down the tablet and shot Emory's dad a rude gesture. He grinned at her in return.
When Keline showed up she took one look around, flashed Emory a knowing smile and meandered over to his table. She swooped over his shoulder and kept her voice low and conspiratorial: "Want me to go get some incense? Mom got a stock in last week, really exotic stuff from the desert."
"Nah, if she shows up she needs to smell the leather."
"Got it. Good job." She pat his shoulder and grabbed her stool.
Emory fell into the familiar rhythm of the work with ease, though every now and then when someone wandered by the shop front and their shadow passed by he looked up- hoping he'd see the noble woman again. He'd rehearsed a welcome speech, a subtle introduction that didn't apologize for the worn flooring or slight musk, but gave plenty of room for everyone's individual talents to shine. His dad would've called it a waste: you dealt straight with people or you didn't deal at all. An ethos which you could see reflected in the ledger. The ones Emory totally didn't sneak looks at every couple days.
It'd been a rough few months. This woman could change their fortunes with a single order
and
prove to his father that his ideas might have some ground. Everything needed to work right. Everything needed to
feel
right.
"Emory," Kel said.
"Huh?"
She nodded to his foot, apparently it'd been bouncing and he hadn't even felt it. "Any more nervous and I won't be able to get a needle up your ass with a sledge hammer. It's gonna be fineeee."
At those words his father glanced up from his work. "Not that I mind, but ya'll know that's not how kids get made."
Keline scoffed. "Maybe he likes things up his butt."
"Low blow.
Low
blow." Emory shot back. "Only reason you get away with that is you think I won't hit back."
"You'd know better 'n that," his father said simply.
"Yes, sir. . ."
