merchant stepped forward, and he and Flinn clasped each other’s wrists.
“Come in, Flinn! Have you anything worth my money this year?” Baildon laughed and returned to his shop, Flinn following with his load of furs. Discreetly Jo followed, too, bent on discovering more about the man who had always been legend to her. She eagerly passed through the doors of the mercantile.
Bywater’s only supply store was a two-story building crammed to the rafters with all things imaginable. Fantastic wares such as magical daggers and rings lay casually beside such common items as bits and bridles.
Jo halted just inside the door. The fragrant smell of fresh baked goods filled her nose. She drew a deep breath, watching Flinn and Baildon meander through the cluttered store to the counter at the back. Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten in more than a day. Although she had no money, the smell of the bread was irresistible. She drifted into the mercantile, hoping to find the foodstuffs and feast her eyes, if not her stomach. As she passed among crates and stacks of merchandise, the flash of metal caught her eye.
Shiny armor stood near the windows, glowing with light from lanterns both magical and mundane. Beside the armor ran a counter that held new and used weapons, some with elaborate runes. One well-crafted morning star rested behind glass. Its spikes were formed of a black metal Jo hadn’t seen before. At the end of the counter lay a pile of battered armor, scarred with much use. Ordinarily Jo would have been intrigued, but the smell of bread grew stronger. Sniffing, she turned toward a table laden with bolts of cloth. As she followed the scent, her fingers glided over burlap, fine silk, and even an exotic weave that faintly glowed. Beyond the table lay bags of oats, clustered about a ceiling post. A pair of boots dangled from the post by their bootstraps. On a peg above the boots hung a cloak that blended so well with its surroundings that Jo nearly missed it. New tools, spare harness parts, and saddles cluttered one corner as she walked on, still following the teasing aroma of bread.
Jo moved to the center of the store, her gaze drifting upward. From the tall rafters dangled lengths of rope and chains and drying herbs. Beside the ropes, two ripening deer carcasses hung. As she passed beneath them, their smell masked the scent she had been following. Spying a glass case, she moved forward, hoping it would hold the bread. Instead, she found gems and stones, some bathed in colorful auras of magic, some chased in metal, and others loose.
In an adjacent case lay elvish candy-spun sugar creations of breathtaking beauty and taste. A sheet of glass guarded the confections. Jo licked her lips. Across the top of the case lay slices of spiced beef, aging and drying, nearly obscuring the treasures below.
Johauna stopped-she had found the baked goods, in a nearby cupboard. She stood in awe. Shelf after shelf brimmed with golden loaves. Jo saw currant buns, loaves made of brown wheat, and delicate pastries. Briefly she toyed with the idea of stealing a popover since the merchant was clearly busy with Flinn, but she drove the thought from her mind.
Knights are not bread stealers, she decided. After a heady breath, she realized that her resolution would not endure for long, and she wandered to the back of the store.
Flinn and the merchant stood at the rear counter. As Jo approached, Baildon used a cleaver to sweep the remains of the goose he had been quartering onto the floor. With the heavy blade, he gestured for Flinn to put down his bundle.
“The furs are fine ones, Flinn, fine indeed,” the merchant was saying. “But fox and owlbear just aren’t fetching the price they once did, not with the rich cloths coming from the South. No one wants fur when they can have silk. The best I can give you is thirty gold.” The merchant smiled apologetically and crossed his arms.
“I need forty, Baildon, no less.” Flinn, too, crossed his arms. His mouth formed a mulish frown.
“Excuse me, sirs,” Jo interrupted as she moved closer to the counter. The merchant spat tobacco juice onto the dirt floor. Jo ignored the gesture. “I worked for Tauntom, master of the Tanner’s Guild in Specularum.”
“Yes, yes, girl, that’s all well and good,” the merchant snapped, “but what has that to do with us?”
Jo’s gray eyes flashed in anger, but she glanced away immediately. She had learned the art of negotiation and did not want to rile Baildon. If she could get Flinn his forty coins-his beautiful pelts would be worth twice that in Specularum-Flinn might give her a moment of his time.
“It has everything to do with you,” Jo said smoothly. “You see, Tauntom recently received an order for all the furs he can provide. It seems a lord of Specularum has planned a gala for his son’s wedding next spring.” Johauna leaned toward the merchant with a conspiratorial air, aware of the suspicion in Flinn’s keen eyes. The merchant leaned forward. “Tauntom is panicked-he can’t supply all the pelts. The lands around Specularum have been hunted to exhaustion,” Jo paused for effect. “Tauntom will pay you eighty gold for these furs.”
She backed off and shrugged. “If you can’t meet Master Flinn’s asking price, then I’d suggest he take them to someone else. Someone who would benefit from your shy purse.” She smiled politely at the round-bellied man before her but averted her eyes from Flinn’s. The tall warrior still regarded her with suspicion.
The merchant stroked the stubble of his beard. His beady brown eyes dimmed a little, then he turned to Flinn and jerked his thumb to ward Jo. “Do you trust her, Flinn? Seems like she’s trying to hoodwink me.”
Flinn looked down at his splayed hands. “I’ve no reason not to believe her, Baildon. The decision is yours.” Flinn looked at Jo. “She did, however, do me a good turn earlier.” Baildon nodded toward Flinn. “That’s good enough for me. A friend of yours is a friend of mine,” the merchant said briskly. Baildon tied the furs back into a bundle and put them on the crowded floor behind the counter. “I’ll have that list of supplies in two shakes of a wyvern’s tail.” The merchant grabbed some burlap sacks and headed down a crowded walkway.
Flinn crossed his arms again and looked at Jo. She consciously returned the gesture, and the two of them stared at each other. Finally Flinn broke the silence.
“You were lying, weren’t you?”
“I was not,” Jo countered coolly.
Flinn’s eyebrows rose. “Earlier you said you were a stablehand. Now you’re a tanner’s helper?”
“I’ve been both. I’ve also worked at an armory and for a weaponsmith, fletching arrows,” she said proudly. She hoped Flinn was impressed with her credentials, all of which would prove useful to a potential knight.
He wasn’t. One brow arched higher, and he said, “Being unable to hold a job is nothing to be smug about.”
“Nevertheless, the tale is true,” Johauna interjected sharply, stung by Flinn’s derision. “Tauntom the tanner will be needing extra furs by spring. I didn’t he.” Jo put her hands on her hips.
Before Flinn could respond, Baildon returned with several large bundles. “Here you be, Flinn, all the supplies you asked for and the remainder of your gold.” The merchant’s eyes fairly gleamed at the prospect Flinn’s furs presented to him. Feeling benevolent, he nodded to Jo and said, “There’s a loaf of pumpkin bread that’s two days’ old over in the cupboard, to the left. You’re welcome to it if you want. I appreciate the tip.”
Jo murmured thanks and hurried to the nearby cabinet. After a moment of searching, she found the small, dark orange loaf Baildon had mentioned. She picked up the bread and sniffed the aroma of cinnamon, cloves, and exotic spices. Hungrily she began eating it there in the store. Bits of conversation between Flinn and the merchant floated toward her, and she turned to watch the two men.
“…Verdilith. That wyrm is back in the territory, Flinn! You’ve got to do something,” the merchant pleaded. “Won’t you-”
“You know I can’t do that, Baildon. Don’t hope-”
“I can hope all I want!”
“Well, hope away then. I won’t go after Verdilith, and that’s final.”
“Is it because of the prophecy? Is that it? Karleah Kunzay’s crazy, Flinn! She-”
“Enough!” Flinn shouted, his fist hammering the shopkeeper’s counter. “It is not the prophecy! It’s because I’m no longer a knight! I’m not-!” The words were strangled short. “Baildon, you should know that!”
Jo’s curiosity was piqued. She edged nearer only to have Flinn abruptly brush past her, his supplies draped over his shoulder. The warrior stomped out of the shop, his face grim. He didn’t glance at Jo, though she watched him go. She wondered if she had the time to pry information from the merchant but decided she didn’t. Holding up the loaf, she mumbled her thanks to Baildon and followed Flinn.
She stopped outside the shop’s doors and eyed the warrior. He was trying to goad the griffon into a standing position so he could mount. The recalcitrant beast merely pecked at Flinn with his muzzled beak. Jo sauntered over.
“Try cupping your hands around his eyes,” she said when Flinn’s latest efforts proved futile. “It’s a trick I learned from the hostler. The griffon’ll stand up and try to fly because he’s scared. Try it.”
The man cast an indignant glance toward Jo. “That doesn’t work with Ariac,” he said in rebuke. Jo grimaced
