“May I be of service?”
“I, uh, I'm concerned about getting my grandfather waterlogged. I'm not sure exactly what might be available.”
“Are you transporting your ancestor over a large distance?”
“Yes, to Garrick's Spine.”
“I’m not familiar with that city. However, the normal strategy is to have the ancestor sent by post. Carrying the box on your back…” The sales-critter ostentatiously leaned sideways to look disapprovingly at my backpack. I felt I should blush or something.
“I'm hoping to bring him home myself. I'd like instead to find a way to wrap the box or get a better backpack…” I left the sentence hanging, hoping the sales-critter would volunteer something.
He glanced at my backpack again, then asked, “What size of funerary box?”
“Um…” Bender's matrix was 8 inches on the side. “Inside dimensions, 8 ¼ inches,” I said, trusting the translation software to take care of the conversion to local units.
“That's oddly precise. Also, not standard size. Here.” He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “My cousin Vinny is a carpenter. He could probably put something together to your specifications. Tell him Carmine sent you.”
Of course, this wasn't a mass production society. Artisans would be easily available. I resisted the urge to smack myself and thanked Carmine profusely.
I left the funeral home, chuckling at the software's choice of name equivalents. I’d have to ask Hugh if there had been a little tweaking of the algorithms. Given what I'd done with Hugh's name equivalent, it was clearly Bob-like behavior. I read the note while wondering if I should ditch the backpack and cube while I worked. I could hide it in the forest, or I could get a room in a hotel. What would carry less risk? The forest would certainly be cheaper, but I couldn't bring myself to seriously consider tying Bender up in a tree and leaving him to the tender mercies of random chance.
I did a quick calculation. I wasn't destitute yet, but I might end up working for passage on the way back to Garrick's Spine. Meanwhile, keeping Bender safe was job one. I stopped at a general store and bought a few small items for three coppers total. I gave the proprietor and iron and received my change. I had a brief urge to swallow the coins right in front of her, but attracting attention was not a good idea.
With a little searching around, I found a fleabag hotel and paid for a night. The kindest word I could find for the room was… unimpressive. But it had a door lock, and the door felt solid, and the window was much too small for a Quinlan to get through, even if the room had been at ground level.
And as was typical for Quinlan structures, the roof was exposed, support beams and all. I took up the length of rope that I purchased and did a quick leap and parkour to the rafters. It wouldn't be, strictly speaking, impossible for a Quinlan to duplicate that feet, but they would be more likely to just go get a ladder, which would hopefully take time. I tried the backpack with Bender in it to the highest point and shifted it around to be as invisible as possible from floor level. All good. I left my one remaining spider on the rafter as well, just in case.
The Quinlan door locks were large and clunky compared to what I'd been used to on Earth, but the mechanism was nevertheless fairly sophisticated. Again, I was reminded that the Quinlans technology was limited, not their knowledge. I spit up a few coins to carry with me, locked the door behind me, and sent in a couple of fleas to freeze the lock mechanism. I was probably being overly paranoid, but the downside of overdoing it was much less bad than the downside of under preparing.
First stop was a backpack shop. On earth that would've been a sports store, but with Quinlans backpacks were simply apparel. A few quick inquiries on the street and I had a destination. The shop was definitely upscale, not as in gold trim, but as in high quality and good selection. They carried backpacks, sashes, kits for fur decoration, and other items that the sophisticated and stylish Quinlan couldn't live without. I just hope the backpacks were more than fashion statements.
I approached the single sales-critter. “I'm looking for a new backpack. My old one popped the seam because I've been carrying a funerary box in it. Do you have something with good capacity and dependable waterproofing?”
“As it happens, we do. You shouldn't of course spend a lot of time in water, but it’ll hold for the occasional fishing expedition.” He led me over to a display and gestured. “Only five irons for this model.”
Yikes. That would take most of my remaining cash. I open my hand and looked down at the four irons I’d coughed up, trying to project disappointment, piteousness, and whatever else I could manage.
He glanced at the coins in my hand and sighed. “I can’t do four, my friend. 4 ½ and it's yours.”
No problem, sir. I’ll just hack-hack-hack…
No, not really. The urge was almost overpowering, but even ignore not wanting to attract attention, I was sure he’d throw me out.
“I'll uh… talk to my friends. Back in a while.”
I left the shop and went looking for Vinny's place. On the way, I surreptitiously coughed up some more coins. Vinny's place had a sign over the door that said… Vinny's Place. Really, Quinlans sucked with names. The window showed some of his products, including funerary boxes, small furniture, and some carved items. He did good work.
“Are you Vinny?” I said to the lone occupant as I walked in.
“I am. May I help you?”
“Carmine sent me here. I'm looking for a specific
