Mercer Asterion's Arc

Chapter 8 of 10

They walked the pouch back through the market. Mouse kept one hand on her satchel. The dog trotted at Mercer's heel. The empty basket knocked against his leg with every step. Poppy's stand sat under its curled roof, vines trailing down the posts. She was pulling a tray from the lower shelf when they turned in. She straightened, wiped flour on her apron, and smiled. "You're back before the misfits cooled," she said. "Good." Mouse set the pouch on the counter. Poppy loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents onto the wood. Golden pinecones rolled first. Then two silver acorns. Then a small bundle of copper twigs. She sorted them with a baker's care, one finger nudging each piece into its group. "Full count," she said. "He's honest, that one." She looked up at Mouse. "Same as last time." "Same as last time," Mouse said. Poppy pushed two copper twigs and a silver acorn back across the counter. "Runners' share. Split how you like." Mouse took the coin and tucked it into her belt pouch. She slid one copper twig toward Mercer without looking at him. He picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. Poppy reached under the counter and lifted a folded linen cloth. Four loaves sat on it. One was cracked down the seam. One leaned to the side. One was smaller than the others. One had split its crust in a pale grin. "Oddbatch," she said. "Wrong shape for the rack. Right shape for eating." She wrapped the corners of the linen and pressed the bundle into Mercer's hands. "Go on. Before I put them back and change my mind." Mercer felt the warmth through the cloth. "Thank you." "Thank the oven," Poppy said. She was already turning to the next tray. They stepped back into the lane. Mouse breathed out slow, like a job just closed. "That's yours," she said, nodding at the bread. "Tomb's the other way. Come on. I'll show you the clubhouse. I sleep there sometimes when the market's loud." They cut past the awnings. The lane thinned. Stone showed through the dirt track that led to the mausoleum. The dog ranged ahead, then circled back. A voice called from behind them. Soft. Sweet. Familiar. "Mouse. There you are." Mouse stopped walking. She didn't turn right away. Mercer watched her shoulders. They lifted, then set. Her hand drifted to the strap of her satchel and stayed there. "You know that voice," Mercer said, low. "I do," Mouse said. She still hadn't turned. The bread was warm against Mercer's chest. The copper twig was warm in his palm. The share was paid. The obstacle was closed. A new one had just called Mouse's name.