Chapter 29: Someone Had Poisoned the Reviews

Dove left the cloth on the floor and called Varek before touching the tin. Thorne stayed beside the counter, close enough to stop a curious hand but far enough from her gate that she could still open it herself.

"Don’t throw anything away," she told him. "I want someone else to see it before the story turns into me decorating for attention."

The guard read the label and checked the open end of the empty tin. Lamp oil still coated the inside. He asked who had seen anyone approach the stall while Dove was gone, and received several versions of people being extremely busy.

The tin looked like the ones Rusk had carried. That did not prove he had put it there, and Dove said so before Thorne could make the jump for her. The blue cord on his wrist proved nothing by itself.

"Can’t you smell him?" Dove asked. Thorne bent near the shelf without touching it and said Rusk’s scent was there, strongest where his hand had rested earlier. Varek found it too, beneath lamp oil and the keeper’s scent. They could identify contact, not read when it happened or what a hand had done. Rusk had handled those tins for work and touched the shelf in front of Dove. It was a reason to question him, not a reason to stop asking.

Varek wrapped the tin and paper separately, recorded her account, and carried them to the duty table. Thorne used an ordinary rag from maintenance to lift the stained cloth without spreading oil across the floor. Dove agreed that it should be removed from sale stock rather than washed and sold as if nothing had happened.

The ruined display cloth left six owned cloths. She recorded the loss with a hand that shook, which annoyed her more than the number.

"All that work," she said, "and apparently my first review was written by a man who couldn’t spell his own motives."

Thorne looked toward the supply passage. "Rusk had the tins."

"So did anyone who walked beside his cart. We’re asking questions, not picking somebody convenient. I’ve had enough experience being convenient."

He looked back at her, and the anger in his face changed direction. "Tell me what you need."

The answer came too quickly to hide. "Stand there while I count."

He stood where she pointed. Dove checked every object she had left outside, then the goods stored in the space behind her closed tarp. Nothing else was missing. The counter, gate, and new shelf were undamaged. Whoever had done this had reached the public display, not entered her sleeping area.

She brought that fact back with her because it mattered. She could be frightened without pretending all her precautions had failed.

Kael came after Varek sent word. He examined the oily stain without declaring it poisonous and explained that the label alone told them nothing about her merchandise. Then he asked to check a sealed balm tin from her stock before the next clinic purchase.

Dove handed it over for inspection and received it back unopened. He checked the seal and said he would examine the contents when the clinic actually bought it. His care remained careful, and so did his distrust.

"You can think I’m difficult without believing every piece of paper people hang on my furniture," she said.

"I don’t believe the paper," he replied. "That doesn’t mean I’m ready to stop checking."

She nodded because she had asked for honesty. It did not oblige her to enjoy every serving.

By evening, two customers had walked past after looking at the empty place where the cloth had been. One glanced at her face with open admiration before steering his companion elsewhere. Being beautiful could stop traffic. Apparently, it could not persuade anyone to buy a button when somebody had whispered poison.

At closing she returned the last pair of bootlaces and paid the one-normal-coin fee, leaving eight normal and nine Favor. Both Day Ten missions were complete. She had already used her pool water that morning; another bath would not add another day’s strength or make Rusk less of a problem.

Day Eleven’s three wrapped chocolate squares made her stop scowling for almost a second. Selling two earned ten normal coins, while five fresh Favor Coins would unlock an eight-normal-coin drawstring bag. She accepted the consignment, then used her daily basin of pool water before dressing. The wool hem brushed stronger, steadier legs, although she still needed breakfast and warm layers.

"If I eat the stock, is that a sale?" she asked. Sprout explained that keeping a square cost four Favor Coins, whether she ate it or gave it away. Dove informed it that she was grieving the death of a beautiful business strategy.

She drew a small sign listing what she actually sold, including the unopened balm and plain thread. No cure claims, no mysterious promises, and no mention of the pool water. Ash and Kael knew about limited tests. The hall did not need another rumor to misunderstand.

Thorne arrived carrying two bowls of warmed canned spaghetti and half a loaf wrapped in a clean towel. He set them on the bench and told her he had brought enough for both of them, which removed her usual objection before she could use it.

"Are we celebrating something?" Dove asked, eyeing the tomato sauce. He explained that his household stores held cans, rice, dried meat, and flour. The kitchen baked with its working ovens, and hunting parties still brought meat in when the weather allowed. He could hunt too; nobody needed to live on a single heroic crust.

"It’s been three months, Dove. We didn’t eat every pantry in Michigan." He passed her a spoon, then added, "Some people are better at sharing what they have."

She accepted the bowl and the distinction. Sprout could put a price on attention, but it had never remembered that she liked her food hot.

Rusk returned carrying a squat crate of refilled lamp-oil tins. He glanced at Dove’s new sign and kept pushing through the narrowing space beside a bench. One wheel caught a floor seam. The crate tilted toward the counter, and its loose lid started sliding.

Dove saw the open neck of a tin beneath it. She pulled her display back while Thorne caught the cart’s upper rail and shoved it upright. Oil splashed across his sleeve instead of her goods, and a torn metal edge caught the skin above his wrist.

"Those lids should be secured," he snapped.

Rusk jerked the cart back. "Then stop standing in the route."

"The route is marked," Dove said, pointing to the worn line beneath the wheel. "Your cart crossed it."

For a moment, nobody moved. Thorne had one hand on the rail and Rusk had both on the handles, their faces close enough that the hall seemed to be waiting for teeth.

Ash arrived from the service passage, took in the spill, the cart, and Thorne standing between Dove and Rusk. His eyes stopped on the two warm bowls beside her counter.

"Let go of the cart," he told Thorne. Then he looked at Dove. "What did you promise him?"