Chapter 95: She Tipped the Wrong Woman’s Table

Dove looked from the wet crates to the woman pointing at her counter, then down at her own bare feet. Apparently she had slept through the part where a rented shop became responsible for everybody else’s groceries.

"No," she said, pulling her cardigan closed. "Good morning to you too. Whose meat is that?"

Saffra sat in her chair on the raised walkway, red hair spilling over a fur collar. Her carriers blocked the steps into the gravel loading yard. Behind them, men held wooden crates above the shallow water running along the boards. The keeper stood beside Edrik’s folded cot inside the counter, dripping onto a floor Dove had cleaned yesterday.

"The cold shed’s warming," he said. "We need somewhere to put things while we sort it out."

"Then ask the people with empty space. Mine comes with a bed because I live here." Dove pointed past Saffra toward the shared cooking awning. "And somebody should check what can be cooked now. Who owns those crates?"

"The people who’ll eat them," Saffra snapped. "You can make food appear. Stop being difficult."

Thorne came through the rear bedroom door carrying Dove’s boots. He set them beside her rather than answering for her, but his stare made the nearest carrier shift backward. Edrik remained by the opening behind the counter, one hand resting on the wooden edge.

Dove stepped into her boots. "I can also make this conversation end. Watch how quickly if you keep talking to me like that."

Could she even keep meat cold in her space? Sprout confirmed what she suspected: storage wasn’t refrigeration. She wasn’t taking responsibility for crates she hadn’t inspected, especially when nobody would answer who owned them. Today’s goods hadn’t arrived either. Saffra could shout at an empty delivery all she liked.

Saffra ordered her chair lowered. Her men obeyed so quickly that one nearly caught his fingers beneath a handle. She stepped onto the walkway and approached the loose display table Dove had left outside her fixed counter. Yesterday’s flour, cloths, and dried fruit stood there beneath a folded waterproof cover, ready to sort after opening.

"Make room," Saffra said, taking the cover in one hand.

Dove reached across the counter. "Put that down."

Saffra shoved the table instead. Its front legs slid over the wet edge of the boards, and Thorne caught Dove around the waist before the rising tabletop struck her chin. The jar rolled beneath the counter. The flour sack split when it hit the gravel below.

Dove went quiet in Thorne’s arms. The flour she’d carried home yesterday was spreading through muddy water beneath the boards. She’d spent the evening arranging that table, stupidly pleased to have something that looked like a shop. Across from her, Saffra brushed her palms together and smiled as though the problem had been solved.

Then one of Saffra’s followers reached around her toward the food carrier. Edrik seized his right hand and folded it against the counter. Bone cracked. The man screamed and tried to pull away, but the bear held him there long enough to look straight into his face.

"I was helping," the man gasped.

"Try helping with the other hand, then," Edrik said. He shoved the man back into the walkway, where he stumbled against a carrier with his broken hand clutched to his chest. Nobody else reached for the bags. Thorne loosened his hold when Dove touched his arm, watching her face.

"Put me down," she told Thorne. He lowered her onto the boards, and she stepped around the end of the counter. Saffra lifted her chin, still wearing that smug little smile. Dove walked right up to her and slapped her hard enough to turn her face. "Pay up," she said, her own palm stinging. "Every fucking thing you broke."

The chair handles creaked under the carriers’ grips. Saffra pressed a hand to her cheek, staring as though nobody had ever raised a hand to her before. Thorne came to stand beside Dove, while Edrik watched the men behind the chair. Dove held Saffra’s gaze until she looked away, then turned to rescue what was left of her stock.

Dove crouched on the step and caught the dried-fruit packet before it floated away. Its wrap held. She rescued the cloths and waterproof cover, stacking them beside her muddy boots.

The flour had already dissolved into dirty paste. Thorne crouched beside her and quietly told her to leave it.

"Get the table before somebody trips over it," she said, reaching for the jar. "I’m keeping everything she hasn’t broken." Her voice wobbled, but she finished picking up her goods.

He lifted it with another man’s help. Dove recognized the workman who had bought one of her radios. He stood it against the shed wall, testing the loose leg before letting go. Nobody asked Saffra whether they were allowed.

"It slipped," Saffra said. "You shouldn’t leave things where men are carrying heavy loads."

"You pushed it." Dove set the jar down carefully. "I was looking right at you."

The injured follower tried to edge back toward the chair. Edrik looked at him, and he hurried past with his ruined hand hidden inside his coat. Thorne took the wet cloths from Dove without a word. She let him have them, glad of somewhere to put her hands before everybody noticed how badly they wanted to shake.

The keeper looked from the spoiled flour to the bright mark on Saffra’s cheek. "That’s enough. We can’t have people hitting each other in the walkway." The radio buyer stood beside the table he’d helped lift, shaking his head at her.

"Then she should have kept hers off my table." Dove rubbed her sore palm against her pants. "You were standing right there. Are you going to make her replace it, or do I need to start taking payment out of that lovely chair?" One carrier glanced at its carved arm, then quickly looked away.

The whole walkway had gone still. Dove wished she’d put on something warmer before coming outside, wished she’d had her coffee, wished just one morning could stay good until lunch. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed it down. She was not going to cry in front of the woman who had ruined her flour and was now acting wounded about the consequences.

Saffra stepped toward the keeper. "My household brings more trade than this little counter ever will. Tell her to pack."

Behind Dove, Edrik moved his hand from the wood. Thorne’s tail went still against her leg.

Saffra raised her voice so the men at the cooking awning could hear. "Either she leaves, or every man with me takes his goods somewhere else. Decide which woman you want here."

Dove looked at the keeper and waited. If he let Saffra take this from her too, she wanted him to say it to her face.