The door snicked open, and Agna slipped in, wearing her nightdress and dressing gown. She packed away her clothes and crossed her arms, looking between the couch and the bed. “Are you sure you’re all right with the couch? We can still set up a cot.”
“Mmn, it’s fine. It’s pretty comfortable.” To illustrate his point, he stretched out, pulling his blanket up.
“All right, if you say so.” She blew out the lamp; he heard her pad over to the window. The curtain rings hissed against the rod as she pulled the drapes closed.
“Hey.” He reached out, not expecting to catch her in the dark. She stumbled into his arm. Her hand struck his shoulder, searching, and traced down his arm. Her fingers curled into his grip.
“What is it?” Her voice was hushed and sleepy. She’d hardly slept on the road, either, and it had caught up with her.
“I just — I wanted to say thank you. For letting me stay with you.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smiling. “Of course. Alaste la.”
I love you like my own family. It was one of the first sentences she’d taught him in her own language. Another impossible thing. She couldn’t see him smiling, either, but that didn’t stop him. “Alaste le.” He could let go now. For now. Keifon tucked his hand under his pillow. “Good night.”
Agna’s hand found his head, stroked his hair, and went away. “Good night.”
Agna: The Wildern Museum
A fevered commentary hummed under every sight and word and act as Agna followed the historian and the banker up the hill. All of the patrons would walk this way, and stop in for tea here, and then see the front display windows… The banker picked through a key ring feathered with paper tags and unlocked the door.
The windows lining two sides of the front room had been papered over, filtering the morning sunlight. The interior of the former dry-goods store — soon to be her gallery — glowed in the dusky light. Jaeti, the historian who was Agna’s partner in this venture, sneezed three times and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, groaning.
“We’ll clean up,” Keifon said.
“Yeah. This afternoon,” Agna added.
“Don’t mind me, I—” Jaeti sneezed again, and finally breathed through the handkerchief to screen out the dust.
Reading from a floor plan, the banker led them deeper into the room that would soon be their showcase gallery. “This front room was the main shop floor, of course; cold storage on the left here, down the stairs; dry storage on the right; office, kitchen, restroom and more dry storage in the back. It’s been scanned by our earthbreakers. The structural components are sound, no termite damage or settling. There were a few mouse holes in the cellar, but those have been filled in.”
Traveling exhibits! Competitions! Wine cellar for opening galas! And her own office. Hers and Jaeti’s, anyway.
The banker unlocked a door with filmy glass panes and led them into a little courtyard knee-deep in weeds. A peeling fence as high as Agna’s head hemmed it in on all sides. Turning, Agna saw a second door next to the first, which the banker unlocked. She rolled up the floor plan and slotted it into her shoulder bag. “This way, please.”
Agna, Jaeti, and Keifon followed her up a narrow staircase, soon to be Agna’s front stairs, lit by two narrow windows. In the room at the top of the stairs, a squat iron stove huddled by the wall next to a water pump and stone sink. Cupboards and counters lined the other walls. The upstairs windows were not papered over, and dust motes swirled in the sunbeams as the four of them walked across the wood floor.
The banker turned to wave around the room. “Kitchen, as you can see. Of course, you can convert it later if you like. The bath is through that door. Common room through here. Down the hallway, there are four more rooms — the shopkeeper’s family lived up here, but you can convert that, too.”
Agna and Keifon peeked into each of the rooms; each was dusty and empty. The right-side rooms were sunlit, facing the street. The left-side rooms were overshadowed by the building next door, but the windows let in enough light to see. When they expanded, they could transition into a second exhibit, or put the historical displays on the second floor. Someday they’d fill this place to the rafters. For now…
“So?” Jaeti asked, muffled by her handkerchief, when they returned to the kitchen.
Agna throttled her excitement down to a tiny bounce on her toes, but it burst through her voice. “Where do I sign?”
In the absence of furniture, the banker spread out a mountain of paperwork along the kitchen counter. Agna checked the bank slip in her pocket for the dozenth time and stepped up to read. Keifon opened a window for Jaeti, then ghosted through the rooms as Jaeti sipped the fresh air.
The banker answered each of Agna’s questions, jotting notes in a leather-bound book as Agna studied the terms. Thirty years. Subtract the down payment, then divide the remainder over a span longer than her entire life so far. She would be Jaeti’s age when the terms were over, if they didn’t pay ahead of schedule, of course. The more they could raise from the community and their early backers, the faster they could open the gallery, and then the proceeds could pay into the mortgage as well as into new acquisitions and personnel. Meanwhile, Agna would keep her contract with the Benevolent Union and work as a healer to cover her own expenses and pay the mortgage. She would work hard, and tap all of her reserves of patience and expertise and determination. Jaeti would pull in her five and a half decades of contacts in Wildern. They would make this happen.
At the end of the document, there were blank lines and spaces, ready for signatures. Seeing her progress, the banker produced a stripped quill from her bag and slid the inkwell toward Agna. Jaeti sniffled her way away from the window.
We, the undersigned, agree to…
We, the undersigned, are going to open the first public art gallery in the city of Wildern.
We, the undersigned, are adults.
We, the undersigned, are terrified.
She remembered to call before dipping the pen. “Kei! It’s time!”
His joy hit her like a wave as he rushed into the room, bearing her already light heart up. He waited beside Jaeti, reminding her with a soothing pat on the shoulder to keep breathing.
Agna signed the contract and stepped back. Keifon hugged her so tightly that she thought they might both explode, as Jaeti took her turn to sign.
“I knew it. I knew it. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Agna replied, with a sudden wobble in her voice. She was in a new world, her head swimming with legal terms in her second language, and she had signed off on her fate for the next thirty years. But her dearest friend was with her, and his quiet voice and his embrace tied her to her past. This was not a new life; it was the continuation of her current life. One grew into the other. And she would not step through the door alone.
“Congratulations,” the banker announced, and Jaeti applauded, her handkerchief flapping like a flag. Agna and Keifon stepped apart, too excited to be embarrassed.
“So — payment,” Agna said. She pulled the bank slip from her pocket, nervous that her shaking hands would tear it as she unfolded it. It had traveled all the way from Vertal with her, and she had touched its edges twenty times a day; it was a strange relief to finally let it go. She passed it to the banker, who nodded and studied the signatures. Keifon sidled up to set a small cloth bag next to the banker’s elbow.
“What’s that?” Agna poked it and heard a heavy, metallic clink.
“It — it isn’t much. I’m sorry. But if you’re going to let me stay here, I want to contribute.”
Agna sighed. “If you really want to…”
“I do.”
“Well then, I appreciate it. I’ll be paying rent to the gallery while I live up here, so it will be easier with both of us together. Thank you.” She slid the bag closer to the banker’s pile of papers, and the banker opened it and spilled out the pile of coins to be counted. Agna turned to her friend. “I’ll name a galler
y after you.”
“Actually…” Jaeti began.
“—Joking. Joking. I know what a sponsorship goes for! Don’t worry. A — hmm — a bench, then. Or a shelf. Welcome to the Reji Keifon Shelf of Honor.” Her flourish in the air made him smile.
Keifon bowed, a solemn hand over his heart. “I’ll visit it every day.”
“You’d better.” Agna scooped up the empty bag and crushed it, fidgeting. “Still… isn’t this going to set you back? I don’t want to get in the way of your plans, either.”
He shrugged, turning toward the open window, and leaned on his hands as he looked over the neighbors’ yards. “A little. Maybe. I’d rather do this now than keep it. I’m getting ahead of myself, after all. I don’t even have any prospects, let alone plans to get married. So I’ll save up for my house. And not be afraid of living in the meantime.” He rested his forehead against the window glass. Agna saw his smile. “We’re here now. I don’t want to forget about now.”
Agna stepped up beside him to squeeze his shoulder, and held out the empty money bag. “Now is good.”
The banker cleared her throat, and Agna and Keifon turned. “I have Jaeti’s down payment, your transfer, and this. Any other contributions?”
“No, ma’am.” Agna laced her fingers together, willing herself to at least appear calm.
The banker’s pen flew across the pages. Its plume stirred dust motes in the air. “All right, then. That’s eleven percent of the total. Over the agreed time of thirty years, with taxes and fees… here’s the plan by year, if you would both sign, please.”
Agna and Jaeti each scanned the columns of numbers. They signed the lines, and the banker blotted the pages. She swept the bank transfer and Keifon’s coins into her bag, and left the gallery’s copies of the documents on the counter. “And we’re finished.”
Agna’s whoop escaped at last. Jaeti chuckled between sniffles. Keifon applauded. As they subsided, the banker detached four labeled keys from her formidable keyring and lined them up on the counter. “Thank you for your business. If you need help or want to renegotiate, come and see me. Good day.” She whisked off in the wake of their thanks, leaving the two founders of the Wildern Museum and their first benefactor.
“Well.” Jaeti’s eyes were wet, which Agna suspected was not only from the dust. “I can’t tell you what an exciting day this is. How long we’ve waited for it.”
“It couldn’t have happened without you,” Agna said. “Truly. This is a dream for me, too. I hope it’ll be everything you were waiting for.”
“I’m sure it will.” Jaeti picked up one of the keys, nudging its mate closer to the other two. “This is to the second floor, I believe. If you’ll be living here for a while, I won’t need this yet.”
“Ah. Right. Thank you.” Agna collected the remaining keys and slipped two into her pocket, labeled Front/Back and Upstairs.
“I’ll be off, then. Time to spread the word. Mobilize the troops.”
“Yes. We’ll get this place cleaned up, don’t worry.”
Jaeti dabbed her nose. “I appreciate it. Good day, then.”
“Goodbye. Thank you.”
When the door at the bottom of the the stairs closed, Agna took a deep breath. Jaeti was an equal partner in the whole undertaking, of course, and someday they would have steering committees and a board of directors. For now, this space, this dusty room and all of the dusty rooms up here, were hers — and Keifon’s, as long as he needed to stay. Theirs and no one else’s. They were answerable to no one, for this little piece of the world. Keifon had inherited his parents’ ranch once, and although that time of his life had ended badly, perhaps he had felt this way then. Agna had never felt it before. It was like a gathering summer storm, like a fire on a winter night. She felt free and exposed, but she knew she was not alone.
She uncurled her hand and held out the last brass key. “Here. This is yours.”
Keifon took it, read the label — Upstairs — and saluted her, the key closed in his fist as he pressed it to his heart. “Thank you.”
Agna: The District
Agna and Keifon returned to the Benevolent Union base to pick up their luggage and check out. They would be back soon enough, if all went well and the intake agent answered Agna’s note, but the departure still seemed important. They were no longer visitors, passing through town.
They piled their things in the apartment’s kitchen, at the top of the stairs. Agna found her paper and pens as Keifon opened the windows.
“I think there’s an attic, too,” he called from one of the rooms. “I can’t reach it, but there’s a — what d’you call it — a hatch in the ceiling back here.”
“Huh. We’ll check it out as soon as we can get a ladder or something.” She brushed the tip of her quill across her lips, then added “ladder” to “buckets, scrub brushes, mop.” Closing her eyes, she pictured Tane’s housekeeping closet at home. Soap. Wood polish. Vinegar.
Keifon returned to the kitchen; Agna dabbed at a spot on her cheek, and he wiped off the smudge on his own. “Hm. So, upstairs first, or down?”
“Well…” She looked over the list. “I’d thought downstairs first. Priorities. If it takes more than this afternoon…”
“I’m pretty sure it will.”
“…then we’re going to want a livable place to stay. We can rough it a little—” She grinned, and he returned it. “—but, you know, we’ll want to cook and have a place to sleep and everything.”
“Makes sense. So… we’ll need food first of all.”
“Cleaning supplies and food.”
“Hm. I can work on getting the pumps primed if you want to go out. Or we can both go.”
“I have a lot on the list,” Agna said. And she didn’t know what she was missing, anyway. She set down her pen. “And, well, if I’m overlooking anything, maybe you’ll think of it.”
Keifon didn’t betray a flicker of doubt, or disappointment in her sheltered cluelessness. He rubbed his hands together and dug into his backpack for a money bag. “All right, ready when you are.”
Agna snatched her list from the counter, folded it in quarters and stuffed it in her pocket on top of a handful of coins. They’d probably have to wander a while to find the nearest stores. They’d have to learn what was where in the neighborhood. She couldn’t wait.
A few minutes later, they stood outside the shuttered gallery, looking in all directions. A tailor’s shop and a cooper were across the street, a papermaker’s was around the corner abutting their back courtyard, and on the other side was a stretch of houses. The city had solid construction, at least, compared to some of the villages Agna had seen during her travels. Almost all of them were made of wood, or wood and plaster with stone foundations; she couldn’t see any solid stone buildings from where she stood. The local style seemed to favor steeply pitched roofs, to shed snow — the less she thought about snow, the better — and dark, solid timbers with whitewashed plaster between them. It was an odd effect, compared to the sprawling rooftop gardens and stone stairways of her home city, but she could get used to it.
“I remember Jaeti saying there was a good cluster of stores up the hill a ways,” Agna said, realizing as she spoke that the whole of Sprucetree Street lay on a slant, and that the cross street did as well, angling toward the middle of town. “…Oh.”
Keifon took a few steps up Sprucetree. “This way, maybe? We can always come back and try the other way. Eventually we’ll have to learn it all.”
“True.”
They set off along Sprucetree Street, crossed the street that ran along the side of the gallery, and continued up the hill. Agna tried to note what shops were mixed in among the houses. Most of the businesses announced their names on carved wooden signs hung from beams above their doors.
First, she and Keifon needed cleaning supplies, and for that they needed a dry-goods store or a soapmaker’s. Would a dry-goods store carry vinegar? It wasn’t dry, but it kept through the year like flour or dried beans wou
ld, and back home in Nessiny, dry-goods stores always sold pickled vegetables and olives out of enormous barrels of vinegar. She’d rarely accompanied Tane when she went grocery shopping; she preferred shopping for books and clothes, and her mother disapproved of her tagging along with the housekeeper.
Keifon touched her elbow and pointed across the street, drawing her out of her memories. Agna clapped. “A bookstore! So close! Ooh, that’s dangerous.”
He chuckled. “So they can just load up a wagon and roll it down the hill, then?”
“Yep.” The thought of unpacking her small collection of books brought another realization. “After we get the place clean, we’ll need some furniture. Bookshelves, tables. Beds.”
“Yeah. We can set up the cots for now, but… yeah.”
“Where to start.” She noted a carpenter’s sign ahead and pointed it out to Keifon. “Room by room, or what? I think we should get proper bedsteads first. And a table and chairs for the kitchen. We’ll use those every day.”
“Mmn. The table for sure. I kind of… hm. I wonder whether we should do the common rooms first. And your stuff. I don’t know how long I’ll be there, after all.”
“Well, in any case, you can move it to your new house someday, so it’s not going to be wasted.” They weren’t even moved in, and he was already halfway out the door. She’d have no idea where to start without him, which was aggravating. He wanted to leave; that was the whole reason he had come to Wildern, to get married and settle down on his own. She was being selfish, wanting to keep him. Needing his help.
“Anyway,” she said, “we agree on the table, at least. Do we need anything else for the kitchen?”
He seemed to ponder this as they walked. “It would be nice to get a few more cooking utensils, now that we don’t have to carry them everywhere. A good frying pan, and a proper bread pan. A couple of pitchers and bowls for drinking water. So if we can find a tinsmith or a blacksmith or a potter, we can get some things like that.”
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