by Sarah Noffke
“Busy season?” Liv asked. “Like in the grocery business?”
He shook his head. “I’m not telling you what I do for a living. And groceries? You think I run a store?”
Liv shrugged. “You’re good with produce. I don’t know.”
Rory handed her the bag of assorted foods he’d packed. Then he picked up the chicken, hugging it lightly before handing it to her. “Be careful with her. She likes to be carried under one arm, and she goes to bed at around ten o’clock. She takes her coffee straight, and usually naps for a half hour after lunch.”
Liv shook her head at him. “You’re a very strange giant, Rory.”
He blushed, realizing how much he’d obsessed over this chicken lady.
Liv, catching the embarrassment on his face, smiled at him. “And you know what? I wouldn’t have you any other way. Stay strange.”
Chapter Eight
If Liv thought she got a lot of curious glances before when she was on Roya Lane, they were now doubled. Usually, passersby avoided her gaze and hid from her, afraid she was going to break up their gambling businesses or stop them from selling illegal magical tech. Today they gawked at her for too long, many of them poking their companions in the arm and pointing directly at her.
“Pointing is rude,” Liv fired at a fairy who was giggling with her friend, the two hovering a few feet off the cobblestone road as they picked out dragon fruit. It wasn’t the stuff they sold at mortals’ grocery stores. This stuff actually got hot when it was ripe, burst into flames, and then opened into a beautiful, delectable flower that could be enjoyed once it had cooled.
The fairies turned their backs on Liv as she passed, but were soon staring at her again over their shoulders.
“Haven’t you ever seen a chicken before?” Liv asked a gnome who had let his marmalade ice cream drop into his lap, so engrossed was he with watching her pass.
If the patrons on Roya Lane gawked at her for carrying a chicken, Liv could only wonder what would happen if she was in Los Angeles, walking down the boardwalk on the beach. Actually, things were so weird in that city, they might not pay her any notice. She could just tell people the chicken was her emotional comfort animal. Maybe get it a vest that made it look legitimate.
“They are all a bunch of freaks,” Liv said to the chicken in a hushed voice, scanning the street as eccentric magicians and dirty elves passed her, staring. “However, they see a Warrior carrying a chicken, what I now realize looks like a diaper bag, and two swords, and they think they are all of a sudden normal.”
The chicken gobbled quietly as if she knew to keep her voice down. Wouldn’t want to draw any more attention.
Thankfully, the crowd thinned when Liv reached the end of the lane. To her surprise, Subner the gnome’s shop had its doors wide open. The windows had been cleaned, and sparkling and fancy merchandise was displayed on velvet fabrics. The sign over the awning read The Fantastical Armory.
Liv poked her head through the door, to find even more changes. The carpet had been cleaned, and all of the cases dusted. Overhead, the chandelier gave off a shimmering light, making the mirrors on the wall dazzle. The only thing that detracted from the shop’s pristine appearance was that almost all of the cases were empty.
Sitting behind the countertop, Subner glanced up from his crossword puzzle. “There you are! Papa Creola said to expect you.”
Liv set the chicken down on a counter and dropped the bag on the floor. “Yes, Papa Creola apparently has a case for me involving this chicken. I’m here for my orders.”
Subner slid off the stool and came around the counter, eyeing the bird with disdain. “That creature better not drop anything. I just cleaned that case.”
“Don’t worry, she’s trained,” Liv said. “I think…”
“Papa Creola isn’t here,” Subner said, a scowl on his face as he glared up at the chicken, who was pecking at the glass.
“Well, he really should be better at managing his calendar, because he told me to stop by at this time to see him.”
Subner rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, he was aware that you’d be coming by. He has other business, and asked that you help me with something.”
“Does it involve this chicken named Gloria?” Liv asked, an inflection on the last word.
The chicken squawked twice.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re not a Gloria. Got it,” Liv retorted to the bird.
“No, it doesn’t. The chicken is your responsibility until you can meet with Papa Creola, but he was adamant that you keep her safe. It’s absolutely crucial,” Subner explained.
“When he was referring to the bird, did he use a name?” Liv asked.
“No, he did not,” Subner said at once. “Now, do you still have the sword that I modified for you?”
Liv pulled back her cloak on one side to show Bellator. “I never leave home without it.”
Subner nodded. “Very good. As you can see, my weapons store is lacking inventory. I was hoping you’d help me with that.”
“Right…” Liv said, drawing out the last word. “Because I was looking for more side jobs.”
“Well, it’s under Papa Creola’s orders, and I believe you report to him directly,” Subner explained, his hands behind his back as he rocked forward on his toes, looking important.
“I do report to him directly…when he’s here,” Liv jested.
“And also, I believe you were going to ask a favor of me, weren’t you?” Subner asked, a sly grin on his face.
Liv’s hand reached for Inexorabilis. The sword was on her other hip, that familiar small zap of electricity running through her fingers as they met the metal. “How did you know about that?”
He actually smirked, which might have been a first for Liv to see. “My boss can see the future.”
“Our boss,” Liv corrected. “And yes, I do need your help with something.”
“Then we have mutual interests and reasons to help each other, it seems.”
Liv sighed. She needed Subner’s help with her mother’s sword. Side missions were time-consuming, but this one could be worth it if she got the gnome’s help. “Fine. What do you want me to do for you? If it involves goats, cows, or horses, I’m out.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t. What I need is for you to recover an arsenal of weapons that was stolen from me long ago.”
This was par for the course, Liv thought. “Okay, fine. Where can I find them, and what sort of beasts do I have to battle?”
“I have no idea, and I’m sure it will be something lethal.”
Trying to keep her cool, she rolled her head around. “How do you want me to find these weapons if you can’t tell me where to look?”
He shrugged. “If I knew where to look, I would have recovered them long ago. All I can tell you is that they are probably hidden, and Bellator will help you unlock wherever they are locked up.”
“That’s all you can tell me?” Liv asked dryly.
“Oh, and one other thing,” Subner said, throwing a single finger in the air. “They were referred to as Dequiem set. There’s nothing like them in the world. They are all gnome-made, imbued with special magic, and incredibly valuable. If I have those in my shop, it will give it the reputation I need to compete with the other stores on the Lane.”
“Crazy thought,” Liv began. “Couldn’t you just advertise that this is Father Time’s store? He’s pretty much got the most cred on the streets, from what I’ve heard. Well, besides not being able to keep appointments.”
Subner sighed, heat flaring in his eyes. “This is my shop. It always has been. But when Father Time went into hiding, I offered it to him as a sanctuary. It will continue to be his main office, but I want my new shop to have its own reputation separate from Papa.”
“Okay, fine,” Liv said, holding up her hands, sensing the little guy’s anger rising. “So you need me to find the Dequiem set, but you don’t know where I should look. How many swords and whatnots are we talking about?”
“
Fifty,” Subner answered at once.
Liv’s mouth fell open. “I had enough trouble carrying two swords and a chicken down Roya Lane. How do you expect me to return fifty swords from an unknown location to you?”
Subner held out his hand, and a green bag made of crushed velvet appeared. “That I actually have a solution for. Everything will fit into this.”
Liv lifted the bag and peered into it, not believing that fifty swords could fit into the small pouch. “Let me guess, it is bigger on the inside?”
“Something like that,” he answered.
“Okay, so I’ll go on your impossible mission, but will you at least keep the chicken for me?” Liv asked.
He shook his head at once. “I can’t. Papa Creola explicitly said you were to take her.”
Liv gritted her teeth, making eye contact with the chicken. “How am I supposed to recover these weapons while carrying a chicken about? Can I put her in the bag?”
“Not if you want to keep her alive,” Subner answered.
“Fine,” Liv said with a sigh. “Any other impossible factors you want to add to this mission? Maybe require that I do it blindfolded, or while balancing a book on my head?”
“That would be ridiculous,” Subner stated, snapping his fingers at her. “Let me see this sword you’ve brought.”
Liv thought the gnome’s cantankerous manner was sort of endearing, like an old hound dog who didn’t much care for the spritely puppies born in the spring. She withdrew Inexorabilis from its sheath, offering it to Subner.
His eyes widened at the sight of the blade. “You’ve recovered Guinevere Beaufont’s sword.”
“Wait, did Papa Creola tell you what I was bringing you?”
He shook his head, studying the sword. “Only that you’d need help with a weapon.”
“Yes, and my mother locked a memory into the sword. At least, that’s the impression I get.”
Subner nodded, his blue eyes studying every inch of the blade. “Your assumption is correct. It feels like a full vault.”
“Can you access the information?” she asked hopefully.
“Oh, no,” he answered at once. “Only the maker can.”
Liv deflated. “I heard my mother’s voice when I picked up the sword. She said, ‘I have buried memories deep within this sword, and only an expert can uncover them.’”
“Although I’m most adept at weaponry, I can’t help you with this sword,” Subner explained. “Only the elf who made it will be able to unlock the messages.”
“Can you help me with finding that person?”
“I’m not certain who it was, but I can try,” Subner said, laying the sword down on the countertop next to the chicken, who was eyeing the blade with her head tilted to the side. “You’ll have to leave the sword with me, though.”
Liv hesitated, her chest tightening. She’d only just gotten the blade back, and she couldn’t fathom something happening to it and breaking her promise to Sophia. But she needed Subner’s help.
“If I do, then—”
“Nothing will happen to your mother’s sword,” he interrupted her. “I will guard it with my life. But I’ll need to study the weapon to determine exactly who made it. Then I can tell who they are, and possibly how to find them.”
Liv pushed out a breath, breaking up the tension in her chest. “Very well, then. I look forward to finding out what you discover.”
“Once you return with the Dequiem set,” Subner said, kneeling and picking up the bag of provisions for the chicken like he was trying to encourage her to leave.
“Okay, I sense you’re not changing your mind about keeping Cindy, then,” Liv said.
The chicken squawked twice.
Subner shook his head. “I wish you well on your travels, Warrior Beaufont.”
“Thanks,” Liv said, sticking the chicken under one arm. “I’m going to need it.”
Chapter Nine
Holding the chicken and a bag of assorted foods and staring at the hustle and bustle of Roya Lane, Liv tried to figure out her options. She needed to find the Dequiem set, but she had no idea where to look. Considering her resources, she tried to determine what the best way to solve this problem would be. There was always a solution at her disposal, and all she had to do was find it.
Liv half expected to see Rudolf doing something ridiculous as she continued down the Lane. However, he was king of the fae now, and probably—hopefully—had better things to do. She halted in front of a brick wall and suddenly realized that she was the ridiculous one now, carrying a chicken and its day bag.
How had things gotten to this point, she wondered, stepping up close to the entrance for the brownie’s official headquarters. Liv didn’t know if Mortimer would know anything about the weapons, but he was her best hope. If nothing else, he might be able to offer her a clue.
She announced her presence to the solid brick wall, waiting for the doorway to materialize the way it usually did. When it didn’t, she cleared her throat.
“Ummm…Mortimer?” Liv began. “It’s me, Liv Beaufont, Warrior for the House of Seven. Are you home?”
Somehow things had gotten even weirder. Liv was holding a chicken and talking to herself, making even more people gawk at her.
“Seriously, where are you, Mortimer?” Liv asked, refraining from kicking the wall.
The chicken bawked, flapping her wing to release herself from Liv’s grasp. Feathers rained down as Liv let the bird go, stepping back when she continued to flap until she was settled on the road.
Liv wasn’t sure what had gotten into the bird, who was pecking the brick in a rhythmic motion, as if putting in a code.
“Ummm…what are you doing, Ava?” Liv asked.
The chicken squawked twice, continuing to peck at different bricks. Up, down, up, down, left, right, left, right. It was too much of a pattern to be a fluke, Liv thought.
And then suddenly the door to the Brownie’s office materialized.
The chicken stepped back, looking at Liv with an impassive expression.
Liv pointed at the door and then the chicken. “Did you just do that?”
One squawk. A yes.
Liv eyed the bird and then the door. “You’re very strange.”
Pricilla wasn’t at her desk when they entered the office. The reception area and hallway were still clean and organized, as they had been the last time Liv was there. “I’d tell you to wait here,” Liv said to the chicken in her arms, “but I’m under strict orders to keep you safe, so it looks like we’re best buds for a while.”
As they neared Mortimer’s office door, a series of giggles could be heard. Liv covered her mouth when a more intimate sound emanated from the other side of the door. She was about to turn around and run for the exit when the chicken squawked loudly. Liv’s eyes widened in horror as she covered the bird’s beak.
Before she could run, Mortimer opened the door a crack and peered through. “Who…oh, Warrior Beaufont. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Liv asked in a rush. “We didn’t mean to sneak in. It’s just that my chicken…well, she isn’t really mine. I don’t know who she belongs to. Maybe to herself. Anyway, she opened the door, and I let myself in because I need your help.”
Mortimer kept looking to the side, seemingly distracted by whoever was on the other side of the door. Pressing down his disorderly hair, the brownie opened the door. “No, this is a perfect time. We just couldn’t hear you knock, we were so busy working in here.”
Pricilla, his new receptionist, appeared beside him, her tight skirt bunched up and her blouse buttoned wrong. “Yes, I was helping with filing, but we’re all done here.”
“Filing…” Liv said, looking around the office. It wasn’t full of papers like it had been before, and the walls weren’t lined with filing cabinets. Actually, there was only Mortimer’s desk, a computer, and the picture window.
There was a giggle from Pricilla just before Mortimer closed the door. “Please take
a seat, Liv Beaufont. I’m happy to see you today.”
Mortimer, in fact, looked happier than Liv had ever seen him. He had also dropped a bit more weight and was looking even sharper than usual.
“So, you and Pricilla,” Liv said, letting the statement hang in the air.
“Yes, she’s a fine assistant,” Mortimer said, blushing as he took his seat.
“I see that,” Liv said, hiding a grin.
He leaned across the desk. “I’m not sure if I should be telling you this, but I think of you as a friend.”
“Of course,” Liv replied. “I think of you the same way.”
“Well, it’s sort of a secret, but Pricilla and I are dating.”
“No?” Liv said, mock surprise in her voice.
He nodded proudly. “It’s true. And all because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes! You pushed me to get an assistant and encouraged me to get outside myself. And many of the cases you’ve brought to me have reminded me that I’m not getting any younger. One day, I just decided I’d take the risk and ask her out. And guess what she said?”
“Yes?”
Again he nodded. “Can you believe it? I think she really likes me.”
“Well, you are quite the catch,” Liv gushed.
He blushed even more. “So, what can I do for you today? Please excuse the mess in here. Local 420 is currently on strike for better wages, and it’s really gotten me behind on things.”
Liv glanced around the spotless office. “Ummm…I couldn’t tell. And Local 420?”
“Yes, the Food and Commercial Workers Union,” Mortimer explained, tossing his head from shoulder to shoulder. “Every few decades, one of the unions acts up, asking for something. I guess I was overdue for this.”
Liv set the chicken on the floor, again hoping she was potty trained. She didn’t want her messing up Mortimer’s pristine office. “Well, I hope the union stuff gets sorted out.”