Lost in the Moment and Found (Wayward Children #8)(19)

“No, thank you for paying me enough that my family will eat very well for the next few weeks,” he said. “Will we see you here again?”

“It’s always possible, if the Doors will it,” said Vineta. “Come, Antsy.”

She turned then and stepped through the hazy doorway, disappearing. Sákos shook his head. “I’ve seen travelers come and go before, but it never ceases to be amazing, how you vanish into empty air,” he said.

Antsy blinked. It wasn’t empty air. The door was right there. How was it he didn’t seem to see it? “Thank you again,” she said. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well, child,” he said, whiskers pushed forward. “If you come this way again, seek me. You will always have food at my table, and when you tire of tolls and time, we would welcome you well.”

That seemed to be as good a goodbye as she was going to get, and so Antsy turned, staggering a little under the weight of her baskets, and stepped through the door. As she had only half-expected, she found herself in the store, Hudson peering at her from his perch atop the nearest shelf.

Vineta stooped, removing a rock that someone—it couldn’t have been Hudson, he was a bird, and birds didn’t have hands—had wedged between the door and frame to keep it from closing. When she straightened, the door swung shut with a decisive click, and Antsy felt an odd, distant pang of loss, like something had just gone away for a long time, if not forever.

“Well, we’re all here, so let’s see what we have,” said Vineta, and began walking away. Hudson swooped after her, and Antsy brought up the rear, staggering under the weight of her two baskets.

With Vineta in the lead, they quickly found the counter that had eluded Antsy before. It was a vast barrier of a thing, old, scarred wood worn smooth by an uncounted number of hands, half-shielded by a leather blotter. The register was ancient, antique and slightly rusty, and next to it, a hardwood perch had been bolted to the counter itself. Hudson alighted on that perch, preening his wings with his beak and looking pleased with himself.

“Come on, you stupid bird,” said Vineta mildly, and kept walking, through a little swinging door that read Employees Only in fancy gothic script. She looked back once she was on the other side, raising an eyebrow at Antsy. “Well?” she asked. “Are you coming?”

Antsy wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. Passing through that little swinging door felt like it would be making a promise, somehow, like she would be committing herself to something she couldn’t understand or take back. But Vineta was waiting for her, and these baskets were heavy, and she couldn’t wait here forever. She had to make a choice.

She chose to keep moving. The swinging door swung shut again behind her, and Hudson jumped into the air, smoothly gliding over to land on Vineta’s shoulder, and together the three of them made their way past shelves crowded with incoming and returned merchandise, into the depths of the shop.



* * *



A BEADED CURTAIN SEPARATED the employee break room from the hall that ran the length of the rest of the private spaces, thick and golden and weirdly effective at blocking them from view. There was a circular table at the center of the room, which otherwise held a few chairs, a shelf of dry goods, and something that looked for all the world like a wind-up refrigerator.

Vineta set her basket on the table, following it with the bundles of flowers from her belt, and handed the envelope with her remaining money to Hudson, who took it delicately in his beak and cocked his head, as solemn as if he was weighing out its contents. Finally, sounding pleased, he transferred the envelope to one claw and said, “More than half left. If we find it again, you’ll have a sense of going prices.” Then he jumped into the air again and flew over to the shelf, dropping the envelope at the very top and swooping back to land on the basket’s handle and look expectantly at Antsy.



“Hudson does our accounting,” said Vineta. “Magpies aren’t the best corvids when it comes to counting your coins, but they do well enough.”

“Hush,” said Hudson. “The rhyme was about us first and the crows stole it, as you very well know. We’re the best there is when it comes to keeping the books accurate and the budget balanced.” He looked at Antsy again, finally prompting, “Well? Did you spend it all?”

“Oh—no! I’m sorry. I didn’t think … I’m sorry.” Antsy put down her baskets and pulled the envelope out of the pocket where she’d shoved it for safekeeping, offering it to Hudson. He took it delicately in his beak, repeating the process of weighing it out.

When he transferred it to his claw, it was so he could look at Antsy with new respect. “Even more left. You’re a natural bargain-hunter, aren’t you?” Then he was flying the envelope back to the shelf to join the other, while Antsy boosted her baskets onto the table and tried to decide whether she was flattered or embarrassed by what had certainly felt like it was intended to be praise.

Vineta looked at the baskets with a measuring eye. “You’re sure you didn’t steal anything?” she asked. “I won’t be angry if you did, but it’s best if we can keep a record of which markets may not be happy to see us again.”

“What? No!” said Antsy, stung. “Sákos made sure no one cheated me, or charged me too much because they could tell I didn’t know what I was spending, and I trust him to have been true about it because he could have taken everything I had for just one cookie if he’d wanted to, back when I was trying to buy from him. He was very good to me. Everyone at the market was kind.”