Sophie closed the door and sighed. The last customer, finally! She'd thought that the annoying man from Town would never leave. Scrubbing a hand across blurry eyes, Sophie dropped the heavy crossbar over the old oak door and turned slowly to survey her little shop. The wood floor was scuffed and dull, the leaded glass windows grimy. Sophie winced. It was always messy by end-week, but she usually didn't let it get this bad. She had to clean…Sophie's eyes fell on the long counter running the length of the store, and she rolled her eyes. Mrs. Z. never could choose. The counter was covered with little boxes, scattered haphazardly where the old lady had discarded them. They were square and round and every shape in between: there were delicate china boxes, sturdy wood ones, even boxes smooth as obsidian that crawled with strange, curling shadows.
"Sophie? Sophie!"
Sophie's uncle made his way slowly down the rickety stairs, smiling as he finally caught sight of her. His waistcoat strained over his amble belly, and his long hair was its usual wild tangle, twinkling eyes barely visible behind the mane.
"Closing up late, aren't you?"
Uncle Londer took up a taper and began methodically lighting the lamps, casting a warm gold glow on the little room. Sophie blinked at the sudden brightness.
"Mrs. Z. stayed late, Uncle. She said she wanted something special."
Londer rolled his eyes.
"Of all people, she should be satisfied. Why, she has the biggest house in Ell!"
Sophie shrugged.
"She's not happy, I suppose."
Her uncle laughed a little.
"Such a cynic! You should get out more, Sophie, meet people. Too much time in here's giving you notions."
"But I don't want to meet people, Uncle. I like it here in the shop. Besides, I'm good at it."
A strange expression crossed her Uncle's face.
"There's more to the world than villages and shops, Sophie. You should be in Town, having a proper Season…"
Sophie laid a gentle hand on her Uncle's arm.
"I will be, Uncle. Someday." She waved her hand at the piles of boxes on the counter and smoothed a hand over her rumpled blue skirts. "We'd better clean them up or they'll make trouble; hand them to me?"
Sophie walked over to the rolling ladder and pulled it toward her, her eyes scanning the tiny niches that lined the walls from floor to ceiling, looking for the empty ones. Every box must have a niche. It was the first and only real rule in the shop.
"Mrs. Z certainly was confused, wasn't she?"
Sophie turned at the sound of her Uncle's chuckle. A tiny box shaped like a scarab beetle sat in his palm, its wings a bright, glittering green. He ran a gentle finger down the beetle's back before handing it to Sophie.
"Desert nomads, tropical beaches, duels and lovers. There's no accounting for taste, I suppose."
Sophie turned and shrugged.
"People like the same old dreams, mostly. They always want to be prettier, or richer, or bolder. They want to be knights and princes and countesses and adventurers."
Gently, Sophie set the scarab down in its niche and murmured the warding spell. "That's why we're never going to sell this one, you know. It's too…strange." She cocked her head. "Why did you make it, anyway?"
Her uncle raised his bushy eyebrows incredulously.
"You don't want to find the Lost City of Ibn-Nur?"
"Of course I do. But Mrs. Z. doesn't, or Mr. T., or Miss L."
Her Uncle sighed.
"I know they don't. But swooning princesses are so…boring."
"We're dream makers; it's our job. Besides, it pays the bills, Uncle."
Sophie stretched up on her toes to slip an azure sphere into its niche, tapping it a little when it hissed at her.
"Pretty soon we'll have enough to sell whatever dreams we want. We just need one more year and we'll have the shop paid off, won't we?"
Sophie's uncle mumbled his assent and fell silent. Sophie shrugged and took the next box from him.
Later that night, in her tiny garret bedroom, Sophie sat in front of her cracked looking glass and stared solemnly at her reflection. She saw a girl with wide brown eyes and dark, thick hair falling in wild curls down her back. Her lips were too small, her nose too large to be fashionable. She wasn't thin enough to be an ingénue, not tall enough to be a great Beauty. People called her petite if they were being charitable, or scrawny if they weren't. Sophie plucked absently at her trailing sleeve. Her sleeping robe was yellowed from too many washings, and the darning was beginning to show. She'd have to find a new one soon… Sophie shook her head a little, annoyed at herself. She only let her mind wander when she was very tired. As she always told her uncle, she simply wasn't the dreaming kind. She was Sophie Devereux, shopkeeper, and very happy just as she was. Sophie blew out the candle in a decided breath and crawled under the covers.