A/N: Finally finished this one! What can I say? I've been swamped, this chapter was kind of boring to write at first, and I thought it was going to be around 4K, but clearly it's not. And I got addicted to The Office, so that didn't do anything for my productivity. Such a great show. Highly recommend it. I'll try not to steal jokes from it, even though I kind of already did...but if anybody out there is an avid fan of Seinfeld, likely you are already aware of how much of a crook I am.

In other news: the entire fic has been revised. I really wanted to do this before moving on because it's been bothering for months now, and thank goodness it was because some of the chapters in the middle were train wrecks. I didn't make any huge changes that would have repercussions on the plot or require people to have to reread anything. Just added some more detail to older chapters, ironed out things I fudged in the past (*coughshieldmakingcough*), edited for consistency, reworded awkward/repetitive stuff, shaved off some fat, fixed formatting errors and typos, etc. All that good stuff. It's been over a year since I started this story and my writing has improved since then, so I thought it was time.

This chapter is somewhat scatterbrained, probably because I wrote it over the course two months, but I think there are some hidden gems in it. Guess which character I've missed writing lately?

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The Customer is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 14: Persistence

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Did you see what happened to the fortuneteller yesterday?

My lip twitches. "Yes," I say matter of factly. "Yes I did."

"A darned shame, isn't it?" Croo mutters, twisting his shriveled neck around to gaze at the abandoned fortunetelling tent. "It's not quite the same around here without him."

"Oh, I agree." A neutral response.

"I heard it was an unruly customer."

I inhale through my nose, rolling my lips inward. Exhale. "Yep."

Croo sighs and shakes his head regretfully. "People can be such animals."

"Ah, well, what can you do." I give a sympathetic shrug. "People. They're the worst."

"Uh huh." He bows his head, staring down at the counter in a dismal silence. "I just hope he's not kicking himself for not forseeing this."

"We can only hope."

...

...

"So I heard there's a toilet ghost haunting the Knight Academy restroom."

At that very moment, something within me snaps. I slowly turn around and drift toward the back of the shop, until my head collides with a wall and I can go no further. I stand there, arms dangling.

"You okay?" Croo asks. I can't summon the willpower to respond.

"Hellooo?" He knocks on the counter three times. "Hmph! No time for an old-timer. I see how it is."

My sanity takes hold of me again. I lift my head and turn around, only to see the old man skulking off down the Bazaar. No way. Did I just give Croo the brush off? I don't know what came over me. I guess I lost myself for a minute there. Wow...he must think I'm a selfish brat now.

Oh, what do I care? What's selfish is expecting everybody to be interested in the banal details of your life and every other simpleton in town you don't know or care about. Now that's selfish. Croo should be ashamed of himself.

It's not as if he ever bought anything anyway.

I traipse back to the front of the Gear Shop, my eyes panning over Sparrot's vacated tent again. That was quite a spectacle old Croo missed yesterday. When the crystal ball broke, Sparrot flipped his lid. And the table. Ah yes, the table went over. Being caught up in the moment, I didn't retain every detail of Sparrot's meltdown, but I clearly remember that as well as the barrage of offensive vocabulary that ensued. Honestly, I didn't think the guy had that in him. It was like nothing I would have ever expected out of him, like witnessing a one-in-ten thousand year alignment of the cosmos. He's just the type I could never imagine getting angry. He's always seemed so content and peaceful under that tent of his, like he was in a good mood all the time.

I guess not anymore.

After cursing me out and calling me a "very bad man" he gathered up the shattered remains of his livelihood and flew out of here in tears. He hasn't made an appearance since. I do feel a bit bad about what happened, but really, what can I do about it? Nothing. And I have to admit, him not being here is somewhat of a guilty pleasure of mine. It's nice not having those googly eyes staring at me for a change. I'm enjoying his little self-imposed hiatus.

Ugh, I hate feeling guilty. Well, the man is partially to blame for his own demise. If he hadn't tried to pick my pocket, I wouldn't have gotten angry and this never would have happened in the first place. As for my question he failed to answer, I came up with a solution of my own, but I'm not so sure I like it.

I brought a Goddess plume to work today. My last one. This has to be the treasure that will make my intentions clear, the trump card. Though I'm still undecided as to whether I want to give it to her or not. The exceedingly rare stone is the core ingredient of my sacred shield, not something I would give up readily. I could get at least two more shields made with it. At the same time, I haven't sold any sacred shields, have I?

Peatrice. More and more, I find myself drawn in by her smart mouth, respecting her witty, straight-faced sense of humor. Despite that cutting remark she made to me yesterday, I can't seem to stay mad at her. When I think of it, an odd smile tries to fight its way onto my face, the kind I try to stifle because I have too much pride to laugh at myself. There really is no one quite like her. But to go this far...is it worth the gamble?

I remove the Goddess plume from its hiding place in the storage room and slip it into my pocket—keeping it close, but out of sight. I mustn't concern myself with that right this minute. Not before I've had another chance to put my shield to the test.

For once, I'm expecting a customer this afternoon. Commander Eagus. The brute should be here any time now to pick up a special order. I must say, I'm looking forward to it. To collecting his money, not to seeing him.

Good old Eagus. Commander of the Skyloft Knight Brigade and head sparring instructor at the Knight Academy. He's been teaching at the academy since before I went there, so I had the privilege of having him as my teacher. I was no favorite of his. When I think back on his class, I mostly just remember cowering behind a shield in the corner of the sparring hall and him yelling for no reason when he didn't get his morning pumpkin soup. Get in there! he'd roar, dragging me out of my safe corner and shoving me toward my opponent. Those were the days.

I look around the Bazaar, but still no sign of him. I'm planning to try and sell him a sacred shield while he's here as a "last hurrah" sort of deal to see if this shield has a shred of hope left and this Goddess plume is worth keeping, but it won't be easy. Eagus has never been easy to please. Possessing neither the skills nor the desire to wield a sword, I had to find other ways to earn a passing grade in his sparring class by doing what I do best: kissing up. So one day I took it upon myself to stop at the Bazaar on my commute over and pick him up some pumpkin soup. The Bazaar. That was my mistake. Eagus spit that lukewarm soup on the floor in front of the entire class and then made me clean it up, screaming about cold soup and slackers like some kind of angry drunk. If anyone had walked in on the middle of that scene, they probably would have thought I had tried to poison him. Looking back, I kind of wish I had.

I learned my lesson that day. And that was that Eagus does not like above-average Bazaar soup. Oh, no. The high commander only eats piping hot gourmet soup from the Lumpy Pumpkin. Nevertheless, I was determined to go the extra distance. Literally. So three days a week for the rest of the school year, I flew all the way to the Lumpy Pumpkin and back before class each morning and brought him hot soup.

I kept up the soup deliveries, and over time, I think I slowly migrated off his bad list. It's not terribly difficult to tell where you stand with him. If you're on his good side, he bestows upon you the honor of calling you by your actual name. If you're on his bad side, he just calls you a "slacker." It got to the point where he didn't call me either and I was just "hey you!", so I guess I was floating somewhere between the two. As for the other students in the class, they had their own nicknames for me. Kiss-up, suck-up, brown noser, they called me. How ungrateful. If anything, those idiots should have been thanking me for lowering Eagus's temper. They were just jealous I came up with the soup idea first.

Despite the constant harassment from my colleagues, I did what I had to do to pass that class. The soup ploy did backfire on me one other time, though. The morning of the Wing Ceremony—the one I just so happened to be flying in—Eagus told me to get there three hours before our report time, saying he had a "special task" for me.

For what task did he need me? I had no idea at the time. All I knew was that whatever it was, I wanted him in a good mood for it. So at the crack of dawn, I tore out of bed insanely early and shot over to the Lumpy Pumpkin. I bought his favorite soup and rushed back to Skyloft faster than I ever had before so it would still be piping hot when I delivered it to him. I vividly remember bursting into his quarters, disheveled and sweaty, and thrusting the steaming cup of soup into his hands. Sweltering hot and still gasping for air, I held my head high and asked, what did you want me to come early for, Commander?

For this, he'd said with a wide grin, holding up the soup.

...

What a jer—

"Hey slacker!"

Speak of the devil.

"Commander Eagus!" I exclaim, dashing to the other end of my store to welcome him. He stands at the Knight Academy entrance clad in his full knight's uniform, complete with an elongated helmet that resembles a bird's face. I always thought it looked like the bird was eating his head. Wishful thinking.

"Hello, sir! You're looking well," I say to him as he strides up to my shop. Him being one of my prime customers, I have yet to stop kissing up to him. "How have you been these days?"

"How do you think? Terrible!" he replies. He slaps an envelope down on the counter. Great. He's grumpy today. "These first year students are costing us a fortune over at the academy. These kids—slackers, the lot of them—they just shoot arrows at the clouds willynilly like they think they grow on trees. We're going to start charging them extra for supplies if this continues. I love them to death, but they're driving up the budget like mad!"

Thank goodness for stupid kids. "Oh my, I'm sorry to hear that, Commander. Those students would certainly be unwise to take the academy's generosity for granted," I say, for once trying not to smile. I snatch the envelope up greedily and shake it once. Rupees. Music to my ears. "Well, I'd better go fetch your order. I shan't keep you waiting!"

"All right. Don't start slacking off on me back there."

I go into the backroom to put away my money and retrieve his order, rolling my eyes. At least he calls everybody "slacker," so it's not like I'm being singled out. I certainly wouldn't have been memorable or important enough in his eyes to earn my own insulting nickname. On the positive side, he has mellowed quite a bit over these past seven years. He used to have some real anger issues. Now he just gets grumpy really easily.

Several trips later, I return to the front of the shop with his full order: three new wooden practice shields and a dozen packages of arrows. Lots and lots of arrows.

"For some reason when I see you, I feel really hungry all of the sudden," Eagus says as I pile the last two packages on the counter. "Why do you think that is?"

I shrug. "Beats me." If he thinks I'm hiding pumpkin soup from him, he's sorely mistaken.

He growls in frustration, looking over his shoulder. "Where in tarnation is Quill?! He's supposed to be here by now to help me carry all this back."

"Well, it did take him three and a half days to catch that statuette. I wouldn't set my expectations too high if I were you." I give a light laugh. The laugh makes it a joke.

Eagus pushes out his jaw and makes a disgusted face, shaking his head. "You know, I didn't want to let any of you slackers advance after that embarrassment, but the other instructors overrode me. They said we should 'uphold tradition.'" He furrows his brow. "Quill has been performing his duties considerably well in recent years, though, so I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

"I'm sure he has," I say delicately, pressing my lips into a smile. Now. "While you're waiting, why don't I show you the new shield I just got in the other week!"

I saw it. The slightest wrinkling of his nose after I said 'while you're waiting.'

"Okay," he says, "but don't try to sell me one."

I ignore that last comment. Too bad for him. He's stuck here, so he gets to hear my sales pitch. I deliver it with flawless charisma and inflection.

"...and so the second the sacred shield cracks, it has already begun to heal, and you won't have to let down your guard for a second to facilitate it. As long as you don't let it break completely, it's invincible!"

For a long moment, he considers the shield in silence, stroking the edge of his jagged beard. "Okay. So. Convince me," he says, "why should I spring for a 450 rupee shield when I can just get my current shield repaired at the Scrap Shop?"

Clearly, talking my own wares up hasn't been working. So I've resorted to dirtier tactics: tearing everybody else down. "Ah, but what happens when you're out on a mission and your shield breaks in the middle of a brutal battle?" I keep my voice cheerful and light, like a suggestion. "Uh oh. The Scrap Shop is all the way back at the Skyloft Bazaar and it's not coming to you!"

"Which is why I keep a couple bottles of revitalizing potion on me," Eagus strikes back. "It's like taking the Scrap Shop with you. Let's think a moment. How many potions would I have to buy to make it more worthwhile to spend my money on one of your shields...fifteen? And you can get a couple uses out of each bottle."

I suppress a groan. He still talks down to me like a teacher would to a student. It's irritating. "So when you're in locked in fierce combat with a formidable foe, you have enough time to pause and pour potion all over your shield? When you're on the defensive and you're running from an attack? When you're in the air?" My mouth curls into a self-assured smile. I've always preferred to spar with words. "My dear commander, the enemy's not going to stop and wait for you to mend your shield. And why carry all those heavy bottles around with you? If I recall, sir, it was you who was always advising the knights to travel lightly."

"Potions are still cheaper."

Did he even listen to a thing I said?! "Well, you said you'd need to buy how many potions to make this a worthy investment, fifteen?"

"Yeah. And you know, if your shields weren't so flimsy, I wouldn't have to buy as many of them."

I close my mouth. I can't really argue with that.

"I'll tell you what," Eagus says with a small grin, tilting his chin up. "If you like, I'll take one off your hands for free in exchange for some free advertising."

I stare at him expressionlessly. He can't be serious. He's serious isn't he? "No, thank you. I'll have to decline that offer." What makes him think he can bargain with me so?! Obviously, his title has gone to his head.

Eagus shrugs, putting one hand up in a flippant gesture that seems to say, I give up. You can't helped. "Suit yourself," he grunts.

I say nothing. It's insulting, really. He must think I'm really stupid if he thinks I'd give up one of my prized shields in exchange for something as precarious as "free advertising." He probably likes it and is trying to trick me. I can just envision him laughing with his comrades about how he cheated me out of a free shield.

Just then, Quill struts through the doorway, only to have Eagus promptly dump half a dozen packages of arrows into his arms. I can't bring myself to be fake-nice to him, so I look away while they collect the rest of the gear. I wonder if Croo is still around? I hope not. The last thing I want to do right now is pretend to be happy at some family reunion occurring in front of me.

Thankfully, they gather up everything and head out before anything of that sort can happen. At least Eagus will probably chew him out for ditching him with me.

I breath in, then out, releasing some pent-up hatred. For a long time after I quit the academy, there was a nagging little voice in my head that would keep asking me whether I made the right decision to leave. That would wonder if that path would have eventually worked out had I stayed on it.

And then I would remember Commander Eagus's classes.

Now I know better than to naively think the grass is greener somewhere else. It's not. Every possible path you could take is lined with ugly brown grass. The only difference is that one has mosquitoes and the other has hornets. Knight school only gets rougher from the second year on out, the training regimen more intense, the flying moves more risky and dangerous. Even if I had continued on against my better judgement, I definitely wouldn't have made it through another year. Knights need to have a strong connection with their birds to pull off such dangerous maneuvers, something I always lacked.

At least I quit when I still had a small amount of dignity left. I could have been gravelly injured. Or worse, dead. Actually I would probably be dead. Is that really the better option compared to being here?

Then again...

"So, what are you planning to do with your life, young lady?"

That raspy drawl reaches my ears again, the one that can only belong to Croo. I lean over my counter, and sure enough, there he is at the Item Check, bending Peatrice's ear. And he's blocking the view. Croo is blocking the view.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?" he asks her. How original. He shifts, and then I catch a glimpse of her. The look on her face is all too familiar. It's one I sympathize with, one that says she has answered this clichéd question a thousand times before.

"I don't know. I guess I'll still be here for a while," she answers. Her voice is like sigh, tired and resigned. It depresses me. "I hope not."

Croo leans an arm on her desk and makes himself comfortable, droning on to her about Goddess knows what. Peatrice is a passive listener. She's bent over her desk with her chin propped upon laced hands, nodding to him occasionally, but her glazed over eyes betray that she is somewhere else. The longer I watch her, the more begin to understand.

Yes. It all makes sense now. All of this nonsense going on around her...it bores her to death. So much that she would rather stare at a wall than take part in it. And not because she hates everybody like I do, but because that's just who she is. She doesn't pretend to be happy or excited when there is nothing to be happy or excited about. She doesn't try to fool herself, much less anybody else. She's comfortable in her own skin.

Of course, her job doesn't depend on acting quite so much as mine does, but still. She's true to herself. And to me that's...admirable.

I blink, and suddenly it's forty years later. I am a cynical, jaded, old man, my body in decay, my mind reduced to mush. Sitting the stall beside mine is a wrinkly old woman with a bandana and graying pigtails. She wears cheap makeup and keeps a pet remlit or two in the unused storage vaults, and I know why. I know because that's what lonely old people do once they give up; they fill their houses with remlits. I know because I have a house full of them to keep me company too.

The worst part? That might seriously happen.

The back of my neck prickles. Maybe that was the "clouded" future Sparrot was hinting at. The one that is just a continuation of what is happening now. That I'll be stuck doing this for the rest of my life and things will never change.

No. Sparrot's bogus predictions don't matter, I tell myself. The guy couldn't even predict the destruction of his own crystal ball, for crying out loud. That proves he's a fraud. And even if there was a slim chance he wasn't a fraud, it wouldn't make a difference. I don't care what so-called "fate" tells me I should do. When I want something, I go after it. So what if I only have a 5-8% chance? If I give up, I have a 0% chance. And that is significantly worse.

I close my hand around the Goddess Plume again, realizing I've already made my decision. As soon as Croo gets out of there, I'm going in.

Finally, Croo moseys back to the café and Peatrice relaxes, resting her cheeks in the palms of her hands. I go.

Her eyes skirt over me, doing a double take when she realizes I'm coming over there and she can't ignore me. She straightens up and hails me with a dirty look, the same look I saw her make at a fly that was buzzing around her a little while ago. She dislikes me so much...

A grin cuts across my face—she's irresistible.

"Peatrice!"

Her eyes widen in surprise at the new voice that stole her name right out of my mouth. I spin around, glaring at the unwanted intruder. It's that lazy green knight. The trainee. Can't this loser see I'm in the middle of something?!

Peatrice stands up suddenly, adjusting her shirt. "Y-yes?"

"Will you throw away this piece of trash?" The knight steps up to the counter and thrusts a broken bottle toward her, shoving his arm across me like I'm not even here. I catch a whiff of expired pumpkin stew.

"Oh..." An odd mixture of disgust and something else—disappointment—flickers across Peatrice's face. "Yeah! Sure."

She takes the bottle from him and tosses it into the garbage can behind her desk.

"Thanks, Peatrice," he says, smiling at her with his unnaturally large lips. "You're a lifesaver."

Peatrice doesn't respond. She looks flabbergasted, like the breath was stolen right out of her. I'd be pretty ticked too if some idiot dropped by my stall just to throw out a moldy bottle. What a cad.

"See you later!" The knight waves to her before zooming off. I could kick him in the shins.

"So you wanted something?"

Peatrice looks at me expectantly, her eyes bright, her lips turned up into a pleasant little smile. Heat rushes to my face. She's never looked at me this way before. I almost forget why I came over here.

"Er...Y-yes! This is for you," I say in a rushed voice, handing her the Goddess plume. It nearly slides out of my sweaty hand. I quickly wipe my palms on my pants, hoping she doesn't notice.

"Oh! Thanks," she says. She stares at me.

That's it? I think, still smiling, but I know better than to say it. No other words come to mind. It's as if the information flow to my brain is completely blocked. My heart flutters frantically. Say something! But there's nothing.

The sudden urge to run in the other direction overwhelms me and I give in. Barely managing to look her in the eyes, I smile and nod to her once more before whipping around and walking away. Before I know it, I'm back inside my shop, staring down at the floor half-mindlessly. The last articulate thought I had echoes in my mind. That's it...that's it...

THAT'S IT?!

What in the world just happened?! Something else was supposed to happen after that! Why didn't she say anything? Why didn't I say anything?! I just stood there smiling like a doofus and then awkwardly walked off. I almost gag, disgusted at myself. That dope from the Knight Academy completely threw off my game. This is all his fault.

But what about Peatrice? What was up with her? She seemed to like the Goddess plume well enough, so why didn't she say anything else? Is she playing coy or something?! Maybe she's just not well-versed in the ways of treasure and she didn't grasp the value of it. It's not just some worthless, shiny old stone, it's...

It's...

I want my Goddess plume back.

My head pounds in frustration. I just gave away my most valued treasure for nothing. Nothing! I have to get it back. But I can't possibly go back there right now. Not right after that! Later. I'll catch her at the end of the day and tell her I made a mistake, that I meant to deposit that Goddess plume and I slipped up and gave her the wrong impression. That sounds believable.

I await the end of the day restlessly. Customers come and go, browsing my wares for a minute or two before leaving, but I scarcely even remember their faces, let alone their names. Once people start flowing out of the Bazaar, I muster up the courage to confront her again. She always closes up a little earlier than the rest of us, so I'd better do it soon.

As soon as I finish that thought, she gets up. I swallow. Here I go.

"Hey Rupee!"

NO.

"...yes?" I turn toward Manhands. My smile thinly veils my contempt.

"We haven't talked at all today!"

And why, for once in our lives, can't we keep it that way? Could she have picked a better time?! I pretend to listen to her, inching down the counter to a better vantage point. I keep watch on Peatrice. Is she taking my Goddess plume with her? I don't know, I can't see it. But she had to have. What else would she have done with it? I try and fail to catch her eye as she leaves the Item Check. I grow anxious as she drifts further and further away, until she disappears out the door.

I take off after her. I think Manhands is still talking to me, but I don't care. I don't know when I stopped caring.

I pursue her outside and immediately catch sight of her going down the hill. I follow at a safe distance so as not to alarm her. The sensible voice in my head that discerns what is or isn't socially acceptable is screaming at me that this is wrong. No, not just wrong. Creepy. It's creepy. But even so, I can't seem to stop myself. Some wild instinct urges me forward and drowns the voice out, roaring back, no, not wrong. Right. This is right. How else am I going to reclaim my treasure?

I follow Peatrice in a sloping circle around the Bazaar, until we are a full level down from it. Up head, her pant leg disappears around the bend in the cliff, and then I hear a door open and close. She must live in one of the houses just below the Bazaar. I only allow myself five more seconds of hesitation before pressing forward. I vault up to the door and pound on it assertively.

For a moment, there's silence. And then I hear the sound of a latch being undone.

A bad feeling stirs within me. Every one of my instincts is now screaming at me to turn and run, but for some reason my legs don't move. I'm paralyzed to this spot in front of the door. Another lock is flipped open, quickly followed by another. One, two, three, four, five...

Six.

The door slowly opens. My mind goes flock but my mouth goes, "HI!"

Peatrice's hulking, potbellied father looms over me, giving me the evil eye. "Can I help you?"

The blood drains from my face. "Ah...yes a-actually." Panic panic panic. "Actually I came here to help you!" I flash him a toothy grin, letting the smiley shopkeeper take over. "Did you forget your newly purchased iron shield at the Bazaar?"

"No." His suspicious gaze bores into me. My stomach writhes as if there are snakes inside it. I keep smiling, resisting the impulse to look away.

"Er," I draw my eyebrows in, pulling a confused face, "are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Oh. I..." A lie solidifies in my mind. "I'm very sorry to bother you, friend! It's just Henry, you see. He's new and he gets confused sometimes. He described to me a customer who forgot his shield earlier today and I thought it sounded an awful lot like you...and since you live right around the corner I thought I'd just pop-in and check!"

"Henry?" He raises an eyebrow. "You have a new apprentice?"

"He's more like an intern, actually," I say without skipping a beat. More details, more convincing lie. "You know how they are. But I guess you can't expect much when you're not paying them, hahaha!"

A terse silence, and I immediately regret the demeaning joke. But then to my surprise, it gets a chuckle out of him. Some of the tension in the air seems to lift.

"Well, you're payin' the lad in experience, right?" He lets the door creak open a little wider, leaning an elbow against the frame. "That's more valuable than anything. Cold, hard experience—that's how I learned the ropes of knighthood. Back in those days there was no Knight Academy to hold my hand!"

I throw a quick glance under his arm, but I can't see anyone inside. Is Peatrice in there listening to all this?

"So, what'd this Henry lad say that made you think it was me?" he asks curiously, a conceited smirk breaking across his lips. "The most popular guy in the sky?"

"Yes. Something like that."

He bursts into belly-shaking laughter. "I knew it! I may not be the young buck I used to be, but the reputation still lives on." Just then, his expression shifts to one of puzzlement. "Say, though. Why didn't you just make Henry go and find this forgetful feller? This door-to-door messenger boy gig seems like a job for the low man on the totem pole, don't you think?"

I hesitate, caught unawares. "Ah! Well," I gulp, on the defensive again. "Henry is very shy and I thought this would be a good excuse to leave him to his own devices and let him fly solo for a bit. It's good for him, you know. You can only hold their hand for so long, but at some point you just have to shove em' off the edge and let them take the plunge." I smile nervously. I don't know how much longer I can keep up this lie.

He smirks in response. "Right you are about that! I sure didn't fledge into a hotshot knight by clinging to papa bird's talons."

"Yep! Ahaha..." I need to get out of here. "What?!" I blurt out suddenly, snapping my head left. I squint up the hill, at no one. "Henry?! Is that you? ...Oh! There he is now. What do you know, I guess he needs my help again." I roll my eyes. "I'm sorry again to disturb you, friend. My apologies for the mix-up!"

He opens his mouth, but I bolt before he can get another word out. I tear up the hill toward the Bazaar, yelling for the imaginary Henry. That was horrifying. How must I have looked to him, just showing up at his door like that?! I try not to think about it. I pump my arms and run harder, as if to shake the experience off. I reach the Bazaar and fling myself through the main entrance, plowing straight into someone.

"Hey, watch it!"

The force of the impact throws me backwards onto the ground. Panting, I sit up and find myself looking up into the dark-skinned, partially masked face of Gondo.

"Oh, it's you, buddy," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think a remlit was chasing you."

"Oh no, something much worse," I say, catching my breath. I cough, climbing to my feet. "Gondo..." my lip curls in disgust as I take in his appearance. "What the hell are you wearing?!"

He has on skintight red pants and a shrunken yellow shirt that looks like it was made for a twelve-year-old, exposing his midriff. A pair of suspenders rounds off the eye-burning ensemble. He scratches his ear.

"Yeah...I didn't do so well with my laundry. I sort of shrunk all of my clothes." An embarrassed grin worms its way across his face. "Look at the bright side. Maybe I'll start a new fashion trend!"

Or maybe everyone will think you're an idiot.

"My clothes are the least of my problems, though," he says, an unusual edge in his voice. He raises his arm, and for first time I notice the signpost he's holding. It can't be.

"Would you believe some punk keeps vandalizing my notice boards?" he gripes. "The first time it happened, I found nothing but a stump. This time, they ripped the whole thing out of the ground! Bastard ripped it clean out of the ground!"

My entire body tenses. I feel like a stone just dropped into my stomach. I blink repeatedly and let my mouth drift open, producing a gasping, sputtering reaction of pure astoundment.

"W-who would do something like that?!"

"I don't know," Gondo says. "It's like he has a personal vendetta against us or something. One of these nights I ought to camp out in the bushes and catch the crook in the act. If he has a problem, he can settle it with me face to face!" He raises his voice, shaking a fist in the air.

I recoil inwardly as I imagine that fist colliding with my face. On a regular day, "threatening" would be one of the last words I would choose to describe Gondo. But right now...not so much. He's built like that ginger oaf. He could kick my rear if he wanted to.

"Well, what makes you think a man did it?" I attempt to throw him off scent, keeping calm. "Could have been a woman. There are some vicious, backstabbing women around here. Have you met the ones who work at the café?" I glance around shiftily and hiss to him, "can never be too careful around those folks from the kitchen. They're not really part of 'the famliy', per se."

He gives me a clueless stare.

"You know, the big happy shopkeeper family," I say as if it should have been obvious. I force a smile.

Gondo rubs his beard, pressing his lips together. "You're right, we shouldn't rule anyone out as the culprit," he mutters. "I guess I just can't picture a girl doing something like this. They seem too innocent."

"Yeah, that's what they want you to think." Time to play dumb. "What's this notice about, anyway? Let me see..." I take a step closer, peering at the message on it. Gondo turns it so I can see. "Huh, that's odd. I don't remember agreeing to this."

"We approved it at the association meeting last month." He pauses. His expression is hard to read. "You don't usually come to those, do you?"

"...I guess not."

"No worries, I'll fill you in," he says. "The policy was my idea for pulling in some more revenue. Bertie and Luv keep a second store of potions at home, so they were fine with it. And Sparrot could always use more customers. I heard he gets a few more at night." He goes quiet all of the sudden, like he regrets mentioning Sparrot. He clears his throat and continues, "and I'm always working away, so I don't mind people dropping things off at my house for me to repair if that's convenient for them. We figured you'd be okay with it too since you have that secret treasure shop business going anyway."

And here I thought this was the work of Manhands.

"So you're okay with it."

I stare at him. It's not a question. It's a presumption. "Yes! Of course I'm okay with it! More than okay. Why wouldn't I be?" I say enthusiastically, smiling. I reach for the sign. "Here, let me help you with that!"

I hold the signpost steady as Gondo hammers it into the ground. The lengths I go to to deflect suspicion. If there's one thing this day has proven to me, it's that I'm still capable of smooth-talking my way out of anything. Unless I'm talking to Peatrice, apparently. I sigh, pushing her image from my mind. This seems like a good time to change topics.

"So. How's your leg?" I ask.

"Better, thanks for asking. I'm just hoping I don't turn into a wereremlit," Gondo answers dryly, to which I offer a "haha". "It's been a rough week."

"Same for me."

Gondo doesn't respond right away, quietly pulling on the sign from each side to make sure it's secure in the ground. Frowning, he gives the top of the stake a few more taps with his hammer. I have a feeling we're both on the same wavelength.

"Yeah...I guess you must be feeling pretty bad about the crystal ball, eh?" he says just as expected, slipping his hammer back onto his tool belt. "Don't sweat it though, I'm sure Sparrot knows it was an accident. He'll be back to his old self in no time!"

I inhale through my teeth, grimacing. "I don't know. I think he took it pretty hard." What with the screaming, and the swearing...

Gondo bites his lip in agreement. "Hey! I know what will help!" he perks up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "What do you say we go to the Lumpy Pumpkin? We haven't gone for a drink in ages."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Now?"

"Nah, not tonight. I actually have some work to get done now...how about tomorrow? I'll meet you same time, same place after work."

Usually, I turn down these invitations, because going to the Lumpy Pumpkin in the evening entails getting stuck at the Lumpy Pumpkin all night long. Not exactly my idea of a good time. But right now, a break sounds fantastic.

"Yes," I resolve, my mind made up. "I think I need that."