Chapter 5, The Crate That Breathed
Morning woke the shop the same way. The blue glow lifted a little, the lamp held steady, the fountain kept its soft voice. Pebble checked the coin drawer, tap… tap… tap… then a happy click when every stack sat neat.
I wiped the counter and looked at the line on the floor. Clear and bright. The sign said OPEN. The key for the cupboard hung where my hand would find it without looking.
The hatch clicked.
A crate slid through and stopped with a soft thump. A breath later, a second crate nudged its back, as if it had followed a friend.
"Two," I said.
"Stock," Thyra wrote. Then, after a small pause, "Care."
I pulled the first crate to the counter. Neat cord, clean stamp, the same simple sign from the door. I worked the knot and lifted the lid.
Bread. Bandage. Balm. A tin of oil. Four flasks. Three lanterns with clear glass. A coil of thin rope at last, white and smooth, thirty paces. A small bag of nails. Two leather loops for jars with pegs already cut.
"Thank you," I said.
"Good," Thyra wrote.
Pebble touched the thin rope with one paw and made a pleased little sound. I set the stock in its places. I left the thin rope on the counter where eyes would find it. I added a line to the board.
Rope, thin, one medium coin.
Then I pulled the second crate close. Same stamp, but a black smear across one corner, like a dirty thumb on wood. I cut the cord and lifted the lid.
A breath of gray dust rose and curled in the lamp light. It did not drift like dust. It gathered… then slid across the lid like a thin skin and reached for the bandage roll on the counter.
"Thyra," I said.
"Contain," Thyra wrote. "Salt."
I grabbed the small bag of salt and poured a thin ring around the crate. The gray skin reached the line and stopped. It pulsed once, slow and wrong, then drew back.
"What is it," I asked.
"Hungry cloth," Thyra wrote. "Eats cloth, thread. Not skin."
Pebble puffed up and made a low drum sound. The gray skin shivered. I took the broom and, slow and careful, swept it back into the crate. The salt ring held it in. When I had a small mound that looked like wet ash, I sprinkled more salt over it. The mound fell flat and went still.
"Out," Thyra wrote.
I slid the whole crate to the hatch, kept the salt circle tight, and pushed until the wood took it. The hatch shut with a soft pull. A thin glow ran along the edge like a seal.
Pebble deflated with a long sigh. It patted the counter where the dust had reached, then patted the bandage roll twice, as if to say… safe now.
"Thank you," I said. "Both of you."
"Watch," Thyra wrote. "More."
"In the hall," I asked.
"Low," Thyra wrote. "Watch."
The day began to move. Two miners came in with dust in their hair and clear eyes. Oil, a bandage, one flavor cup each. They stood and drank with both hands on the cups, then saw the thin rope on the counter.
"That looks good," the woman said.
"It is," I said. "Thin, but strong."
"Later," she said. "Today we need light."
They left with slow steps and a steady look. Two scouts came for bread and fruit and were gone as fast as they came. A seamstress sat for a drink while I stitched a torn strap. She told a small story about a husband who loses tools that are in his hand. We both laughed, then she paid and left taller than she arrived.
Rook ran in near noon with dust on his sleeves and hope in his face. He saw the thin rope and stopped.
"You kept your word," he said.
"First pick," I said.
He held the coil in both hands and tugged, serious now. He checked the board and nodded.
"It is fair," he said, and set a medium coin on the wood.
Pebble patted the coin like a tiny judge. Bright, clean, good.
"The air felt strange this morning," he said. "Like a storm thinking about itself."
"Thyra said to watch," I said. "I am watching."
He bought a flavor stone for his canteen, touched the counter with two fingers, and went out steady and proud, the new coil across his chest.
In the afternoon a quiet woman came with a boy who limped and did not complain. She bought balm and a bandage. I gave her two strips of cloth to tie the wrap. She tried to pay extra. I shook my head. At the ring of pale stones she touched the line. The boy tapped it too, like saying thank you to the floor.
Near the last light, the crooked smile came to the doorway and stopped. He did not cross the ring. He looked at the salt I had spilled earlier, then at the space where the second crate had been.
"Busy day," he said.
"Steady," I said.
He touched the air where a hat would be. His mouth smiled. His eyes did not.
"Keep your broom near," he said. "Sometimes dust learns to walk."
He turned away before I could answer. The hall's blue glow took him. Pebble made a small sound that meant unhappy. Thyra's dot brightened, then dimmed again.
"Mark," Thyra wrote. "Watch."
"I am watching," I said.
I added a small line to the board.
Salt, by measure, one small coin.
Then I poured a new thin ring of salt along the inside edge of the doorway. Not to stop a person, only to remind myself of the promise of the line. Pebble tapped each small pile once, like a seal.
When the light began to soften, I counted the day. Pebble tapped every stack into shape. Thyra wrote the rent. I set the coins in the hatch. A quiet glow ran along its edge, patient and pleased.
I locked the cupboard, checked the key, wiped the counter, and spaced the lanterns so no glass touched glass. The broom went back to its corner. The black marked kit stayed under the counter where my hand could reach it in one move.
"Thyra," I said. "Is it soon yet."
"Soon," Thyra wrote. Then, after a breath, "Ready."
I turned the sign from OPEN to REST and hung it on the peg. Pebble curled in its spot and tucked its face against its soft moss. The fountain kept its small song. The blue glow eased down like a tide.
I lay on the mat and looked at the ceiling. My thoughts stayed on the salt ring, the thin rope, the crate that breathed. A shop is a door people trust. A door should open when it should… and close when it must.
I closed my eyes with that rule in my chest and slept in my shop.
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Author's Note:
Thanks for reading Chapter 5. If this flowed well for you, please add the book to your library and leave a comment. Tomorrow the hall will be louder… and the shop will need steady hands.