Morning came without a sky. The blue glow along the hall brightened, the lamp steadied, the fountain kept its quiet talk.
Pebble checked the coin drawer like it had a tiny job to do. Tap, tap, tap… then a pleased little click when the stacks sat neat.
"Rent," I said to the dot. "How do we pay."
"At rest," Thyra wrote. "Ten percent."
"Round up or down."
"Down."
"Thank you," I said.
I set the price board on the counter and wrote in clear letters.
Bread, two small coins.
Water, free.
Fruit, two small coins.
Lantern, one medium coin.
Oil tin, two small coins.
Rope coil, one medium coin.
Balm jar, one medium coin.
Bandage roll, two small coins.
Needles and thread, one small coin.
Flask, one small coin.
I kept the list simple. No tricks. A tired eye should not work hard.
"Tools," I said. "Please."
The hatch slid. A wrapped roll dropped into my hands. Inside were a knife, an awl, small pliers, a clamp, a hand drill, and a file. Old, but clean. The kind of tools that made my hands feel calm.
Pebble sniffed the knife and patted it once, as if to say… careful. I moved the blade farther from the edge.
Steps came fast. Rook slipped into the safe zone like a stone skipped over water. Hair a mess, grin big, pack too light.
"You kept the doors open," he said.
"That is the job," I said. "Do you have the strap."
He unhooked a leather strap and set it down. "Ribs are sore," he said, still grinning. "You said a hook for the jar."
"No forge," I said, "so we make it simple. A leather loop that will not slip, a wooden peg, a small keeper tie. You can free it with one hand."
I cut a thin strip from the strap, shaved a peg from a bit of crate wood, rounded it with the file, drilled one neat hole, tied a short keeper. My hands found the old rhythm on their own.
"Try it," I said.
We set the moss jar in the loop, peg through, keeper on. Rook clipped it under his arm and bounced once. The jar did not swing far. He let out a breath.
"If I fall," he said, "I keep the jar."
"If you fall," I said, "keep yourself first."
He paid one small coin and hooked the little leaf charm back on his pack. Pebble clicked like a tiny bell. Thyra wrote a small word.
"Good."
Rook leaned on the counter. "Do you want to see the floors," he asked. "Not to trade… just to look."
"When the shop is strong," I said. "For now, I look from here."
"I will bring stories," he said.
"Bring details," I said. "Stories help. Details stock shelves."
He laughed and jogged out, the jar snug at his side.
The morning moved in simple pieces. Two miners bought oil and a bandage. A quiet woman bought needles and thread and a lantern, then fixed a strap while she sat. A pair of leather men asked for blades. I did not sell blades. They still bought fruit. Every sale told the walls the lamp was worth its light.
Near midday a man with a crooked smile leaned on the counter. He tapped the board with one finger.
"Your numbers are wrong," he said. "This lantern is cheap glass. One small coin."
I turned the lamp in my hands. "The glass is not the point," I said. "The oil path is clean. It burns slow. It will not smoke you off a ledge. One medium coin."
He smiled without warmth and reached for the lamp. Pebble patted his wrist. He paused. He looked at Pebble, then at me.
"Prices must be visible," I said, and nodded at the board. "They are. The number is fair. If you want cheap, the stairs are that way."
He held my eyes, then let the lamp be. "New shops bleed coin," he said softly. "First week is hard."
"Not this one," I said. "My floor is clean."
He left without buying. Pebble watched him go and made a small unhappy sound. Thyra's dot brightened, then eased.
"Watch," Thyra wrote.
"I am watching," I said.
The hatch clicked. A fresh crate slid through. Bread. Bandage. A new coil of rope. Two tins of oil. And a small wrapped bundle stamped with a black mark.
"What is this," I asked.
"Kit," Thyra wrote. "Stampede. Later."
The word set a chill along my arms. "Later."
"Later," Thyra wrote again.
I put the kit under the counter and shut the drawer.
The day stayed steady. A woman with a limp bought balm and sat a while. A small boy ran in for water and ran out with a thank you that was bigger than he was. The twins came back, peered at the shelves, and sighed when I still would not buy teeth. They left with bread and smiles anyway.
Near the soft edge of evening Rook came back. He was sweaty and pale, but his eyes were bright. He set the moss jar on the counter like a prize.
"See," he said. "Good rope, good knot."
I checked the line. No frays. No rough rub. He paid one medium coin and picked up his leaf charm. He rubbed it once and hooked it back on his strap.
"What did we learn," I asked.
"That I needed a belt hook for the jar," he said, and winced. "My ribs learned it before my head."
"I can make a hook tomorrow," I said. "Bring the strap. We will fit it."
"You make things," he said.
"I fix small things," I said. "I make simple things that do not break when a day gets hard."
He looked at Pebble. "Does Pebble make things."
"Pebble makes order," I said.
Pebble patted a coin into line and looked very proud.
Rook laughed. He bought bread, fruit, and one more flask. He wrote a small note on the edge of the board that said, ask for the jar hook. I let it stay.
When the hall grew quiet, I counted the day. Pebble tapped each stack. Thyra wrote the rent number. I set ten percent in the hatch. A thin glow ran along the edge.
"If I cannot pay," I asked, "does the lamp go dark."
"Yes," Thyra wrote. Then, after a breath, "Warn. Three days."
"Good," I said. "Tell me before I am a fool."
Pebble made a soft pleased sound. I wiped the counter. I turned the sign to REST and hung it on the peg.
"Thank you for the day," I said.
"Open," Thyra wrote. "Again."
"I will," I said.
Pebble curled by the coin drawer, a small round guard. I lay on the mat and watched the dim glow slide across the ceiling. My hands ached in a good way. My head felt clear.
I thought about Rook's charm. I thought about the crooked smile. I thought about the black mark on the kit and the word that came with it.
Later… not now.
The fountain kept its small song. Pebble clicked once in a dream. I closed my eyes and slept in my shop.
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