Chapter 96: Her Men Were Not the Ones Who Needed Training

"She paid for that space," the keeper said. "I won’t throw her out because you had an argument."

Dove held his gaze until he finished, because she could hear another sentence waiting. Sure enough, he asked whether an apology would let everyone get back to work.

"Does the apology come in a sack? I lost flour, not my temper." She pointed at the wet mess beneath the walkway. "Replace what she ruined and have the table leg fixed. I’m not asking for her whole household."

Saffra lowered her hand from her reddened cheek and gave a thin laugh. The radio buyer stayed by Dove’s broken table, holding its loose leg upright with his boot. A second customer crouched to fish her jar lid from beneath the boards. Neither man moved when Saffra told them to leave it. Dove watched the keeper, waiting for him to grow a spine before breakfast.

The keeper asked Saffra’s supply man to bring a matching sack before evening. He told the radio buyer to leave the table by his workshop. Saffra started arguing about the size of the loss, and Dove interrupted before the man could become a judge of flour.

"Look at the label. Replace that amount. Nobody needs a speech."

She carried the jar inside and handed it to Edrik, who cleared a place for it behind the counter. Thorne followed her through the rear door with the basin. Five steps took her from the shop to their bed. She sat on its edge and leaned into his stomach for a moment before fetching the pool water, his hand warm in her hair.

Thorne stayed beside the bed while her mind entered the space. When she returned, she filled the basin and washed the mud from her fingers, then finished her usual wash behind the curtain. Her reflection looked annoyingly pretty for someone who wanted to throw a chair. At least Saffra would have to look at her all day.

Sprout praised her excellent recovery. Dove dried her face and glared at its screen. "Wonderful. Can I recover my fucking flour?"

It opened the daily stock instead: six rolls of wide waterproof repair tape, large enough to patch tarps and rain covers. Four needed buyers. Dove glanced toward the wet awning, then back at the rolls. "Finally, something I can use before the whole damn place falls on me." She ignored the clothes rack on the reward shelf.

Would the tape fix the table? No, Sprout said; it patched covers, not broken legs. The keeper still owed her a repair. She could sell this to the awning crew instead.

She dressed in her fitted sweater and work pants, leaving her loose blonde hair behind her shoulders. Thorne had scraped two knuckles on the table. She caught his hand, cleaned the skin, and pressed a kiss beside the scrape before he could tell her it didn’t matter.

"I liked that hand the way it was. Try keeping it attached to the rest of my husband."

His ears tipped toward her, and the hard look he’d worn outside softened. She rubbed one with her free hand until his tail brushed the bed frame.

"Good boy," he said, looking hopeful enough to make her laugh.

"Terrible example for the bear. He’s watching you learn."

Edrik appeared in the doorway carrying three loaded breakfast plates from the cooking awning. Thick fried potatoes, eggs, sausage, and buttered toast crowded their edges. Dove took one, followed him into the shop, and nudged a chair toward him with her foot. He kept watching the walkway until she tapped his plate with her fork.

"Sit. If you hover, I’m eating your sausage."

"I was hoping we’d reach that stage," Edrik said. Thorne laughed into his coffee. Dove pointed her fork at both men. "Eat before I remember why I was in a bad mood."

Two of Saffra’s mates waited outside with their crates while the keeper sorted space. One watched Dove hold Thorne’s cup while he cleaned his scraped hand. The other stared when she saved Edrik the last piece of toast. Neither approached. They looked away when Saffra shouted from the guest rooms, but not quickly enough to hide what they’d seen.

After breakfast, Dove traded four rolls to the awning crew for a medium cooking pot, towels, and sealed sugar. She stored the sugar and paid eight Favor to keep two rolls. Carrying light goods between the counter and workshop finished her active minutes. Sprout settled the rewards while she put the retained rolls aside for their covers.

She left the clothes rack unbought. Today her money needed to survive her mood.

Before they left, the radio buyer brought over her jar lid, washed and dried on his sleeve. Dove fitted it onto the jar and turned it once. It still screwed shut. "Thank you for saying something," she told him. He shrugged and said he’d seen Saffra push the table. Dove waited for the request that usually followed a favor, but he was already heading back to work.

The keeper took them to the cold shed below the loading yard. Its door faced downhill, toward a drainage trench clogged with scraps of packing wood. Water had risen over the threshold, and the bent metal door dragged instead of closing tightly. Inside, melting ice sat in shallow trays beneath shelves of wrapped meat.

Dove stayed at the entrance while the owners checked their food. Some carried safe stock directly to the cooking awning. Others set doubtful parcels aside. Nobody pretended she could make spoiled meat safe, and she wasn’t going to offer.

"There are canned goods in the upper shed," the keeper said. "This isn’t all our food."

"Then stop looking like we have to eat each other by lunch." She pointed at the door. "My men can help fix that. Your workers clear the drain. Agree on payment before anybody starts."

Thorne examined the bent edge without touching the food. Edrik checked the brace above it. Their powers could improve the door and its support; they couldn’t turn a warm afternoon back into winter.

One owner came out carrying a crate marked with blue paint. Saffra’s supply man reached for it, saying her household had been promised first choice.

The owner pulled it back. "Promised by who?"

Dove glanced at the keeper. Saffra hadn’t just found a way to spend Dove’s goods. Apparently she had been spending everybody else’s too.