Part 2 of the Huntress Storyline
Leaving the inn, Xori made her way to shop next door—The Magpie, a little hovel of a place stuffed to the brim with everything you could thing imaginable, but none of it particularly useful seeming. On the porch, there was an old chair, the seating torn and straw poking through. Next to it, a crate with the lid cocked open, pieces of parchment spilling out—recipes, instructions for tools and gadgets that were no longer nearby. The one on top lay unfurled with big block letters visible to any that walked through the door:
Note: Remember to tell customers to have a nice day!
The inside was much the same—bits and baubles overcrowded and overflowing from shelves lining the walls. Even the windows had piles of things stacked in front of them, requiring lanterns along the ceiling to be lit even in the bright sun of day. When Xori first arrived in Rawlinsberg and was looking to restock, she didn’t even know where to start in this little shop. Thimbles were next to pickaxes were next to bags of dehydrated meats. She’d tried to look for ball bearings and glass vials, but was left spinning herself in circles from the organization.
“It’s best to just ask Mags,” another patron called on their way out, nodding towards a hunched woman slowly rocking in a chair next to the counter. “She knows where everything is in this nest.”
Xori knew better that to waste her time this time, and headed straight for the front. Sure enough, the woman still rocked.
Mags—The Magpie—seemed to be an ancient fixure in the town. She didn’t talk much, kept to herself and her rocking chair. Her mind, though, was a steal trap for the contents and placement of every single item in her shop. She sat quietly next to the counter until a patron needed her mental inventory, her wrinkled frame crumpled into a soft curve. She was so small—a gnome once, maybe, but gnarled and folded into something else now—her feet barely crested the seat she sat in. A hunch just below her neck protruded so fiercely, her chin came to rest over her knees.
Xori gave her a nod, her mouth twitching in something like a smile for only a second. “I may be heading back out on the road soon. I’m wondering if you happen to come across any more bottles I can take off your hands?”
As ancient as Mags seemed, the woman still was spry. Before Xori could even finish her question, she straightened her spine and spring from the seat of her rocking chair and disappeared behind the counter. Xori leaned over the other side just enough to see her rifling through boxes and crates that were shoved underneath.
“Thought you might be coming back for more,” Mags said, her scratchy voice muffled as she dug. “I stashed these away down here just in case.”
After a few moments, she slid three glass bottles across the counter, having to reach up over her head to do to so. Next to it, she set three bits of scraggly cotton. Xori untied her coin purse from her belt and laid three gold pieces on the counter, expecting the same cost as last time. Mags stashed them away in tin box. “And some paper and ink, if you have them,” Xori said.
“Paper’s in the back over there, on the third shelf, next to the mirrors. Ink is down the middle with the herbalist kits.”
Even with instructions, it took Xori a couple minutes to collect. The paper itself was all dried and on the verge of crumbling. The inkpot was only half full. Still, she’d find use enough for it. She weighed them in her hands, then set them on the counter. “I’ll give you another gold for all of these.”
Mags tilted her head to the side, studying the stack. “Em…I usually let a whole stack like that go for five, but no one else in this town is real keen on things like writin’, so make it two.”
“Deal.” Mags held the tin box open this time and Xori dropped the gold pieces right in it. “Wondering if you can help me with something else, Mags. Who’s Tedrick Rawlin?”
Mags stuffed the tin box back away under the counter and slowly shuffled back over to her rocking chair. She groaned as she hoisted herself up, settling back into her hunched curve. “Oh, this is his village, you know. Named after him, innit. But we never see him much, he don’t bother us none.” Mags paused, like she was mustering the strength to have a conversation.
Xori started taking the cotton and wrapping it around the glass bottles, carefully stowing them away in her pack. The paper and ink she held in the crook of her arm. “Mysterious type, huh?”
“Nah, coot’s just sad. Son died a few years ago—just a small boy—and him and the wife ain’t been keen on leaving their house much since. He sends someone to collect the taxes and do the shopping, fixes things that need fixin’, but otherwise not much ov’a peep. Most folks like it better that way, anyway” Her chair rocked away.
“Sounds more like a ghost,” Xori said. “And where’s this house he haunts?”
“Big ol’ thing up on the hill. Can’t miss it.”
Xori knew immediately what house she was refering to. Though in all her time here, she’d thought it was abandoned. “With the boarded windows?”
Mags shrugged. “Sometimes sadness is worse in the sunshine.”
Xori nodded in thanks for all the help, turning back towards the door. As she stepped back out in the street, Mags called after her, “Oh, don’t forget to have a nice day!”
