“Bob retired from the police force,” I informed Pffift. “He left Donovan in charge of my old restaurant and asked me to bring him over to explore this planet, but he’s barely left the village since he got here. Maybe you can talk him into a bit of sightseeing.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Sleeping. He says that it’s not a vacation unless you stay in bed until after everybody else goes to work.”

  “Interesting philosophy. So what about my business proposition?”

  “What business proposition is that?” Sue asked.

  “He wants me to give him advance information about the worlds I’m scouting so he and Saul can take advantage of any market opportunities,” I told her. “What I don’t get, Pffift, is where you’re going to find the time.”

  The Hanker swallowed the last of his sandwich and took a large bite of pickle before replying. Perhaps he needed the pickle juice to wet his throat. Feeling a bit guilty, I went back around the bar and lit an alcohol burner to boil some water for tea, his preferred drink.

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” Pffift said, though I swear he was actually addressing himself to Sue. “You try to do everything yourself while I’ve learned how to delegate. You can’t claim to be a successful leader if you’re also the one doing all of the work. At best, you could claim to be good at managing your own time. I’ll bet you still work behind the bar when you’re in town.”

  “I like working,” I defended myself. “If the customers want to talk, there’s always something to learn, and otherwise I have plenty to think about.”

  “Like how many more tankards you can squeeze out of a keg, or whether or not you remembered to tell Sue that you’re out of homemade pretzels?”

  “We’re out of pretzels?”

  “That’s not the point,” Pffift said. “You could hire any human tall enough to see over the bar and train them to do your job in less time than it takes me to cook my books every year. Just look at your team members. I heard from Saul that Helen has gone into business with Kim and Justin and they already have locations in the capital cities of three provinces. Where are they, by the way?”

  “Kim and Justin are usually filling prescriptions for their mail order business at this time of the morning,” Sue told him, gesturing across the street. “Helen recently moved back here from the capital, though she’s away at the moment for a new grand opening in another province.”

  “Gee. I wonder how they manage to operate so many locations at the same time?” Pffift inquired facetiously. “Wait, don’t tell me. I’ll bet they trained people to do it for them. What a concept.”

  “Alright, Pffift,” I said. “I get your point. But in addition to the business, I have Sue and eBeth to think about.”

  “Thank you, Mark,” my second-in-command said. “Don’t you think he’s good husband and father material, Pffift?”

  “I’d have to see his Library account balance statement before I answer that question,” the Hanker replied.

  I heard the tell-tale scrabbling of claws in the front hall as Spot took the corner into the dining room at a speed I would have associated with a much younger dog, or mage. He ran right over to us and jumped up, placing his front paws on the bar.

  “I’m honored by your presence, your Archmageness,” Pffift said, bowing his head respectfully. “Mark forced me to give him your biscuits and he made Sue hide them in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I hissed at the Hanker as Spot turned his glare on me. “You know that you’ll just eat them all at once and be sad about it later,” I told the Archmage. He growled and showed his canines. “Fine, have it your way, but don’t come crying to me next week. Go ahead and give him his tin, Sue.”

  She gave me a wink over the dog’s head, making it clear that she had caught my hint, and fortunately, the Hanker played along. A minute later she returned with a single tin of biscuits, pulled off the lid, and set it on the floor for Spot. He was still nosing around in the box when Art entered the room.

  “Pffift,” the Original greeted the Hanker. “Good to see you. The Archmage told me you had arrived, but unless you’ve greatly improved your cloaking technology since the last time you were here, you must have moved your landing field.”

  “I set down much closer to town on a local farm, and I have a special shipment of magical learning aids for you. The Regent of Eniniac herself made up the consignment and told me you had already agreed on a price.”

  “As we have. Thanks to our sensei, we’re now moving ahead with our studies much more rapidly than we would have believed possible.”

  “Have you gotten to the point of being able to alter customs records on magically protected information technology infrastructure?” Pffift asked.

  “That’s not really in my scope of interest,” Art told him. “It’s possible that some of my fellow vacationers are delving into those areas.”

  “Let me know if any of them are looking for paying gigs.”

  “eBeth told me that you can levitate small objects,” Sue said to the Original. “Have you ever considered doing a magic show for children?”

  “You could saw one of them in half,” Pffift suggested, drawing a dark look from Sue. “Just kidding. What’s your best trick, Art?”

  “Our teacher discourages us from using magic for trivial purposes, but if he’ll allow it…”

  Spot looked up from where he was curled around the box of biscuits and gave a sort of a shrug.

  “Bring a new barrel of beer, Mark, but don’t tap it.”

  “Good timing,” I told him, and pulled the tap from the empty barrel and set it in the sink to be cleaned. Then I came around the bar to the front and took the empty keg over to the others decorating the front wall before returning with a full barrel. “Now what?”

  “Give me an empty tankard.”

  “I’ve got this,” Pffift said, reaching over the bar and dumping his remaining ale into the bucket before handing his tankard to the Original.

  Art put one hand on the rounded side of the horizontal keg and made a small funnel shape over the empty tankard with his hairy, three-fingered hand. Then he began making a sound somewhere between a hum and a whistle that had a certain musical quality. For a long minute, nothing happened, but then a stream of ale began cascading into the tankard.

  “That’s amazing,” Sue praised the Original. “I can’t even imagine how useful it would be if you can do it on a larger scale.”

  “That’s the first practical magic not involving data storage systems I’ve ever seen,” Pffift exclaimed. “I’d be willing to reduce my commission on the supplies I’m bringing in from Eniniac if the Archmage could teach me that.”

  “You’re just thinking you’ll never have to pay for a drink again,” I said. “Speaking of which, that ale is coming out of my keg even if I’m not drawing it, so it will cost you six copper.”

  “It was four copper the last time I was here!”

  “That’s before we became a café and raised our prices.”

  Art’s humming stopped just as the foam reached the rim of the tankard, and Spot’s tail thumped the floor a few times in a show of approval.

  “Are your clones all progressing at the same speed?” I asked.

  “You seem to forget that we’re all me, just distributed over a number of bodies. We may seem to be moving in opposite directions at times, but you’re really just observing different aspects of my mind coming to the fore. When we’re all in close physical proximity and concentrating on the same goal, I can achieve a much higher flow rate.”

  “Can you do it from a distance?” Pffift asked, obviously focused on the potential for liquid larceny.

  “I can’t,” Art replied. “You’d have to ask the Archmage what’s possible. For all we know, he could be drinking out of the keg as we speak.”

  I looked at Spot suspiciously. Was it my imagination, or had I been filling his water bowl less often than back on Earth. Trying not to be too obvious, I lifted the new keg and made a mental note of its weight.

  “Are you going to start forcing your baristas to keep a record of every tankard they draw?” Pffift asked.

  Sometimes I would swear that out of all of my friends, the Hanker was the best mind-reader.

  “Just making sure it’s stable before I drive in the tap,” I lied. “Now, where’s my mallet?”

  “Mind if I pour one for myself?” Art asked while I searched behind the bar.

  “Knock yourself out,” I told him.

  Eleven

  “You know,” Bob said, after we all piled out of the bus. “I’ve been to more county fairs than you can count, but this is the first time I haven’t been working the police detail.”

  “I can count pretty high,” Monos objected, “and Naomi can count even higher because she just adds ‘plus one’ to whatever I say.”

  “You guys have counting contests?” eBeth asked her young business partners.

  “Not since our first year at school,” Naomi replied. “Why did you even bring that up, Monos?”

  “Because he challenged me.”

  “It’s an expression where Bob comes from,” I informed the boy. “It just means he’s been to a lot of county fairs.”

  “I’ve got to get going now or I’m going to start losing potential customers to the hayride,” Peter called from the driver’s seat of the steam-powered bus. “Don’t forget you promised to bring me something good for lunch, eBeth.”

  “I won’t—forget, I mean. See you in around four hours,” she shouted back.

  “Why doesn’t he take a break for lunch so we can all eat together?” Sue asked.

  “Paul is letting him keep half of the income from giving rides around the fair, and yesterday he made almost ten silver.”

  “Ten silver!” Monos exclaimed. “I want to drive the bus.”

  “You aren’t old enough,” eBeth told him. “You have to be at least sixteen.”

  “I’ve been driving my family’s oxcart since I was eight, and oxen are stubborn. All Peter has to do is turn the wheel and push the lever forward when he wants it to go faster.” A few hundred feet away at the pick-up point for tours, eBeth’s boyfriend pulled the steam release valve, giving off a whistle that could be heard all over the fairgrounds. “Oh, and pull the rope when you want it to whistle.”

  “Still, how much would it cost him to take off a half an hour for lunch?” Sue persisted.

  “He’s saving for something,” eBeth said. Then she blushed lightly and added, “I think it’s for me.”

  “Ah, that’s different then. Well, the women in my weaving circle told me there are always booths selling dress patterns, and I doubt that any of you will be interested in that, so why don’t you go ahead and I’ll find you later.”

  “I’m going to help Mark do some shopping for the café,” eBeth told her young partners after Sue headed off in the direction of the home-crafting section, which stretched for a hundred booths towards the first agricultural tent. “Do you two want to stay with us or are you going to try the rides?”

  “The rides,” Monos answered for both of them, without hesitation.

  “If you get tired and you can’t find us, hop on the bus and tell Peter to give three short whistles,” I told them. “We’ll come and meet you. Spot, where are you going?”

  The Archmage ignored me and followed the children, apparently more interested in rides than shopping.

  “What sort of decorations are we looking for?” Bob asked eBeth, proving that he had correctly identified the true leader of the café shopping expedition.

  “Anything old that fits in,” she told him. “When Mark bought The Eatery, it didn’t have many tea cups or saucers since they mainly sold local meat dishes and ale. On top of that, all of the dishes and stuff they did have matched because they bought it from a mail order supplier. Then, when Mark went back to Earth and ordered those espresso machines, he bought matching cups for them as well.”

  “And nobody has complained,” I pointed out.

  “Your cups lack character,” eBeth said. “It’s supposed to be a café, not a chain restaurant. Helen took me to a cool place near her college back on Earth and nothing there matched.”

  “She has a point,” Bob concurred. “After I took over your restaurant and quit drinking, I started going to some local cafés myself. Most of the cups and plates looked like they had been bought at tag sales.”

  I wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of spending good coin on damaged crockery, but I knew that the baker and his extended family had bought new tableware in bulk for all of the eating places they had opened in the village, so maybe a bunch of mismatched cups and saucers would help my café stand out from the crowd. Besides, used china had to be cheaper than new. The fallacy of my logic became clear with eBeth’s first purchase.

  “Ten copper a cup? I can get new ones for less than half of that.”

  “Not like these, Mark,” eBeth explained. “Just look at the gold on the handles and the rims.”

  “It’s gilt, not real.”

  “Duh. And the flower pattern on this one is so pretty.”

  “Half of the blue blossoms are chipped off,” I pointed out.

  “That’s what I meant by character. Let me do the shopping and you do the paying.”

  “Practicing for being married?” Bob asked me, as eBeth moved on to the next table and began making a pile of unmatched plates that were painted with fanciful representations of various desserts.

  “Very funny.” I paid the owner of the booth and waited expectantly for him to pack the cups for me. Instead, he busied himself marking prices with a grease pencil on new inventory that he drew from a seemingly endless supply under the table. “Don’t I get a box with these?”

  “Three copper.”

  “For an empty box?”

  “I’ll throw in some paper for wrapping cups.”

  I sighed and forked over three copper coins, packed my purchases, and then followed Bob on eBeth’s trail of value destruction. An hour later, when we reached the end of the booths that specialized in ripping off new café owners, I was convinced that the box had been my best purchase.

  “Look at that barrel,” Bob said, pointing at an oversized bucket made of straight slats that didn’t even touch each other. “I could have built one of those even without YouTube videos.”

  “It’s some kind of fruit press,” I deduced from the long handle screwed through the metal frame where it crossed over the top of the bucket. “You could fill it with pieces of apple, screw down the handle, and the juice comes out between the slats and runs into that tray.”

  “Buy it,” eBeth advised.

  “We have an iron juicer that fits on the counter and is good for making single drinks,” I told her. “One pressing from that thing would make more juice than we sell in a week.”

  “I didn’t mean to make juice with, Mark. It’s got great visuals. I can see it in the front corner between the two small tables as a privacy screen.”

  “Or, we could fill the whole café with antique junk and take out all of the tables save one. That would be really private.”

  “Just because you’ve become human enough to understand sarcasm doesn’t mean you should attempt it,” she told me. “At least find out how much it is.”

  The eclectic collection of broken tools and mechanical devices displayed on the large table made me suspect that somebody had found them while cleaning out a hayloft. I reluctantly approached the woman, set down my box of mismatched china, and promised myself to bargain her down to half of the asking price.

  “Does the fruit press still work?”

  “Beats me,” she replied. “The screw looks pretty rusted up and some of the slats don’t look like they’d take the pressure if it turned, though the iron hoops holding the thing together are in decent shape.”

  “So, how much?” I asked.

  “If you had been here the first day of the fair, the price was five silver.”

  “Five silver! How about the second day?”

  “Four silver,” she replied, and I swear the corner of her mouth twitched up.

  “The third day?”

  The woman held up three fingers.

  “Isn’t today the tenth day of the fair?” I asked.

  “The last,” she agreed.

  “So how much is it now?”

  “Ten copper. If you want to gamble on waiting to the end of the day, you can have it for free if nobody takes it. The same goes for all of this junk.”

  “So you really are cleaning out a hayloft.” I congratulated myself on my insight.

  “Cow shed, but same difference,” she replied, and snuck a peek in my cardboard box. “If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned out my kitchen cabinets as well.”

  “Ten copper works for me,” I said, feeling that bargaining at this point would just be rude.

  “You look like a strong man. You could stack all of your treasures in the tub and leave the box with me.”

  “I paid three copper for this box,” I told her, and beckoned to Bob. “Which one of these do you want to carry?”

  “The box looks cleaner.”

  “We should go wait on the track around the fairgrounds for Peter to come by so you can put those things in the luggage storage space under the bus,” eBeth suggested.

  “I don’t mind carrying the press around,” I said hastily, fearing that the girl wanted to clear the decks for another load. “Are you alright with the box, Bob?”

  “Don’t worry, Mark. I’m done for now,” eBeth said. “It’s better not to do all the buying for something like this in one place. There will be more fairs.”

  “I can’t wait,” I muttered.

  “Hey,” Bob said, stopping at a booth on our way to intercept the bus. “Isn’t that one of those drawknives you said I’d need to shape real barrel staves?”

  I paused to examine the collection of woodworking tools on the table the former policeman had pointed out. “Yes, but you don’t need it now. The form we made up for Spot’s cask is finished, I just need to pop over to Earth and pick up the right resin for the laminations. But those carving tools look like they’re perfectly suited for woodblock printing.”

 

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