Elias trotted over from the fireplace with the pot in hand and a bounce to his step, and Henrik grabbed some slices of bread from the kitchen. Johan tried to reach for the pot, but Elias shooed him away. “Where we’re from,” Elias explained, “the people who cook the meal, serve the meal, especially when a meal is a gift. This isn’t a very good gift since you bought all the food yourself, but next time, it will be better.” He grinned and began scooping eggs out of the pot and onto the slice of bread Henrik had placed on Johan’s wooden plate.
They were about halfway through their meal when Johan managed to whisper, “Thank you.” He spoke so quietly, in fact, that had the elves not had exceptionally good hearing, they probably would have missed it.
But they did hear, and Henrik said, “No, thankyou, Johan.”
“For everything,” Elias added.
A
fter breakfast, the elves returned to the workshop, claiming it needed reorganising in order for them both to be able to work efficiently at the same time. Rather than take offence that Elias clearly didn’t think the space was ideal, Johan was mostly relieved that someone other than him was taking some responsibility for the shop and left them to it.
Johan stepped out onto the cobbled street, taking a moment to notice the weather. It was his favourite kind of day—the air was cold enough that his breath puffed out ahead of him, but the sky above was a cloudless cerulean blue.
Johan nodded and smiled at the neighbouring shop owners as they set up for the day, and he used a wooden step to affix the little wooden shoe and elf figurine to the shop sign.
Across the street, Mr Müller, the baker, was arguing with his delivery boy, who’d once again turned up with a fraction of what the baker had ordered. Food really was becoming a sparse commodity, but it was a worry Johan stubbornly ignored due to its being so far from his control. If things got dire in the spring, he could return to his family’s hunting cabin or go fishing to get what he needed. There was no way that the forest could be as barren as the townsfolk implied.
Johan distracted himself by stepping back to admire his and Elias’ whittling efforts, and he was hopeful that the rumour mill would do what they needed it to.
That afternoon, a man dressed in smart, tailored clothes entered the shop. His attire suggested he was from the wealthier part of town, and Johan had butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
The man didn’t say hello; he just walked in and looked around somewhat disapprovingly. “Your sign outside. Your shoes are elf-made?” he asked.
Johan stepped forward and picked up the fine leather shoes from the shop window and passed them to the man to inspect. “Hmm. But how do I know theyarein fact made by elves, since you are clearly not one?” he asked as his gaze raked judgementally up and down Johan’s form, which couldn’t belesself-like.
Johan held up a finger, asking the man to give him a moment, and went to look for Elias and Henrik in the workshop.
In an incredibly brief span of time, they had transformed the space and set up three workstations. The sight made Johan’s chest warm. Each time he witnessed them carving out space for themselves in his little world, it reassured him that there was a sense of permanence to their presence in his life.
Sitting on one of the chairs was Elias, with Henrik standing behind, braiding his long white hair. Elias beamed when he spotted Johan in the doorway.
Johan pointed in the direction of the shop and beckoned for the two elves to follow him out; thankfully, they obliged.
The customer looked shocked to see Elias and Henrik appear behind him.
“You made these?” he asked, holding up the brown leather shoes.
“The left one,” Elias replied.
“I made the right,” Henrik added.
“Do you take commissions?” The man directed the question at Johan, clearly assuming that he owned the elves rather than employed them since a free elf was rare and practically unheard of among the poor, but he just waited for Elias to answer.
They looked at each other, clearly having some kind of silent conversation before Elias spoke up. “We take commissions, butfifty percent of the price is required up front in order to cover the cost of the materials.”
“What’s the total cost for one pair?”
“That would depend on the shoe, sir.” He turned his attention to Henrik. “Could you find me some parchment and graphite?”
Henrik didn’t reply; he dashed into the back quickly, clearly not comfortable speaking to customers like Elias was. Johan could relate.
When Henrik returned, Elias set to work asking the customer questions and sketching designs on the parchment while Johan and Henrik both stood there looking bewildered. Eventually, Elias came over to the counter to charge the man for his order, and Johan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the number of coins the customer seemed more than happy to part with. It was twice what he’d made the entirety of summer.
“They will be ready to collect three days from now, Mr Von Baden,” Elias said, bowing his head respectfully.
The man looked surprised but pleased. “I look forward to it. Good day.” He tipped his hat to them all before leaving the shop.
Henrik said exactly what Johan was thinking. “How?”
