The bells over the door chimed as Barclay followed Viola inside, resolving to ask her about the mysterious script.
But no sooner had he entered than he came face-to-face with a mouthful of vicious teeth, directly at eye level. He yelped and jumped back, and the shop filled with the chuckles and titters of other customers. A giant skeleton of a dragon, nearly fifty feet long, hung from the shop’s ceiling. Its skull and open jaws dangled right in front of the door.
Barclay stooped low to avoid it and wove through the maze of flame repellents, shiny objects, and enchanted dragon scales until he found Viola. She peered into a pot of reptile treats.
“Why can I read the language outside?” His gaze wandered down to the sign beside the treat container, written in the same craggy symbols. It readVegetarian, and he was not the least bit surprised that most of the other pots beside it readCarnivore. Clearly, some dragons were just as ferocious as he’d heard.
“It’s Lore-speak. Everyone who’s bonded with a Beast can read it, just like all Lore Keepers can understand each other, even if we’re from all over the world.” Viola shoveleda few treats into a burlap pouch. “Haven’t you wondered why you haven’t heard me make any more mistakes? It’s because I haven’t been talking in Woods-speak anymore. Admittedly, Iampretty good with languages—I’ve been taught all my life. But even I’m not perfect.”
Despite Viola’s oh-so-humble proficiency, Barclay still felt silly for not noticing. Even when they’d passed such a diverse array of people on Sycomore’s streets, he hadn’t considered why he’d never overheard any words he couldn’t understand.
Finished with the treats, Viola began rifling through a bowl of gold pins.
“How could you possibly need more pins?” Barclay demanded. Her coat was already covered in them.
“Mitzi likes them. They keep her from nipping at my ears.”
The shop owner rushed over and, to Barclay’s surprise, gave the two of them a deep bow. Barclay had only ever seen someone bow when they asked a partner to dance. Given that the shop owner was very old and bald, except for a few white hairs that sprouted from behind his ears like onion weeds, Barclay hoped he wasn’t asking Viola to dance. For her sake.
“M-miss Dumont!” he sputtered. “I didn’t know you’d be paying a visit. Anything! Anything you could want! No charge!”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Buchholz,” she answered calmly while Barclay gaped. “I couldn’t.”
“But of course you can! Tell your father that I absolutely insisted, and—”
Viola pulled a coin purse from her bag and thrust a gold piece into the man’s hands. “I’d rather tell him thatIinsisted.”
After finishing with her, the man turned to Barclay. Except instead of saying anything, he crinkled his nose and hurried back to his counter.
“What wasthatabout?” asked Barclay.
“That? Oh… He’s just very polite,” Viola answered.
“To you, maybe,” he muttered.
That was how it went in nearly every shop. Viola purchased new treats for Mitzi. (“The Buzzerbeetle juice and apricot flavors are her favorite,” she told him.) And the owners tried to gift her bundles of additional items she didn’t need. She also bought herself a new scarf because she claimed her old one still smelled like worm belly, but she walked out with a free pair of mittens as well. Meanwhile, all Barclay got was a few disgusted looks and an uneasy half smile.
Next she and Barclay roamed the shelves of a cramped bookshop.
“It’s not just politeness. Why does everyone treat you like you’re a princess or something?” Barclay asked. “And why do they treat me like I have mold growing on my teeth?”
“They treat you like that because you smell bad.” When Barclay huffed with offense, Viola added, “It’s that charm you carry around. It reeks like skunks.”
Barclay didn’t realize it smelled even when it was in his pocket. He must be used to it. After all, Dullshire had such charms everywhere. The whole town must smell like a herd of skunks, and he’d never realized it.
“And I’m not a princess,” Viola continued. “My father is just… important.” As the bookshop owner passed, she ducked down behind him to avoid notice. “It’s a bit annoying, actually. I don’t want my father to hear I… never mind.”
She went back to perusing the book titles, each written in the Lore script. Though Barclay still didn’t want anything to do with Lore Keepers, he couldn’t help but look through the stacks too. Reading was his favorite pastime, after all, and he was curious what sort of collection a Lore Keeper might keep. There was a yellowed, weathered copy ofAn Almost Complete Cartography Collection: Six Half-Done Maps of the Wilderlands. A glossy paperback ofGhostly Beasts That Go Bump in the Night. And a leather-bound edition ofA Traveler’s Log of Dangerous Beasts.
Viola pulled out the last one and flipped through its pages. The writing wasn’t printed—it was scribbled and messy, like the notes of a madman.
“I’ve been wanting to read this! The author, Conley Murdock, is famous. He traveled all across the world studying deadly Beasts. I heard he was writing a sequel, but I guess we’ll never read it now.…”
“Why? What happened to him?” asked Barclay.
“There was some kind of accident. He was eaten by the Legendary Beast of the Sea. It was front-page news in theKeeper’s Khronicle. I heard his partner barely made it out—”
“The Sea?” he echoed.
