SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The Wandering Shop

I first found the shop during an April rainstorm. The wind had blown the rotting wood sign nearly off its hinges, and I could hardly make out the chipping paint: The Book n' Bean: fine coffee and assorted eccentricities. I had been down that street a hundred times, but I had never seen it before.

A little bell rang when I entered. There were a good twenty five people in the small, dusty space, holding animated conversations at the counter or cuddled up with books in faded overstuffed chairs.

"There you are!" A weathered little man with a long grey beard and bells on his shoes ducked under the crowded counter and scurried to the bottom of the short flight of steps on which I stood. "They were supposed to send you hours ago!"

I blinked. "Sorry?" The bell sounded again as the door swung shut behind me.

He didn't seem to be listening. "I tell them –for two months, I tell them– ‘I need a hand behind the counter,' and when they finally get around to it, they can't even get you here on time!" He grabbed the railing and started up the stairs, each one just a little too big for him to take a full step. "How many clocks do they have upstairs, and they still can't tell time?" He reached up to grab my wrist.

"Clocks upstairs?" I asked, pulling back instinctively. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped, scowling. "I have places to be and no time to be there in. You here for the job, or ain't ya?"

"...What job?"

"What job? Oh for the love of Pete!" He turned around and started back down the stairs. "Out with you, I've got no time. If you want to waste your degree price-checking canned goods at Mal Wart, than you have yourself a nice life."

"Hey there!" I said. "How do you know– "

"I just know. Now out with you. The rain's up," he called, disappearing back behind the counter.

"Hey!" I demanded. I hopped down the stairs and moved to the counter, leaning over it between two younger gentlemen in strange red robes. "Hey!"

He peered up at me quizzically, his nose barely clearing the counter top.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ten an hour," he said, drying a mug with a ratty rag. "Room, Board, Dental. Now take it or stop wasting my time." Almost as an afterthought, he stuck out his hand (or stuck it up, I should say). "Wesenfir. You can't pronounce it, so call me Wes."

***

I've been working there ever since. It's an interesting experience, working in a wandering shop. The door never opens on the same street twice (when it's opening on a street at all), and there are always interesting people (well, mostly people) coming in and out. I thought at first it was just a gathering place for local mythical communities. I had been there nearly a month before I figured out that they were all there for the coffee.

We were stopped someplace in Ontario with a dragon egg, and I had just poured a huge mug for a lanky, scruffy-looking guy in a leather jacket. He practically spit it all over the counter top. "What the hell is this?" He demanded. "Full moon tonight- I gotta be awake! Specially with those gods-forsaken bloodsuckers out. Where's Wes?"

"What's on, now?" Wes asked, leaning over the loft railing from behind a bookshelf.

"Wes, man. The coffee. You trying to make me fall asleep and go all wolf on you guys?"

I'll never understand how he did it, but a blink of an eye later, Wes was standing right next to me, holding the Mattwell House can I'd made the pot out of and giving my shins a sound thumping with the curly points of his shoes. "Special. Patrons. Get. Special. Coffee," He told me. "People aren't coming here from as far off as the astral plane for that watery filfth- they've got StarBill's for that. I makes it, you serves it. And if it aint ready yet, they can bloody well wait. Get it?"

"...got it."

"Good." He ducked under the counter and headed back upstairs. "And that's Dwarf. Men are taller and have poor taste in shoes."

The werewolf just laughed. "Can I get the real stuff now? In a ‘flagon with a dragon,' maybe?"

A few weeks later, my apprenticeship in the ancient and mysterious art of coffee brewing began just outside of Vancouver.

The shop was crowded, as usual. Two Theri (Furries, we call them. Humans with animal traits like tails and fur) were sitting at the far end of the counter working on a crossword puzzle. A four foot tall rabbit, a leprechaun, and a fairy were bent over a card game in the far corner. Every once in a while, one of them would shout "Uno!*" and take a sip of coffee. We were waiting for an elderly Catholic woman to come in and purchase a little book about saints with ever-changing pages.

The only thing really out of the ordinary was the Fire Mages. I counted six of them, all told. They entered together, all out of breath, and took their coffee to a table in the loft, overlooking the counter, and began speaking in hushed tones.

"Are the numbers in yet?"

"No. But we lost at least seven."

I had to stop eavesdropping long enough to serve a couple of patrons, and they got quieter. I caught the tail end of the conversation a few minutes later.

"We'll never get anywhere until we know how it's gone in Vegas."

"Hey!" The one closest to the railing exclaimed. He looked around, surprised, to see if anyone heard, and then stood. "Keep it quiet. This place is crowded." He came down the stairs, the frayed hem of his red robes dragging on the floor as he approached the counter.

"What's up?" I asked, taking his cup.

He brushed his hair out of his face. "Vampires."

I was going to ask him to elaborate when a Brownie carrying an envelope nearly twice his own size burst in through the package slot and jumped down from the stairs onto the counter. "Is Wesenfir here? I have to speak to Wesenfir!"

"Hey!" I grabbed a rag. "You wanna watch not to drag mud all over my counter?"

He leaned way over, counterbalancing himself with the letter, and peered behind the counter. "Wesenfir?"

"He's in the back," I told him, reaching for the letter. It bore the seal of the Gryphon Express, and was clearly marked Trans-Temporal Last Week Delivery. "Have a cup of coffee and wait."

"No good no good no good!" He leapt off of the counter, using the envelope as a parachute of sorts to glide down towards the storeroom door.

"Hey wait– you can't go back there!" I reached down to grab him, but he jumped over my hand and knocked me in the ankle with his letter. "Wesenfir!" He called. He smacked into the door to make it open, and ducked in through the gap. "Wes!"

"Hey, stop!" I followed after him. "Wes, I'm sorry, I told him he couldn't come back here–"

"It's urgent," The brownie insisted.

Wes raised an eyebrow. He was busy tending to his coffee beans. "Urgent enough you couldn't take a cup o' joe and wait the odd ten minutes?"

"It's from... upstairs."

Wes's eyes snapped up. He wiped his hands off on his beard and snatched the letter out from on top of the brownie, tearing it open with an apparent lack of regard for the contents. He pulled out a sheet of thin yellow typing paper and read over it quickly.

The brownie waited.

Wes read over it again. Halfway through his third read, he stopped to glare down at the small delivery boy. "You don't need a reply from me, so why are you still breathing on my bean plants?"

I had never seen anyone disappear faster. I pulled the door ajar so he could get back through it. "What was that all about?"
Wes shrugged and put the letter in the back pocket of his overalls. "Come plant a seedling. I'll show you how."

The shop nestled itself into the side of a cliff the next day, and the window looked out over endless waves of sand. Despite the apparent distance from any civilization, there wasn't an empty stool on the counter within a half hour of our arrival. A pickup chess tourney started up by the far wall, but everyone seemed a little too on edge to really play. A tall, pale-skinned fellow with bright red robes that looked a little the worse for wear appeared in the doorway a few hours after nightfall.

"Aiden! You look like death warmed over," someone called. Everyone laughed nervously.

But Aiden just grinned. "I just dusted one of Dracula's misbegotten heirs. Who's buying?"

The Book n' Bean exploded with chatter. Twelve wallets appeared simultaneously, and a people seemed to be jumping all over themselves to free him up a stool.

"Where?"

"When?"

Aiden pointed at a large cookie I'd just pulled out of the oven. "Vegas. Tonight."

"Vegas? You mean Xanitos? You're full of it, man!"

He grinned. "Yeah? Check this out." He pulled out a silver engagement ring, its large center diamond flanked with sparkling rubies.

"Good gods!"

"Holy...."

Everyone leaned in to get a better view. "That's his, alright," a sand wizard growled. "He took off a tourist from New Zealand two months ago. No one ever found the body."

"Told you," Aiden said with a grin. "Never doubt the Fire Mage." He shoved it across the table. "Here. Word from upstairs is you all will need this in stock pretty soon. Irish Coffee. Large."

I nodded and picked it up. "Coffee's on us, then. Now, what about this vampire?"

"Ask him later," Wes ordered, appearing in the back doorway. "Your beans are ready for picking."

I spun around. "Are you kidding? I just planted those!"

Wes blinked. "You live in a wandering shop. It is run by a dwarf." He folded his arms and quirked an eyebrow. "...And you are surprised that your coffee beans grow quicky? Don't be daft."

A Furrie at the counter chuckled.

"Come on, then," he said. "Get to them before they're overripe."

Three hours later, I was listening to a very inebriated Aiden while watching my beans dry on the wood-burning stove.

"...and then he says to me, he says: ‘I could kill you with a thought.' And I says back: ‘yeah, but I can kill ya with a fireball!'"

The remaining patrons laughed.

"Right then," Wes said. "Out with all of you. We have places to be... 'don't have to go home; can't stay here' and all that. Much obliged for the ring, Aiden. Stay out of trouble, hard as that is for you."

"It's near midnight," I noted, as a green-haired witch and a fairy with a skateboard helped Aiden manage the front stairs.

Wes only shrugged. "Just got word from upstairs. We're needed in New Zealand. Stroke of luck, getting that ring. Belonged to someone's mother. Watch that stove, now. Don't let 'em get too dry."

He looked upset when next we moved. I was in the back, roasting my beans, and he had just returned the ring to its rightful owner. I asked him about it, but he only shrugged. "Don't burn those beans, now."

The next few days were busy, and Wes was hardly coming out of his room at all. Every place we stopped, we heard about Xanitos.

In Chicago, I remember talking to a short gentleman who was positively swimming in his suit. He had a table full of papers spread out in front of him, and so much coffee in his system he seemed to be picking up a nervous twitch. He slid his cup towards me. "Black."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Insurance claims. Overflow from the Vegas office. Some hotshot Fire Mage took out a big-time vampire."

"Yeah," I said, setting the full mug back in front of him. "Aiden MacCorbin."

"Well," he explained, taking another nervous sip, "he used so much magic doing it, he blew out every enchantment from El Paso to L.A."

"Aye," Wes said, cleaning out the hand-cranked grinder. "We got out just ahead of the shockwave."

"This pot's running low," he added. "grind up your beans." He had a satchel with him behind the counter, and he kicked it out of the way to get at the coffee machine. "Not too fast, now. Don't get careless."

"In any case," the insurance guy added, "I think we can all breathe a little easier with the Fire Mages on top."

Wes shrugged. "I won't be breathing any easier until tomorrow. You done with those beans already?"

"...feels like it," I said.

He took the lid off the grinder and shook the contents around a little. "Hm. Right then, you know how to do the rest."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"Never you mind," he replied. "Mind that coffee pot."

He jumped a little when the bell over the door sounded. It was a pair of tooth fairies.

"You alright?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Fine." He got up and disappeared into the loft. I pulled the pot out of the coffee machine a few minutes later, and Wes reappeared at my side. "Give me a try of that before you start serving it up," he said.

"What, don't you trust me?" I asked, pouring him a cup.

"Black," he answered.

I laughed a little and handed him the mug. He took a long sip, moving it around in his mouth as if examining it. He swallowed a moment later, nodded at me, and picked up his satchel with a grunt. Then he ducked under the counter and brushed past the fairies, who were playing poker for molars.

"Well?" I asked.

He stopped at the base of the stairs and took a long look around. "There's instructions for you written out in the back. You're due in Madrid tomorrow, bright and early. Those magic shoes in the back are going to a little girl."

"Hey wait... are you leaving?"

"Quick one, aren't we?" He asked. "I've been reassigned." He took a long sip of coffee and then set the mug down and knocked on the wall. "Take care of her, now."

"Wes, what the-"

"Just... Make sure you make ‘em all that good, yeah?"

I nodded. With one last, long look around, he tipped his hat and walked out. The bell chimed as the door shut behind him, and I just stood there, staring at it. I wanted to believe he'd reapper, but deep down, I knew he wouldn't. The owner of a shop can never leave it. They're tied in with the strange magic that moves it from place to place. If he could leave, it meant that the people upstairs had shifted the magic to someone else. To me.

A pair of shoulder dragons driften in through the open window, snapping me out of my reverie. I poured them a coffee dish ('we don't want to be any trouble,' they insisted. 'Just give us one; it will be less to wash. Cream and sugar, please.') and set it on the windowsill for them.

"Where's Wes?" one of them asked, leaning over to lap up their coffee.

"Y-you just missed him," I answered.

"Wait, he's...?" they paused, and I could see a mix of emotion in their eyes. Sorrow and condolences, congratulations and hope. "Oh."

I attempted a smile, and they returned it. "I'm sure they've reassigned him someplace nice," they offered.

I nodded, and disappeared into the back to look for his instructions.

I met my first vampire the next day. He burst into the shop barely ten minutes after sunset. At first, I thought he was just a Goth, but then I saw the fangs, and the coal-black eyes that seemed to smoulder in their sockets.

"Where's Wesenfir?" he demanded.

"Gone," I answered, taking a step back.

"I'm not messing around– I know he sold that spell book to MacCorbin– where is he?"

"He's gone," I repeated.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

I grabbed a piece of firewood and opened the stove door. "Put those fangs away or get out of my shop."

His fangs disappeared. "So he's gone?"

"Did I stutter?"

He took out his wallet. "Then I'll have some coffee."

*Uno: Spanish. "One." The name of a popular card game in which players try to get rid of all their cards, but must declare 'Uno!' when they have one card left.