Neko made a face, then whisked the rest of the fruit out of Oscar’s hand.
“No appreciation for the finer things in life,” Neko mumbled. He popped the fruit into his mouth and made a loud sound of contentment.
“Do you have any apples?” Oscar asked hopefully. “I like apples.”
“Yes, yes, I have your boring apples.” Although Neko pretended to be grumpy, he was smiling as he dropped two apples into Oscar’s canvas tote. He looked around his stall, grabbed two midnight oranges,21 and dropped them in, too. “For your father,” he said with a wink.
“Thanks, Neko.”
“And do you have anything for me?” Neko asked. “You’re overdue, you know.”
Oscar never paid at Neko’s fruit stand.
He traded.
You see, Oscar was a wood-carver.
He had been carving animals and other objects22 out of wood for as long as he could remember.
He smiled sheepishly now as he slid a hand into his pocket. He rummaged around and then withdrew something small. It was a delicate wood carving of a bird, no more than four inches long, its wings outstretched, captured in midflight, its beak sharp and pointed, its eyes watchful and piercing.
Oscar held the carving out to Neko, who turned it over in his hands, studying it.
Oscar practically wiggled with anxiety. He rarely showed his carvings to anyone—just Neko, Bilius, and his best friend, Saige Cleverer.
Neko let out a long, low whistle.
“Oscar,” he said. “This is incredible.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Oscar said. Compliments made him feel a little squirmy, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot as Neko continued examining the bird.
“Your talent is growing, my small friend,” Neko said. “The detail here, in the feathers? In the face? The eyes are so expressive. Remember the last one you gave me, the tiger a few months ago? I can see improvements even from that.”
“Thanks, Neko,” Oscar mumbled.
“This certainly deserves a few more of these,” Neko said, and tossed two more apples into Oscar’s bag. “Now get going. Your dad’ll be wondering where you are.”
Oscar smiled and waved goodbye and then, his bag laden with apples and midnight oranges, he continued down the skinny aisles of East Market.
And sure enough, he found two svins for dinner.
21 These taste like a cross between an orange and a blueberry and are the color of the sky at—you guessed it—midnight.
22 Like mugs and plates and paperweights and candleholders and flock pieces (more on flock later!).