Free The Evil Wizard Smallbone by Delia Sherman Page B

coiling rope next to the gas pump on the wharf, and there were a couple of pickups parked in the lot, but Nick didn’t see anybody he felt he could talk to. The stores were boarded up tight for the season. With nowhere to run, Nick followed Smallbone down the street. They passed a neat white clapboard house with an old-fashioned public phone booth to one side of the front walk and a sign to the other identifying it as the Smallbone Cove Public Library. A woman was looking out one of the windows. Maybe she’d lend him a quarter for the phone. Maybe she’d hide him in her cellar.
    Nick caught her eye and smiled. She looked a little startled but smiled back.
    Down the street, a woman in a red parka was heading toward them, waving a red-mittened hand. “Mr. Smallbone,” she called, her voice ringing in the nippy air. “Thank heaven you’re here! I was just coming to see you.”
    Smallbone ignored her.
    She patted the basket hanging on her arm. “I’ve got your meat order right here. And there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
    Smallbone didn’t answer.
    “Please listen, Mr. Smallbone,” she said, tight and desperate. “I invoke the Contract.”
    Smallbone stopped so suddenly that Nick nearly crashed into him. “The Contract, eh? You making a formal petition, Lily Smallbone?”
    The woman gripped the basket. “I am.”
    Smallbone scowled, his hat tipping forward. “Land o’ Goshen, Lily, you know better than this. There’s a time and a place for petitions and this ain’t neither the one or the other.”
    Lily opened her mouth. Smallbone trained his spectacles on her. She closed it again, turned, and stomped back the way she had come.
    Wondering what had just happened, Nick followed Smallbone and the woman to what looked to be the only open shop in town. It had “country store” written all over it, from the rustic wooden benches on its porch to its sparkling bay window filled with jars of candy and homemade jam. There was a wooden plaque over the door: SMALLBONE COVE MERCANTILE EST. 1780 , LILY AND ZERUBABBLE SMALLBONE , PROPS . A red gingham sign on the door told passersby that it was OPEN .
    Nick followed Smallbone into the warmth and took a deep breath flavored with vinegar, wood smoke, and fresh-baked bread. Two men in heavy sweaters playing checkers on a pickle barrel beside the shop window looked up and stared at him with eyes so dark they were almost black. Nick smiled, trying to look pathetic and trustworthy. They returned to their game.
    The woman called Lily deposited her basket on the shop counter next to a glass case filled with fancy baked goods. She took off her parka, revealing a sweater decorated with seals and a round face that was probably pleasant when she wasn’t in a temper. Her sleek brown hair was splotched and streaked with gray.
    “So, Mr. Smallbone,” she said briskly, “how can I help you?”
    Smallbone produced a creased paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “Here’s my list. Cornmeal, salt, tobacco, ham, vanilla, washing powder, ammonia, bacon, corned beef — the usual. Oh, and you can give me some of them fresh cinnamon buns — a dozen will suffice. Some other odds and ends. You can see for yourself.”
    Lily took the list without looking at it. “With respect, Mr. Smallbone —”
    Smallbone’s beard bunched. Lily looked at the list. “Jeans. Wool jacket. Underwear, boy’s size fourteen. Flannel shirts.” She cocked her chin toward Nick. “This gear for him?”
    “Ayuh,” Smallbone said. “This here’s my new apprentice. You’ll be seeing him from time to time, running errands and suchlike.” He leaned forward confidentially. “You’ll want to keep a sharp eye on him. He’s crooked as a hairpin.”
    Lily turned to Nick. Her eyes were like polished black stones. Nick called up his best smile. If he wanted these folks on his side, he had to pretend to be the kind of kid they’d like — a kid with manners, a kid they could trust. He whipped off