Unfortunately, life had other plans for Marron. On the day she was supposed to talk to Jenny about franchising her crisps, there was a knock at the door.
Marron sleepily walked toward the sound and stepped on a letter. Soone had slipped it under her door.
This was a simple envelope, cream-colored paper and sealed with plain red wax.
"Not an official Guild missive," she murmured.
There were no identifying marks, except her na, written in elegant script. There were a few ink blotches on the corner, like the writer had been in a hurry.
It read:
Marron,
I’ve made my decision about the knife.
Can you co to The Silver Cleaver this evening? Around closing ti, seven bells. We should talk in person.
—Petra
No hint about which way the decision had gone.
"Well..." Marron whispered into the room, quiet in the early morning light. "I either have another Legendary Tool, or I don’t."
"You look nervous," Mokko observed, erging from his corner with his morning tea.
"Petra made her decision," Marron said, holding up the letter. "She wants to co tonight."
"And you’re worried she’ll say no."
"I’m worried either answer will be complicated," Marron admitted. She set the letter on her table, staring at it like it might reveal more information if she looked hard enough.
"If she says yes, I have to live up to the knife’s expectations. Learn precision, master it, prove I was worthy of carrying it. That’s pressure."
"And if she says no?"
"Then I have to accept that so tools aren’t ant for . That my collection might never be complete. That maybe I’m not supposed to find all seven." Marron poured herself tea, needing sothing to do with her hands. "Which is fine, objectively. But it’ll still hurt."
Lucy burbled from her jar, forming a supportive heart shape.
"I have all day to spiral about this," Marron said. "So I’m choosing not to. I’m going to work my cart, make money, focus on normal chef things. And tonight I’ll find out what Petra decided."
"Healthy coping chanism," Mokko approved.
"Or avoidance," Marron countered. "But productive avoidance. The best kind."
She set up her cart in a different location today—the western market entrance, which she’d been told had good afternoon traffic but less competition from other food vendors. The goal was data gathering: compare sales between different locations and tis, figure out optimal positioning for maximum profit.
Also, it kept her mind busy, which was the real goal.
By noon, she’d sold twenty bags of crisps and was preparing a fresh batch when Jenny appeared with her usual enthusiasm.
"There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere." Jenny was slightly out of breath, suggesting she’d been literally searching the market. "I have news. Big news. Franchise news."
Marron’s attention sharpened. "Good news or complicated news?"
"Both? Definitely both." Jenny pulled out a notebook—she’d started keeping detailed business records, Marron had noticed. Very organized for soone running a cart. "I’ve talked to eight vendors about the soda franchise. Three are definitely interested, two are maybes, three said no but might reconsider later."
"That’s good," Marron said, monitoring her frying crisps.
"It gets better. The three interested vendors—they asked if the franchise could include food too. Specifically, they asked if they could also sell your rootknot crisps alongside my soda. Create a combo deal, you know? Drink and snack."
Marron paused mid-stir. "They want to franchise my crisps?"
"They want to franchise the concept," Jenny clarified. "Earth-style snack foods. Simple, portable, affordable comfort food that reminds people of sothing familiar even if they’ve never had it before. Your crisps, my soda—it’s a matched set. We should coordinate."
This was... actually a really good idea. Marron had been planning to approach Jenny about franchising eventually, but Jenny had apparently already done the groundwork.
"What are you thinking?" Marron asked. "Structure-wise?"
"Joint franchise model," Jenny said, flipping through her notes. "We teach vendors both products—soda making and crisp making. They pay us a licensing fee, maybe five copper per day initially, and we provide recipes, equipnt sourcing information, and quality standards. They keep their profits minus the licensing fee, we get passive inco from multiple locations."
"Five copper per day per vendor," Marron calculated quickly. "If we get three vendors to start, that’s fifteen copper daily. Four and a half gold per month, split between us. Two and a quarter gold each."
"Plus our own cart sales," Jenny added. "And as we add more vendors, the passive inco scales up. Get ten vendors? That’s fifty copper daily, fifteen gold monthly, seven and a half each."
"That’s sustainable," Marron said. More than sustainable—that was legitimately good business. "But we’d need quality control. Standards. Can’t have vendors making bad crisps or flat soda and damaging the brand."
"Already thought of that," Jenny said, grinning. "Monthly check-ins, spot quality tests, contractual agreents about ingredient standards. I’ve been drafting docunts. Want to review them together?"
"Yes," Marron said imdiately. "But not right now—I’m working. Can you co by my apartnt tonight? Maybe around eight bells?"
"Perfect. I’ll bring drafts and—" Jenny paused. "Wait, why eight bells specifically?"
"I have a thing at seven," Marron said vaguely.
"A thing."
"A Legendary Tool thing," Marron clarified. "Finding out if soone’s giving their magical knife or keeping it."
Jenny’s eyes widened. "Oh. Oh. That’s a big thing."
"Hence the vague timing," Marron said. She pulled out the current crisp batch, perfectly golden. "Could be quick—here’s the knife, goodbye. Could be complicated—let’s discuss terms and conditions and philosophy. I don’t know."
"Either way, I’ll be at your apartnt at eight bells," Jenny said firmly. "With business drafts and emotional support, whichever you need more."
"Thanks, Jenny."
After Jenny left, Marron continued working, but the nervous energy returned.
Petra’s letter...seven bells. And her final decision.
She shook her head, as if that could untangle the ssy thoughts in her brain.
Not now, she told herself. Focus on the custors. Freak out later.
Working mostly on autopilot, Marron sold around twenty bags of crisps. She made small talk with custors and barely rembered her responses. Her mood improved, however, when she handed out samples to curious adults and children. Their excitent when the crispy flavored potatoes hit their tongue added warmth to Marron’s nervous heart.
A full day of work usually grounded her, but today...
...it just increased the anticipation.
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