"Wrapped and everything," he said with a smile, picking at the twine. "You didn't have to come all the way out here."
"The boy said your telephone was dead, and you're not used to living in these conditions – it's just as well I did," I answered, rubbing the back of my head and looking up at the dark spot on the ceiling. "At least now you'll know how to fix a flipped circuit."
He looked embarrassed and my own scorn made me uncomfortable. I picked up another mask, toying with the beaded decoration around the edge as Lucas eagerly opened his book. He took out one of the bay leaves Marjorie had stuffed it with, brow furrowing.
"Amazing she's stayed in business, smoking around the books like that," I said casually.
"Yeah, I think she bleaches her teeth too – " he stopped mid-speech and looked up at me.
"I assume that her reluctance to sell to an artist is your fault," I continued. "I told her I was a roofer. What a roofer would want with a book on classical history I couldn't say, but she swallowed it all right."
He was quiet for a while. I wasn't sure what I even wanted. Not a confession or an apology, certainly. Acknowledgment, maybe. I don't know.
"She wouldn't sell to me. She thinks it's a dangerous book," he said finally. "I wish I'd just stolen the copy from the library."
"Why didn't you?"
"Didn't want to go back into the city, and stealing from libraries is pathetic." He snuffled and turned his head to cough, away from the book.
"You knew I'd find her copy."
"I thought so. I offered her twice what it's worth, she still wouldn't sell." He put the bay leaf back and closed the book, pressing his hand flat over the cover.
"It's not exactly top-secret," I said. "I don't see how it could be dangerous."
"No, of course not. Maybe she just didn't like the look of my face. I'm sorry I lied," he said. "What do I owe you? I – I won't bother trying to buy your respect, but you should have something above the price and postage. You dragged up here through the mud and fixed my home."
"We don't charge extra for delivery," I said with a small grin. "It's all right, really, Lucas. You wanted the book, she wouldn't sell it to you. I know how it is when you want a book you can't get."
"Well, I'm still sorry."
"Lucas, really," I said, and he looked up at me again. There was a little color coming into his cheeks from the heat of the fire. "It's fine."
He seemed to consider, then nodded. Probably didn't want to press his luck, now that he had his book.
"Do you want lunch, at least?" he asked. "The kitchen'll be warm enough to cook in, pretty soon."
"What've you been doing in the meantime, roasting things over the fire?"
"Haven't been very hungry, but that's a pretty good idea. I've never had a fireplace before."
"Really?" I asked. "Never?"
He shrugged, tucking his knees up against his chest so he could wrap the corners of the blanket around his feet. "Always lived in apartments. Central heating. Super took care of...the big light switches and stuff."
"Circuit breakers."
"Those."
"You got the fire going, though."
"The boy sold me some starter-logs when I bought the wood."
I laughed. "Good for him. You stay here. I'll heat something up for us."
"I can – "
"Lucas, for God's sake, stay there. It's not exactly a chore."
"There's canned soup in the pantry," he called after me, as I shut the door to keep the living room's heat in. The kitchen was still cold, but not the icy-frigid it had been when I came in. I put the milk away in the fridge.
There was soup in the pantry, but not much else. I put it on the stove to heat and then poked around curiously for as long as I could justify. There wasn't much to see. When the food was ready I poured it into bowls and returned to the welcome heat of the living room.
"Well," I said. "You're just about out of everything. I'll send the boy up with some food for you – he wants to see you anyway. You're in no condition to be wandering around in the snow."
"Snow?" Lucas asked, looking alarmed.
"Probably this evening. I doubt it'll be very much, but they don't exactly plow your road."
He ate a spoonful of soup, hissing when it burned his tongue.
"Tell him I'll pay commission," he said, when he'd swallowed.
"He'll like that, but you don't have to."
"I want to. I should pay you too – by the time you get back your whole day will be wasted."
"I don't think it's wasted. And even if it were, it's my choice," I said. "Besides, I got to see your workshop. All these masks – they don't make you nervous at all?"
He glanced around. "No. But I made them, so..." another shrug. "Do they scare you?"
"I wouldn't say scare, but I wouldn't sleep in here. There's just...a lot of them. They are beautiful, though," I added, picking up Dottore again and admiring the thin wire glasses and the high cheekbones.
"I don't suppose you want one," Lucas said. I looked over the edge of the mask at him.
"You're really determined to pay me, huh?" I said.
"I just think you should have something."
"Can I have this one?"
He looked at Dottore nervously.
"Wouldn't you rather have Arlecchino, though? I have some good ones..." he stood, still carrying his bowl in one hand, and reached up to a high shelf. The mask he took down had bulging cheeks and an intricate copper-and-white design, with a large knob on the left side of its forehead. "The clever clown," he said with a grin.
"If you'd rather not give me Dottore, that's all right..."
"No...I just thought you might prefer this one," he said hastily. He didn't seem to regret giving up the mask itself – there was no possessiveness in his gaze. It was more that he didn't want to give it to me. But, whatever mask fit Lucas best, I was no doubt destined for the educated fool.