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. Someone 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 name, 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 come to The Silver Cleaver this evening? Around closing time, 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, emerging from his corner with his morning tea.
