Notes: Ooooh, is that a meet-cute I see coming? Is it? IS IT?
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Chapter Three, Part Two
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Chapter Three, Part Two
The Height of Fashion
The market was still a bit on the sleepy side, which Hiram appreciated. It meant fewer people around to stare at him and his very obvious mistake when it came to his choice of clothing. After a third person literally walked into a stall or cart because they were staring at him, he turned to Mistress Tate and said, “There must be a clothier here who has some ready-made garments.”
“Oh, come now,” she replied, smiling cheekily as she leaned a bit on his arm. “I think their reception of you is quite charming. Why not revel in the attention while you’ve got it?”
Because I don’t need any more attention, it defeats the purpose. “I prefer to keep a lower profile when possible.”
“And yet you’re a newcomer to town, with a business to grow,” she reminded him. “If I were you, I’d take all the attention I could get right now. You’ll be old news soon enough.”
“Still…”
She shook her head. “No ready-made garments, I’m afraid, but we could stop at the tailor’s first if you’d like.”
“Where is it?”
“The other side of the square.”
Hiram sighed. It didn’t make sense to dart over there when the other craftspeople he needed were over here. “Later. Let’s talk to the carpenter first.”
“Of course.” She led him over to a stall, one of the biggest he could see, and better made than most. It was sturdy wood, yet the walls were cleverly installed in sections so that it could be broken apart and stored easily.
A young dwarf was sitting behind the front table, which was covered in tiny wooden figurines, whittling another while she waited for custom. The moment Hiram and Mistress Tate stopped, she looked up and smiled broadly enough to show her neat white teeth through her curling blonde beard. “Welcome, Mistress!”
“Good morning, Karla.” She gestured to Hiram. “My friend Master Emblic is new to town and in need of furnishings for his home.”
“Ah, lovely!” The dwarf popped to her feet, setting the carving down. She stood almost as tall as Hiram’s breastbone, a very grand height among her people. “We have everything you could need, sir, and if we don’t have it my master and I shall make it. What is your price range like? Do you prefer oak or walnut? What are your thoughts about pine? We’ve got a lovely shipment of pine in that’s on the soft side, but very—”
Hiram held up a hand. “Give me a moment to catch up, please, lass,” he said gently. “Let’s start with a discussion of what I actually need.”
Karla blushed. “Of course. I apologize, I tend to get a bit carried away when it comes to my craft.”
“Then it’s the right one for you,” Hiram said appreciatively. “It’s good to be passionate about what you do. That’s the road to true happiness in life.”
Karla beamed at him. “What is it that you do, sir?”
I conquer kings and prop up emperors. “I’m an herbalist,” he said after a moment. “Although it’s been some time since I had a proper storefront. I plan to have my own stall here in the market eventually, so—”
“Oh, you’ll need shelving then,” the dwarf lass said briskly. “A traveling cupboard for displays here at the market, and of course larger and sturdier shelves for your home. A nice, wide table to use here that can be easily set up and broken down again—we specialize in modular furnishings, Master Emblic, so I’m certain we can make something that will suit you perfectly.”
He was sure she could, but… “Show me what you mean by a modular table.”
Karla’s eyes sparkled as she pulled what looked like a stack of boards out from behind her sitting area. “This one is a three by three,” she said as she unfolded the top board. “Watch.” Attached to the two central pieces were four legs, all folded down and held in place with hinges. She lifted the legs up, then swung a metal peg down from the top to slot in place and hold the leg extended. A few more twists and turns and the two halves of the tabletop slotted neatly together as well, pegs resting solidly in their countersunk holes.
“They’re sturdy and versatile,” Karla continued. “And guaranteed against wear for five years, Master. If something falls apart or becomes too loose to use, we’ll fix it free of charge.”
“A lovely table,” Hiram agreed. Actually… He needed a dining table, but with only himself there to eat, it made no sense to buy two when one could suffice for the market and for his personal needs. “I quite like this one, in fact. Do you have a matching chair?”
“Two, sir!” She pulled out a pair of high-backed chairs that had ingenious folding arms and seats. “The golden oak is my favorite wood to work with,” Karla confessed, then added in a low voice, “Don’t tell my master that, he thinks I like olive the best, but sometimes you just want to craft with something that isn’t fussy, you know? And the stain on this is designed to bring out the natural gold of the wood, which is of course the loveliest color.”
Of course. Karla might be a carpenter, but every dwarf had a special connection to precious metals no matter their occupation. It was an immense part of their cultural history, and treasured by diaspora dwarves who’d been driven out of their mountain homelands by dragons and serpentkin generations ago.
Hiram ran his palm over the top of the table, admiring the smoothness of the finish. “How much for the set?” he asked.
“Five gold slips and two silver bits, but,” Karla said quickly as if expecting Hiram to balk, “if there’s more you need, I’ll talk to my master about getting you a discount. Spend ten gold and delivery is free!”
“Very enterprising of you,” Hiram said. He glanced at Mistress Tate, who shrugged.
“Furnishing a house isn’t cheap, but having a comfortable home is priceless.”
“Wisely said,” Karla interjected.
Hiram chuckled. “All right, let’s talk about shelving then.”
It took another half an hour to finish his order, but by the end of it Hiram had bartered for the table, two chairs, a mobile cabinet and simple booth, shelving for his home (installation included), a cabinet for the kitchen, and a large chest divided into sections to use for his incoming clothes. Karla called her master, an elderly human with a bent back and gnarled hands, over from their shop to seal the deal, and Hiram was heartened to see the pride in the man’s eyes as Karla handed over twenty-one gold slips to him.
“Many thanks for the custom, milord,” the old man said.
“Oh, not milord,” Hiram corrected. “Just Master Emblic, please. And your assistant’s descriptions were quite compelling, I’m certain I’ll be satisfied with the results.”
“Take a carving with you,” Karla added. “Free of charge, as a thank you and a welcome to Lollop.”
“Given the size of your order, you should take two,” her master added.
Hiram bent over and looked at the carvings. They were mostly of animals, highly realistic and quite lovely, but there were a few which were more abstract. He ended up pocketing a cat that reminded him of Esmerelda and, after a moment’s consideration, a hanging ornament in the shape of a snowflake…or perhaps a star…or an ember of fire. It didn’t matter, he liked the look of it.
As they left the pair behind, Mistress Tate said, “Well, you’ve made their day, Master Emblic. And quite likely their week, as well.”
He glanced at her. “You weren’t wrong when you spoke of the price of making a house a home,” he said after a moment. “And I’ve no doubt that if they were trying to cheat me terribly, you’d have stepped in.”
“I would have,” she agreed. “But there are very few people in Lollop who’d try such a thing. Everyone here knows what the price should be, and word gets around when someone gets greedy. Still, even at a fair price, that was a windfall for them.”
“And there’ll be several other windfalls before we’re done here, woe to my money pouch,” Hiram said. “Now, where might we find the potter?”
Over the course of the next few hours, Hiram made several more craftspeople very happy. He ordered an extensive set of dishes from the potter, as well as jars for his goods, then got new pots, pans, and gardening supplies from the smithy. He bought pantry staples, fresh vegetables, a salted side of beef that would keep nicely, and half a dozen eggs. He also talked to a vendor about chickens once his henhouse was repaired, as well as getting a deal on several older roosters. Hiram was sure that Esmerelda could use a treat.
He also couldn’t resist buying a lovely bouquet of gorgeous flowers from one vendor, then spent the rest of the morning giving them away to everyone who greeted him with a smile or kind word. By noon he had a full bag, a week of deliveries ahead of him, no flowers, and the chatter of dozens of people following him around. He was also deplorably hot, and stopped in the shade to take off his cloak.
“Shall we finish at the tailor’s, then?” Mistress Tate asked amiably. She’d been good company all morning, making introductions and paving the way for him.
“Point me at them,” Hiram said, “and I’ll go while you get us a table at the Yew. I daresay I owe you an excellent lunch for all this assistance.”
She shook her head. “This morning is more entertainment than I’ve had in quite a while. I knew you were charming, but I didn’t expect it to work on everyone.”
“Oh, it doesn’t.” Hiram had the scars to prove just how his charm could fail.
Mistress Tate arched an eyebrow at him. “You got Mercury, a troll who gives new meaning to the phrase ‘stone-hearted,’ to give you a discount on the repairs to your barn and coop because you put a daisy crown on his son’s head.”
“Troll babies are the cutest of all babies and I stand by that,” Hiram said. “And he looked precious in it.”
“I agree. Regardless, I insist on treating this time,” she replied. “The tailor’s shop is over on the corner there. It belongs to Master Spindlestep.”
Spindlestep… “An elf?” It was a bit surprising to find an elven craftsman in a town this small. They usually preferred to ply their trade in grander places.
“Indeed. Try not to judge him too quickly,” she added as she turned toward the tavern. “He’s brilliant at his work.”
Judge him for what? Hiram headed for the tailor’s shop, one of the smallest in the street beside the market. Two little girls wearing tulips he’d twisted into bracelets gave him shy smiles as he went by, and Hiram theatrically tipped his hat to them before he opened the door.
A crystal bell jingled overhead, announcing his arrival, but no one immediately stepped out to meet him. The inside of the shop was dim, with no candles or lanterns to illuminate the front room. There was a window, but it was mostly covered over with various fabrics. In the center of the room were two mannequins, one with more masculine proportions and another with more feminine proportions. A closer look showed them to be rather marvelous, adjustable not only side to side, but up and down to accommodate everyone from gnome to troll.
“The mannequins aren’t for sale.”
Hiram startled at the sudden sound of a thready voice. He looked up to see a tall, rather waifish elf step into the room. He moved so steadily that it took longer than Hiram liked to make out the milky whiteness of the elf’s eyes.
He was blind.
A blind tailor. Well. Hiram had seen odder things. “I was simply intrigued by the construction,” he said, straightening up. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon.” The elf stopped a few feet in front of him. “You must be the new arrival to Lollop.”
“I fear that my reputation precedes me.”
The elf smiled faintly. “Several people have described you as ‘fancy.’”
Hiram sighed. “Too fancy for my own good, I fear. My city fashions seem out of place here, so I’m hoping to get some clothes that will better suit my new situation and my work. I’m an herbalist.”
“You don’t smell like an herbalist.”
Hiram just stopped himself from asking what he did smell like. “I’ve yet to ready my garden for my trade, Master Spindlestep. I’d like to do it in clothing suitable to the task.”
The elf nodded, then raised his hands. “Do you mind if I take your measurements?”
No tape measure…but then, elves had their own ways of doing things, even when they were sighted. “Not at all.”
“Good. Arms out, if you please.” Hiram extended his arms and spent the next few minutes being patted down from every angle, sometimes intimately but never pruriently. The elf had chuckled at the feel of leather and lingered over the embroidery on Hiram’s sleeve. When he straightened up again, he said, “Galenish fashion hasn’t changed much over the last few decades, I note.”
Hiram stared at him for a long moment, perturbed that he was so easily made. If Master Spindlestep spoke to the wrong person…
Stop dithering. No one here cares where you came from. “Indeed,” he said a few seconds too late.
“You wear it well. Do you want to leave all aspects of it behind?”
“I want to look like I belong here,” Hiram said firmly.
The tailor nodded. “And so you shall, but there’s space for individualism even in a place as small as this. A few touches to elevate your personal style would be quite fitting for a new craftsman.”
It wasn’t worth fighting about. “As you like, sir.”
“Very well, then. How many outfits will you need?”
They hashed out the details, Hiram paid, and two delivery dates were set—one very soon with enough garments to get him through a few days, and another for the rest at a more distant time. After exchanging a firm handshake, Hiram turned to go—
And practically walked into the arms of a man coming through the door at speed, distress in his voice as he said, “Narion, tell me you can patch this, I can’t believe I didn’t push it far enough away last—” His voice came to a stuttering halt as he realized he and the tailor weren’t alone. The garment in his hands slipped to the floor with the faint hiss of silk on silk. “Oh…I…”
“Allow me,” Hiram said, bending over and picking up the garment gently. It was a well-made cloak, layered and shaped to fit close to the body and in a fabric of such dark blue it was almost black. It was also rent completely through in several places, as though it had been dragged over a pair of shears. He held it out with an affable smile. “There you are.”
“I…yes.” The man—not a young man, but far from old, likely in his early thirties—snatched it from his hands quickly, but otherwise seemed frozen. Hiram found himself rather captivated by the blue of his eyes, pale around the edges that darkened to a midnight blue almost as dark as the cloak by the pupil. “Ah…excuse me.” He skirted around Hiram and into the rear of the shop without a backward glance.
Hiram considered asking Master Spindlestep about the man, but the tailor wore such a forbidding expression that he thought better of it. “Good day, then,” he said instead, and left with a head full of curiosity and fingers still feeling the cool, smooth fabric of the cloak.
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