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Alexander’s eyes caught a paper-wrapped parcel on the ground before his door. He retrieved it and went inside his rooms. There was no note, just his own name written in blood-red ink, in a wide, calligraphic script “Alexander, Sof’ Alletheos.” The parcel was long, heavier than it looked. The wrapping was neat, secured with a single cord. He pulled it lightly and the parcel opened, revealing a long box with a note written above it.
“My thanks,” it read. Alexander puzzled at this. Someone with whom he had worked, either his superior in the Maejorii, the General, Phlaxus, or Ampellus had sent it. In any case, he was being recognized in some meager way for his contributions. Perhaps it was Uterides, he mused, wondering if that mysterious figure had reason to thank him. He carefully set the note aside. Alexander never disposed of any notes, memoranda, or letters from his superiors, he considered them all too valuable to throw away.
By his estimate, the box was about four feet long, wonderfully crafted from walnut and upholstered in dark purple suede, fastened with silver buttons. He marveled at the materials and craftsmanship, nearly forgetting that the box itself was not the gift.
Upon opening the case, Alexander let out a breath in awe. Inside was a rapier the likes of which he had never seen. It was marvelously complex and uniquely chaotic. The cup-hilt was fashioned in the likeness of a clam shell, under which two slim iron bars protruded. These bars, forming the crosspiece, were wrought like two stout, nautical ropes. Alexander traced his finger along the length of that crossguard, wondering how many hours of painstaking labor had been needed to work those details into it. The handle itself was a masterpiece in its own right, mimicking a column of thick kelp, the base of which wrapped around the largest pearl he had ever seen.
The rest of the blade, from forte to debole, was perfect blue steel. It was double-edged, which was unusual for the period. The more fortified, single-edged blade was preferred for those in military service, but perhaps this sword was older. Alexander had always dreamt of following his father’s footsteps, becoming a roguish merchant on the high seas. Standing there, holding the rapier, he felt nearer to that fantasy than he ever had before. But he quickly banished the thought. Aeolites destined for military service trained from the age of four. That course of life had long since been foreclosed.
Not intending to let this ruin the occasion, Alexander turned his attention back to the gifted sword. It was worth at least a thousand draena. They’d given it to him. For what? He thought back to the execution the day before. Had it truly inspired so many to join the campaign against Calathea as to be worth a gift like this? Had his contribution to the arguments against the assassins been so valuable? The events had taken a darker turn than he had suggested, with less emphasis on recruitment than cruel spectacle. It did not make sense in the least. Alexander double checked the wrapping, ensuring he did not miss a name. There was none, only his name in script. What was he being thanked for?
Alexander’s perturbation about the motivation for his wonderful gift disappeared quickly as he strode through the Senate grounds with his new weapon. He had gone earlier to the haberdasher to secure a new sheath. When the latter had seen Alexander balking at the price of a modest leather baldric, he took great offense. The narrow-eyed haberdasher immediately ushered the young Aeolite to the most expensive case of scabbards. When the latter protested — rather meekly — that he did not have the money at hand to afford one, the haberdasher had responded that to protect such a sword on such a man was an honor in and of itself, worthy of any cost. It appeared there was some special pride the haberdashers had about sheathing notable weapons, a fact Alexander was eager to accept. He took the recommendation of the gracious shopkeep and walked out of the store with his rapier properly housed. The scabbard he’d been given was nearly as impressive as the sword itself, matching silver dolphins on the throat and chape, between which was iron painted black. It more than doubled the weight, but he bore it gladly.
The people of Od seemed to appreciate his new effects as well. As he walked about town — finding many errands and doing them more publicly than he would have otherwise — he noticed many envious eyes. Most of the Aeolite men, especially of his age, sported plain iron rapiers, and in most cases only to fulfill the obligations of fashion. Dueling had been outlawed in Od for over thirty years, but the vagaries of aesthetic sensibility had dragged swords back onto the hips of young men. Alexander thought them stylish, and admired the way the scabbards lifted the cloak of a man ahorse and the way the pommels could be palmed idly during conversation.
He was enjoying just such a moment as he entered the tailor’s studio. It occupied the lower story of a squat building made of great, rough stones fitted together without mortar or daub — a relic of the Old City, before the establishment of their current Odian democracy. Once inside, the low, timbered ceilings gave the impression of entering a subterranean chamber, a feeling accentuated by the cool stone floor underfoot. Alexander looked around. Not for the tailor, who was undoubtedly sweating above some measure of chamois or muslin or silk in the back room. No, Alexander was looking for the lovely assistant, Alloa, with whom he shared a special rapport. It wasn’t long before he spied her arranging broaches on a wooden bar behind a forest of finely dressed mannequins.
“My dear, could I trouble you for some assistance?” he asked, putting on a theatrical voice much deeper than his own. She hesitated for a moment, before turning around with a perfectly composed smile.
“My Lord, I am at your service,” she responded in a singsong voice, restoring the last broach and moving toward him with a slight curtsy. Alexander laughed with his eyes, but managed to keep the rest of the charade intact.
“I am in search of a dress for a special woman,” he offered, conspicuously surveying the attire on display.
“And naturally, you are seeking a special dress,” she replied, smiling with her perfectly-straight teeth.
“Perhaps I have understated her qualities. This woman is, as no man could argue, the most beautiful woman in the City. For her I require a dress of unfathomable splendor,” the young man continued, working his hilt in his hand to add a flourish of the cloak with his words.
“My Lord, we cannot possibly deliver to you an unthinkable dress, however would it be made? My master could hardly choose a fabric or set a pattern,” she countered.
Alexander cracked a smile at this. He always admired Alloa for her wit, and her willingness to separate from the strictures of social conduct to indulge in a bit of fantasy with him.
“I see your dilemma,” he said thoughtfully, even allowing himself to stroke an imaginary moustache. “Perhaps then, she must settle for your finest dress which has been conceived by your great Master.”
Alloa put her finger to her chin, feigning a deep contemplation.
“I simply could not decide. You see, my Master is indeed a Master. From which it follows that all of his works are masterful. To decide the best would require me to distinguish the lesser, which can’t be done.”
Alexander’s smile grew threefold. He put up his hands in defeat.
“Of course, of course. Then, let us see the most expensive dress. For this special woman is deserving of the most recherché and refined materials.”
“A very special lady, no doubt.”
“Without question.”
She led Alexander through the forest of sequined and jeweled mannequins, stopping occasionally to consider one or two of the headless forms before shaking her head and continuing on. Alexander, following close behind, privately delighted in their little skit. He loved Alloa’s smile, and the way she challenged him. He enjoyed the spring in her step as she walked, and how it bounced her curly blonde hair. Most of all, and perhaps least known to himself, he enjoyed her attention. Within the confines of the Peer Residences, Alexander was sequestered to a life populated almost entirely with men. Conversation with someone who wasn’t envious of his enhanced status, contemptuous of his low blood, or seeking in some way to work him toward their own ends proved an incomparable respite. He enjoyed speaking with someone beautiful, even if it was a common beauty.
“This is the most expensive ever made by my Master,” she said, stopping him at a rather plain looking dress. He looked at her with confusion.
“The dress is made with the feathers of a bird only found southeast of the Isles, a bird they call an Austeritch,” she continued. Alexander was not impressed. The bird must have been rather plain, because the dress was a mix of white and dark brown. The feathers did not begin to approach the beauty of the peacock or some of the rarer parrots of the Isles.
“This dress,” she continued, “was made from only one bird.”
“What?”
“Enormous creatures, they say. Standing as tall as a man, and running twice as fast,” she continued.
“How could a bird so large fly?” Alexander asked, genuinely curious.
“It cannot,” came a gruff voice from behind. Alexander turned abruptly to see the tailor standing behind him, his red face almost purple with frustration. Alloa immediately eyed her shoes, not daring to meet the gaze of her master. Alexander, too busy imagining such an exotic creature, did not respond to him or acknowledge his vexation, which did nothing but compound it. Finally, the tailor spoke again.
“Does your Lordship intend to make a purchase for his ‘special woman’ this time?” he asked, placing a special emphasis on “this.” It was not the first time Alexander had perused his wares, and the tailor had reached his limit.
What Alexander could not have known, for the tailor himself barely knew it, was that Alexander’s faux-shopping pricked at sensitivities about the dress.Three years ago the tailor had made it, trusting the simplicity of the design to be the proper vehicle for the new material he had eagerly acquired. However, after it had debuted on the floor, women simply stopped, considered it briefly, then passed on. Thinking the issue might have been a lack of understanding, he had even instructed Alloa to explain its rare origins to potential customers. Despite these efforts, the dress had sat unpurchased, and enduring mockery of his own creation.
Alexander coming in and making his clumsy repartee with Alloa, requesting to see the most expensive dress, had unearthed the tailor’s old feelings of frustration and dismay. Feelings which were compounded by the young man’s ignorance of them, and his ignorance — like so many of the others of his class — of the skill and expense which had been required to produce such an exotic dress.
“Alloa, I need your help in the back,” he snapped, gesturing toward the squat door which divided the showroom from the rest of the shop. Alloa quickly nodded, hurrying through the door.
“If I might…” Alexander began, hoping to ask her something before she left.
“Yes?” the tailor asked in his most saccharine voice. Alexander was taken aback. At last, he appreciated the extent to which he irritated the tailor. But Alexander simply stood there, mouth agape, unable to decide what he had wanted to ask. Realizing that the tailor could not disengage from him until Alexander had concluded their business, the young Aeolite struggled to find something satisfactory to say.
“Perhaps another time,” was all he managed. The tailor, moments away from a paroxysm of fury at the prospect of entertaining this penniless Aeolite a moment longer, bowed curtly and withdrew into the back room.
Alexander stood alone in the forest of dresses, becoming acutely uncomfortable. He hastily made his way out. Refreshed by the warm sunlight, his thoughts turned from the tailor back to the apprentice. She was warmth, and it was a shame she should be kept by that tyrannical tailor. Perhaps, once he had established himself within society, he would come to her with an offer of marriage and whisk her away from what he imagined to be a most dolorous life.