Chapter 16

  “It’s Epic,” Kopius managed to say with his jaw hanging half open. “This is… awesome.”

  He marveled at the item. An item that he had lugged around, wore uncomfortably and almost threw away several times. It would mold to his body, as would any sword placed in the scabbard, all while sharpening the housed weapon. It was like a sleek sci-fi military special ops harness that melded to an individual, all while hosting an armory’s worth of weaponry. For this one specifically, Kopius could house up to five weapons in the contraption, as well as adjust the angle and placement of each weapon.

  He looked like a flamenco dancer as he pretended where to place and which way to unsheath his weapons. He only had the two swords at the moment so the dancing was brief.

  At first he went with the swords crossed on his back but as he mimicked the motion it was clearly unrealistic. It just took too long. It looked bad-ass but in an actual fight he would get skewered before his weapons were fully drawn. After a few more cha, cha, cha’s and step-one-two-threes, Kopius opted for his short sword on his left hip and his longer sword diagonal across his back with the hilt visible above the right shoulder.

  Frustration set in when, given his current set of clothes, he resembled a body suit made of thin, plastic grocery bags all strapped down to a tall mannequin. The loose and ragged clothing pushed out in some spots while others were held tight. Once he decided that he looked more like a marshmallow being squeezed through leather netting, he took the harness off and pouted internally.

  “You’ll want some tighter fitting gear, lad,” Cici commented. “There’s a place we can attend to find you the right fit. In the time before that, let’s empty these bags, eh?”

  Kopius took a last moment to be annoyed before the two started to empty the sacks like pirates home from a successful plunder. Out poured the various clothes of both size and occasion, as well as the flags, tablecloths and towels they had packed in before they first started out. They separated like items until Kopius came across the dark black-purple banner he had eye-balled back at Cici’s cave.

  Depending on the angle of light, deep blue and green streaks ran across the black-purplish fabric. It was soft, animal-fur like on one side; the other, a muted gleam that briefly reminded Kopius of the Gortex material found in a lot of rain jackets. It was large enough to cover a twin size bed but weight practically nothing. There were no markings or seams, as if the piece had grown into the rectangular shape.

  “I’m going to hold onto this,” Kopius announced as he enjoyed how the material felt against his hands. Before he could return it to his ring, Lydian snatched it from his lazy grip.

  “Hey! What the fuck?!”

  “What the fuck, you!” Lydian countered with a surprisingly appropriate use of the F word. She continued to examine the fabric, stretching and poking it before handing it back. “What you want for it?”

  “I want to keep it,” Kopius answered, quickly returning the item to his ring.

  “She doesn’t want to buy it, lad,” Cici intervened. “She wants to know what you plan to use it for.”

  “I don’t know,” Kopius shrugged, having given it little to no thought. “A blanket or something.”

  “I make cape with hood,” Lydian decided for everyone. “Lace with grafeen to hold charge.”

  “It’s okay,” Kopius protested with a quick laugh. “I’m fine without a cape, but thanks.”

  “NO?” Lydians locked in on Kopius.

  “No,” Kopius replied tentatively. He looked to Cici for guidance and got a different hand gesture than last time. These movements seemed to indicate danger ahead.

  “NO!” She responded with a shrill.

  “NO!” Kopius shouted, trying his best to hold his ground.

  “Leave fabric! Come back morning!”

  “Sorry lady. It’s already in my inventory,” Kopius apologized with raised hands, like there was nothing he could do about it.

  Her face changed from a crinkled scowl to a knowing grin and Kopius didn’t know which was worse. Not that she was bad to look at, he just had no clue what he had stepped into. It felt like the sticky trap from Cici’s garden but without the stick.

  She retreated back to her leather station all the while smirking at Kopius. Leaning against the bench she stared at him in a way that was both ‘come hither’ and ‘I’lL FiNd yOu’ wrapped up into one. She motioned with all of her hands for him to do something and–being the petulant adult that he is–Kopius essentially signaled ‘you first’ in response.

  Lydian nodded her head and flicked one of her five wrists. One moment she held nothing and the next she displayed a banner with a precise resemblance to the one he had just put back in his inventory. It took a moment to register–his Intelligence was below normal after all–but when it did, his face flushed with red hot embarrassment.

  He pulled the banner from his own ring only to find a darkened excuse for an oversized beach towel. At just a basic inspection the rag looked and felt like a used towel, found under the bed of a teenager–next to a nudie tablet. Kopius dry-heaved and dropped the item. He Sparta’ed the soiled garment out of disgust leaving only the smell of burning toilet paper in the air.

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  “Leave fabric,” Lydian said sweetly, caressing the banner on her bench. “Come back morning.” She reached over and swept all of the grafeen bits into an open draw and then shut it. Before Kopius could protest the blatant, broad daylight robbery, Cici thanked her profusely and corralled his friend out into the streets.

  “What the hell was that, man?” Kopius nagged as the two made their way back to Twelve Days March.

  “I’ll be honest, she did seem a bit off.” Cici acknowledged.

  “Off how? Like normally she wouldn’t rob me?”

  “Lydian will rob you one way or another,” Cici said with a hearty laugh. “She took kindly to you, lad. Sized you out and everything.”

  “That was liking me?!”

  “Oh yeah! She enjoys the strong, moody type. Especially when they're soft and pretty.”

  “I’ll take it. I’ve been called worse,” Kopius admitted.

  “I’m sure you have. And don’t worry over the grafeen, she’ll put it to use.”

  “How am I going to buy anything else with no money? I can’t dump the rest of it out of the ring, it’ll go all over the place.”

  “I have plenty, lad. Let’s get some food down the way and then we’ll get you fitted properly. The Princess of Shadow Valley needs to maintain her reputation after all.”

  “That’s level three princess, asshole.”

  The two enjoyed a good laugh and any residual animosity flushed out of Kopius’s system. They turned down the now bustling Twelve Days March in the direction they had come from, falling into the proper lane of foot traffic.

  Mineo Allon, a shop Cici spent the entirety of the meal talking about, was located off a different side street in a more affluent area. The store front sat in a cul-de-sac that was outlined with multiple tailor type shops. The streets deadend hosted a farmers market of sorts with all kinds of different foods to purchase or sample. The shop itself was neither large or small and had a modest, cursive etched sign bearing its namesake.

  Inside the establishment were piles upon piles of garments. Whether they were separated with a purpose–such as color or material–or not was difficult to discern. The air was stagnant and they both caught whiffs of something close to mothballs mixed with the lingering odor of the sweat left on all the previously worn clothing. It was less intrusive and more a dense, petty, stale musk; like a rotting oak tree. A muted conversation could be heard somewhere beyond the moguls of material.

  “Savil!” Cici’s voice boomed “Where are you at lad?”

  There was a pause in the muted conversation but it picked up again. The voices grew louder as they heard a few sets of footsteps make their way across the dark wooden floor and into view.

  A man of medium height in a well pressed suit escorted an attractive younger lady through the piles of garments.

  “Lord Beo,” the man beamed and bowed slightly. “Your presence is always a boon on my day, sir. A boon indeed.” His voice had an arabic rhythm to it. Not a heavy middle eastern accent; but noticeable enough to give it a dash of character. The well dressed, well manicured man curtsied to the young miss, kissed the top of her offered hand and escorted her out the door.

  “Lord Beo?” Kopius inquired with a smirk.

  “Ah, he says that to everybody. He’s a charmer.”

  Savil returned a moment later and walked the two men to the back of the building. Once past a final mound, a proper shop presented itself fully equipped with chalks, tape measures, thimbles, tracing wheels, drafting squares and a multitude of cutting shears in different shapes and sizes. Along the walls were countless sheets of colorful material and spools of thread. In the center, surrounded on three sides by legitimate, full body mirrors was a standing space for fitting customers.

  The tailor himself, now standing in better light, had a staunch professionalism about him. He didn’t come across as arrogant but definitely exuded a particular kind of confidence. Probably the kind of confidence that comes with knowing your purpose in life and then doing it, Kopius lamented.

  Savil, with nary a wrinkle or arrant hair in sight, stood at his workstation, his long slender hands steepled. He had a clean shaven face with his thick black eyebrows and a flawless head of hair that looked like millions of tiny, tightly compacted corkscrews. His eyes were accommodating like a person ready to serve.

  “How might I serve you this day, Lord Beo.” Savil inquired.

  “Ah, Savvy,” Cici said with a wave of his hand and the noticeable cringe from Savil at the nickname. “How many times do I have to say the Lord isn’t necessary?”

  “Once more, as always,” the tailor answered respectfully.

  “I’m just joking, Savvy. Call me whatever you like lad! This here is my friend Kopius. Kopius; Savil Roe.” The two stepped forward and greeted each other with a hand shake; Savil’s long fingers curling around Kopius hand.

  “Any friend of Lord Beo is honored here, sir. Welcome to Mineo Allon, Lord Kopius.” Savil presented the shop to Kopius as though he was revealing a magnificent prize hidden behind door number 2. The tailor over emphasized the ‘o’ sound when speaking, making everything even more fancy. There was a split-second of awkwardness that occurred after Kopius was called ‘Lord’. It was unnecessary and felt sticky-gross on a karmic level. He wasn’t one to pass on an ego boost here and there, but for whatever reason, ‘lord’ was a title too far.

  “Can I pay you to drop the ‘lord’?” Kopius offered in all seriousness.

  “Well, sir, that would put me at odds with my upbringing.”

  “Hmm, okay,” Kopius replied. “Can we use something else? Something less… snooty.” Savil smirked at the comment. Probably the closest I’ll get to a laugh, Kopius guesstimated.

  “I am not limited to the word, sir.” Savil advised. “If you have a more suitable or official title, I would abide to it.”

  “How about pr–” Cici began to say.

  “Shut it!” Kopius barked with a sharp look. Cici just laughed. “Just–no. Anything but nobility, how about that?”

  “Would ‘honorable’ suffice?” Savil offered.

  “Ha, no. That’s–nah-ah.” Kopius chuckled. “Master Jedi would be cool. There might be some copyright issues if this ever becomes a book or a movie or whatever… ” He trailed off.

  “Count Kopius?” Savil was trying his best to accommodate but there was struggle in his voice.

  “Alliteration aside, that does have a nice ring to it–but it sounds like a knock-off brand of vampiric cereal.” Kopius took a second to formulate a thought before continuing. “Tell you what Savvy, this is an official title where I come from. I didn’t want to use it because it has a special meaning but I see I have no other choice.”