A cool autumn wind blew through the Gateway, clawing its way into the Tollhouse, feebly pushing at the dust on the floor, nudging the tablecloth, shifting the air. In the Tollhouse, a very short, very stout man sat behind a booth. His brown hair was shaved on the sides, with the top pulled into a bun that was twisted around a knob of wood, joining with two braids that looped down from his temples, arcing to the back of his head. The braids, as well as his beard, were braided with small silver rings and bells. Brother Wind tried to tickle those as well, but the man snorted and told him off.

Rack off, you ankle-biter. Those are mine, not yours.

The wind retracted its prying fingers, wiggling its way through the cracks in the wall and floor-boards, fleeing from him. The short man chuckled darkly. Everything here was weaker than back home. There, he’d not dare speak to Brother Wind, let alone order it to do something. Very few people would after all. He turned his attention to the front door, although his eyes did not open. You could learn much when people thought you unaware or asleep, this was as true here as in his homeland. Two people entered through the door; he could tell. Both young men, one older than the other. The short man breathed in through his nose slowly, deliberately taking in what he could. He subconsciously encouraged Brother Wind to carry the scents of the guests to him. He sorted through the myriad smells of the Gateway faster than a rattlesnake’s strike. The first man smelled of three D’s, three R’s, and two S’s: Deliberateness, Discipline, Danger; Regret, Reflection, and Rage; Stability and Soap. Fresh, expensive soap at that, so probably a noble of some kind.

The Second of the two was slightly more of a conundrum, his scents all mixed up. This was no surprise to the short man, as he knew that young men tended to have trouble setting their priorities straight, due to a myriad of different factors: it was never the same for any one of them, but it was always something. There’d be a girl, too good for them true, but too pretty to ignore, that was messing with their minds. Or perhaps there was a sword, or an axe, or even a bloody damn spear. Something pointy and sharp for them to accidentally kill themselves with. The boy smelled of three F’s, three P’s, two V’s, and one S: Fear, Furtiveness, and Futility; Pain, Perspicacity, and Pride; Vulnerability and Vanity; Sweat.

His inspection of scents done, he twitched his oddly rounded ears next, and lightly brushed his foot against the wood floor, calling upon Brother Wind and Sister Cedar to bring sounds and vibrations to him. The first man stepped in a way that said he carried a sword and knew how to use its business end. His footsteps were filled with Aplomb, his heel firmly hitting the ground on his first step, and rolling forward to the ball of his foot. It wasn’t loud or brash, but neither was it soft and un-certain. It was Composed, which was only right, as the nature of a footstep should reflect the nature of its owner. An A and a C. The short man nearly sighed to himself. It would have to do; he didn’t have time for something better.

The second one, the confused smelling boy, had something at his hip also. Not a sword, as it didn’t move the air like that… something round then. A club perhaps? His breathing sounded somewhat ragged, which meant that he probably had to keep a fast pace to match his companions walking stride. His footsteps were less firm than his older counterpart, but not fearful. Wary perhaps… hmm no, that word started with a W. It wouldn’t do the short man decided. If not Wary then… Calculating and Circumspect. Hmm, yes, two C’s; that was better. Not perfect perhaps, but the best that could be expected under these circumstances.

All said, less than a second had passed since the doorknob had turned and the door started to open. The short man did an index of information gathered and was satisfied that he knew who the customer was, although not his young compatriot. He had his suspicions of what the young Shark was after, but those would remain to be proven out, or shattered and spread into the fingers of Brother Wind. The short man’s eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward abruptly, hands smacking on the desk inside his booth.

“Gooday Mate’s, welcome to The Torn Bodice, servicer of any and all of your Clothing and Cocktail needs. My name is Tafldar Coldforge, and I am at your service.”

***

Caj grinned at the Dwarf behind the desk feeling surprisingly happy to see the man. It had been almost a year since they had last spoken, and it had been the first and only time that Caj had met him. But Tafldar Coldforge reminded of better days, when Narm still lived, and he didn’t carry the weight of responsibility and the future so heavily.

“Tafl!” he said cheerfully, true happiness in his voice, “It’s been too long, how are you?”

“Caj!” the dwarf said back, mimicking his tone of excitement, “I can’t complain too much, I got a roof over my head, food on my table, and all the booze a man could want.” He gestured at the bottles lining the walls around him. “How are you, eh Boyo? I heard about Narm, nasty business that. My, condolences.” His face sobered, and so did Caj’s. Caj smiled a sad smile at the man before him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Thank you…” Caj said quietly, running a hand over his face and pulling lightly on the mustache he recently started growing. He liked the movement, as it reminded him of when Narm used to do the same. “He lived a good life though, hard yes, but long, and his last few years were filled with joy. I only wish that he could’ve passed on into the Harvest in a gentler fashion, but that was not his way.”

The middle-aged dwarf nodded sagely, letting the silence hang like a thief’s corpse from the gallows. Caj waited for Rai to break the quiet, as was the young man’s habit, but no sound was forthcoming from his charge. Caj thought about it for a moment before coming to a realization. Rai didn’t like talking about Narm’s passing, probably because it made him feel useless and unable to control his own life. Caj filed that information away into his little box of knowledge labeled ‘Things to Remember About Rai’ and then broke the silence.

“I have not come to talk about the past, Tafl. I am here to make some purchases for the future.”

Caj reached into his satchel to pull out the second of three leather folders that Natalia had given him that morning. Really, the woman had too many of the things. He almost felt bad thinking about the number of animals that were slaughtered just to supply her with the obscene amount of leather that she used for briefings all the time. Half of her office was taken up by the stuff. She probably was the sole provider of half the business for both the major tanneries in Goldstern. It was ridiculous, really. Caj pulled his mind away from the subject of Nat’s use of animal hides, and back to the topics at hand. He pulled the folder out and handed it to Tafl. The dwarf flipped through its sparse contents and nodded to himself as he went, humming, and muttering under his breath. Caj thought he heard an odd combination of letters and numbers being muttered, but perhaps that was just sizing. It wasn’t unusual for a tradesman to do calculations in their heads, and to mutter as they did so after all.

He glanced behind him to see Rai looking at Tafl nervously. Caj frowned. That was odd. Rai had been seemingly excited to be anywhere near an establishment called ‘The Torn Bodice’, but now… now he seemed almost fearful, like the only thing that made him feel safe was the fact that Caj was comfortable. Caj cocked an eyebrow at the boy, implying a question.

What’s wrong Half-head?

Caj was almost surprised that he had thought of Rai using his moniker, but at the moment, Rai looked all to similar to a scared-shitless kid who had met in an alley-way four years before. Putting on a brave face, and ready to do what he had to, but terrified all the same. Rai just shook hhis head at the unspoken query, and tried to stand straighter, turning his eyes purposefully back towards the front of the room, then flinched. Caj’s eyes went there immediately, the fingers of his left hand immediately playing along the hilt of his dagger. Tafl had stopped looking at the book in front of him, and was now glancing between Caj and Rai with a perplexed expression. His slight frown quirked into a smirk as he locked eyes first with Rai, then with Caj.

“Perspicacity and Danger indeed…” he murmured to himself “I’ll have to add an A.” His voice rose to fully audible as he cleared his throat. “Alrighty mate, six cloak’s will run you up two royals normally, and the extra work you want on the larger two will net you another two and seven crowns, bringing your total to 4 and 7, yeah?”

“Aye, sounds good to me.” Caj said, suddenly feeling a pressure to leave. Something wasn’t right. He had the distinct feeling that the dwarf knew more about him than he had any right to, and that disturbed him slightly. He hadn’t noticed it on his last visit, but there definitely was a certain level of eccentricity to the man. He put the money on the table, adding four crowns to the total as a tip. Tafl nodded appreciatively as he wrote Caj a receipt.

“No worries mate, I’ll have these delivered to the same address as last time, although this order will likely take them a day or too longer… expect five days.” Caj nodded.

“Thank you, have a good day.” He said, as he and Rai turned towards the day. A voice echoed behind them on their way out.

“Your welcome mate, and remember, you come right on back to The Torn Bodice for any and all of your Clothing and Cocktail needs!”

***

A brisk wind had picked up since Caj and Rai stepped outside, and they spoke louder than normal to be heard. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t mention the strange tension they felt with Tafldar.

“Burning Chaff, Big-man, five Royals?” Rai was saying incredulously. “For six cloaks? That’s ridiculous, what are they being made of? Threshing gold?” He swore loudly. “Twinkle-eyes I understand, good armor be hard tae come by, and harder the more complicated it be getting, and he be a damn good smith. I expected ye to invest there, but threshing cloaks? And why in the name of the Harvest itself do ye even be needing six?” Caj chuckled deeply at Rai’s frustration.

“Easy there Rai.” He said softly, just barely audible over the wind, “As you observed with Forgemaster Potiphar, I only purchase the best. The best expensive.” Rai looked at him skeptically.

“Five Royals?” he asked doubtfully. “That expensive? That be 12 crowns and 5 coppers a cloak. Nearly one whole day’s pay for ye, and a weeks’ worth fer damn near anyone else. Six weeks of work. Fer a few Thrice Threshed cloaks!”

“Trust me when I say that it was worth it Rai. I expect that they will be the best made clothing you’ve ever owned, and will probably outlive you. The Torn Bodice does good work.”

Caj was careful not to say the names of Hoodah and Esha aloud. While he had never met them, he understood them to be private people by nature, and the less people who knew of them, the better. Rai huffed, but quieted down, apparently satisfied to mutter to himself;

“They’d better, fer 12 and a half crowns apiece. They’d best be outliving my grandchildren fer that matter.” Caj grinned at that, but directed the conversation elsewhere.

“We have one last set of purchases to make before heading back today. Something rather important for the first and last legs of this journey. Horses.”