The old woman had been correct about being able to find clothing anywhere in the forum. Sweatshops and outfitters were incredibly common on the strip, along with furniture stores, carpet shops, and a random assortment of other businesses. After a while of walking and browsing, Gideon felt relieved to realize he had yet to see any slave markets. Apparently they were all restricted to the thoroughfares—perhaps by convention, or simply by law.
He decided to take a chance on an outfitter’s shop which seemed to be getting a great deal of business. A stream of people were entering and leaving it regularly, which was as good a sign as any other.
The outfitter's interior was bland and undecorated. Utilitarian ceiling lamps hung from the roof, and blank white wallpaper covered the walls. Long rows of tables filled the shop, blanketed by tall piles of folded clothing. A cashier’s counter sat in the far right corner, and a line of people holding bags of clothing waited before it. Overall, the shop was far from welcoming, but quite a few customers still seemed to be browsing through the aisles.
Mere moments after Gideon and Surelin stepped inside, a gaunt Kenanite man in a smart pink uniform approached them. He walked with his chin lifted, and his arms folded behind his back. He stopped a few paces in front of them, sneering, and scanned them both with obvious disapproval.
“Greetings, foreign customers. How may I assist you?”
Gideon already didn’t like him. “Do you sell rucksacks?”
“Of course.”
“Take us to them.”
The Kenanite turned about, his arms still folded behind his back as he walked. Gideon and Surelin followed him through the aisles to the back of the store, where a dozen leather rucksacks hung from a rack bolted into the wall. Gideon noted a cart nearby that was full of rolled up cloth bedrolls.
The Kenanite gestured to the rucksacks. “Here they are. What else may I help you with?”
“We’re good. Surelin—”
“People such as yourselves shouldn’t hesitate to ask for assistance. I can help you find what you need so that you can leave as quickly as possible.”
“I said we’re fucking good,” Gideon growled. “Now go bother someone else!”
The Kenanite sneered at him once again before walking away.
Anger was etched on Surelin’s face as she watched the Kenanite retreat. She looked to Gideon. “I don’t want to be in here longer than necessary.”
“Yeah, same here.”
He stepped up to the rucksacks and grabbed one that looked suitable, feeling its real leather between his fingers. His eyes searched along the seams of the straps, inspecting them for any bad stitching. He tugged at the straps and pulled on them. When he was satisfied they wouldn’t tear off easily, he unbuckled the main pocket and looked inside. It was spacious enough for their purposes, but he doubted it would last for more than a few months of strenuous use.
He took it off the rack and offered it to Surelin. “These wouldn’t be great for long distance foot travel, but if everything goes right we won’t be on foot.”
She took it with some hesitation. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Fill it with clothing. What else?”
“This whole thing?”
“Yeah. Here.”
He pulled a few denars out of his pocket and dropped it into the sack. “It’s about four months to Loso, so you’re gonna need a maximum of one pair of shirts and shorts per week—”
“One pair per week?!”
“—along with one or two pairs of warmer clothing. Yeah, I said one. You can’t just carry around a fuckhuge wardrobe with you. It's entirely possible we're gonna have to go long periods of time wearing the same dirty clothing out there.”
Her attitude abruptly shifted. “...Well, I suppose you’re right. What else do I need?”
Gideon blinked. She got over that pretty quick.
“Socks. Lots and lots of socks. And make sure the clothing you pick is durable. Nothing thin or fragile that’s going to fall apart easily.”
“I’m not stupid. I know that much.”
“Alright then.”
“So, eighteen pairs of clothing, and socks? Is that all?”
He nodded. “Get anything else you think you might need. Just make sure it fits in that ruck.”
She seemed somewhat excited now as she nodded back. “Got it.”
“Let’s both be quick about this, yeah? We’ve still got one more place to stop at after this.”
“I know.”
“Alright, just one more thing.”
Gideon walked over to the cart filled with bedrolls and grabbed two of them. He handed one over to her.
“This’ll be your bed after tonight.”
She felt its material between her fingers before looking up and nodding to him once again.
They split up. Surelin headed for the women’s clothing section, and, after grabbing a ruck and bedroll for himself, Gideon headed for the men’s clothing.
All of the clothing was very plain, even by his standards. Most of it was dyed tan or brown, though he did occasionally see other colored shirts buried within the piles. Gideon wandered through the aisles collecting a selection of large, collarless shirts that seemed to fit him. He grabbed a dark green shirt and held it up to his chest, and as he did, the purpose of the shop finally dawned on him.
He wasted no time in gathering what he needed and finished in record time. When he was finished packing his bedroll and clothing into his ruck, he left the men’s section, searching for Surelin. He found her leaned over a pile of brown clothing, peering down closely at the collar of a red blouse. Her rucksack and bedroll were on the ground by her feet.
“C’mon, lets get the fuck out of here.”
She didn’t look up. “I can’t tell if this will fit me or not.”
“Listen, just grab anything. This place sells clothing in bulk for slaves.”
She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and disgust. “Oh…I suppose that explains why all of this is so basic.”
“Yeah, so let’s get going.”
She grabbed the blouse and stuffed it into her ruck, then bent down and slipped her arms under its straps. A strained grunt escaped from her as she stood up with it on her back.
“Oof! It’s heavy.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. His ruck didn’t feel heavy.
“What’s next? Do we have to wait in line?” she asked.
He moved off wordlessly, and she followed. Gideon found who he was looking for by the entrance.
The Kenanite from before spotted them as they approached, and frowned deeply.
“Oh. It’s you two.”
Gideon frowned back at him. “Yeah, it’s us.”
He pulled a handful of denars out of his pocket and held it out to the Kenanite.
“I think we can skip the line. Don’t you?”
The Kenanite accepted the money eagerly. “You can. Certainly. But what about her?”
Gideon was immediately outraged, and he took an aggressive step towards him. “Five fucking denars isn’t enough for you, you greedy asshole? Maybe I should—”
Surelin interrupted him. “That’s enough.”
She pulled out the denars Gideon had given her and handed them to the Kenanite. “I think this will be much more than enough to pay for everything.”
An avaricious smile spread across the Kenanite’s face. “Yes, I believe so. Now, if you don’t mind….”
Surelin walked past him and exited the store. Gideon shot an angry glare at the Kenanite as he followed her out.
She was waiting for him when he stepped outside.
“I understand that your natural inclination in every situation is to make a scene,” she told him sternly. “But I’d like to leave this city free and in one piece tomorrow morning. While we are traveling together, I would prefer if you wouldn’t escalate every minor conflict into a major one. Is that understood?”
Gideon was gobsmacked. “...Yeah.”
She gave him a small nod. “Good. Now, let’s continue.”
Embarrassment settled in quickly. He felt very much like he had just been cornered and chewed out by one of his sergeants.
“Hold on, let me show you something. Hand me your ruck.”
Surelin raised an eyebrow at him, but complied.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Gideon set her ruck down and knelt by it on one knee. “You can loosen these two straps to form a double loop for your bedroll. Look here.”
He loosened the buckles that kept the pocket’s flap laced into the straps. She looked on as he worked, and before long there were two large, empty strap loops protruding from the buckles.
What am I doing? Am I trying to impress her with this, or something?
The thought made Gideon pause. He quickly glanced up at her face.
“What is it?” she asked.
He angled his head away from her as he felt his face reddening. “Nothing. Hand me your bedroll?”
She handed it over, and he promptly slid it within the two loops, tightening it down. The bedroll was now fastened securely to the ruck.
He stood up, avoiding eye contact with her. “There. Like this you don’t have to carry it around.”
“I can see that. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She lifted the ruck off the floor and carefully placed it onto her back, and once she was ready they set off once again down the street.
“I must say that I’m really looking forward to new shoes,” she said.
“Yeah, I bet.”
----------------------------------------
Hierum Abraham’s shop looked much more like a middle-class dwelling than a place to buy boots. It was tucked between a fancy furniture store and a colorfully decorated weapon shop, and between the two businesses the place was almost unnoticeable. Gideon might have looked it over entirely if it weren’t for a sign hanging by the front door with Abraham’s name on it.
Surelin shot Gideon a dubious look. “This is where the best cobbler lives?”
He simply shrugged and walked inside, and immediately after entering he nearly turned back around to leave.
The shop, if it were actually that, looked nothing at all like a shop. Initially, Gideon thought he had just stepped into the front parlor of somebody’s home, and his first instinct was to escape before anyone could accuse him of trespassing. The floor was covered in a beige carpet, and three comfortable looking couches had been arranged around a coffee table in the center of the room. The far wall was lined with bookcases that were packed with books, and framed paintings of green landscapes hung on the other walls. There was a long hallway straight across from the front door, and in it Gideon saw the entrance to a kitchen, along with several closed doors beyond.
The only thing remotely shop-like in the room was an ornate mahogany desk resting a few feet before the front door. A balding elderly man, dressed in desert robes, sat in a brown armchair behind the desk, quietly reading a book. He set the book down when Gideon and Surelin entered, and calmly looked between the two.
“Good evening, young people. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Um,” Surelin said as she looked around.
“Uh…? Is this a shoe shop?” Gideon asked cautiously.
The old man smiled and slowly stood up. “No, young man, this is my living room. My workshop is in the back. I moved it when I reached retirement age, though I’ve never quite found a good enough reason to stop working entirely.”
“You’re Hierum Abraham?”
“I am, indeed.”
Gideon offered his hand, and Abraham accepted it. His grip was firm.
“I’m Gideon, this is Surelin. We heard you make the best boots on the strip.”
There was a twinkle in his eye as he shook Surelin’s hand. “I dabble in cobblering, yes.”
“We need boots for a long trip we’re about to take,” she said.
He gave her a knowing smile. He’d clearly heard something along those lines many times before.
“I’d be delighted to help you. However, my services are not cheap.”
Gideon pulled out a handful of denars and showed it to him. “We’re flush.”
Abraham gave him a small smile. “Marvelous. If you wouldn’t mind, young man, lock the door behind you, and then we can attend to your needs. You can both set your backpacks down on that couch, if you like.”
He ambled slowly into the hallway. Gideon and Surelin followed him after shedding their rucks, respectfully matching his speed.
The workshop smelled like old leather and shoe polish. Dusty shoe boxes had been stacked high along the walls, and various bins and containers were spread haphazardly across the room. In the middle of the room sat a large workbench, with some disorganized tools spread across it, along with a bench clamp biting the bench’s lip. A fancy red armchair suitable for royalty was positioned beside the workbench.
Abraham gestured at Surelin to sit down. “Because you clearly have the greatest need, young lady, you will be first. Please remove your sandals.”
She sat down in the chair and slipped her feet out of her sandals. Abraham grabbed a foot measure off the workbench and very slowly knelt down by her feet.
“This will be my first pair of boots," she said. "I’ve never worn them before.”
Abraham paused, and looked up at Surelin with the same twinkle in his eyes as before. “Is that so? Wonderful! It is so rare to meet a person who has come to me for their first pair. How delightful.”
She gave him a warm smile.
“I’m gonna check out that weapon shop next door while he’s busy with you,” Gideon said.
“Why? Isn’t the sword you have more than enough?”
“I’m not buying more swords. I’m just going to pick something up.”
She frowned. “I see. Well, why would I stop you?”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
----------------------------------------
The entrance to the weapon shop was barely ten paces away from Abraham’s front door. When he looked in the windows, Gideon saw various weapons resting in display cases that were clearly meant to be visible from the street. He also spotted a long counter towards the back of the shop, and several wall mounted shelves filled with row after row of whiskey bottles.
He stepped inside, and a plump Kenanite man with a double chin and short, graying hair walked out from the back room.
“Evening! Ah. You're a merc. I can spot your type from a mile away.”
Gideon nodded as he walked up to the counter. It was a strange fact about soldiering that soldiers could always identify other soldiers, even if they hadn’t been one for a very long time. There was something in the look, the way an old soldier carried themselves, that time simply couldn’t erase.
“You sell whetstones?” Gideon asked.
“The fuck I look like to you, kid? Some kind of idiot? Of course we do. What’s it for, that beast on your back?”
“Yeah.”
He narrowed his eyes at Gideon's claymore, smirking. “Let’s see it, then. No Kenanite would ever be caught dead hauling something like that around.”
Gideon pulled his claymore out and rested it on the counter. The shopkeeper scanned it and whistled loudly. “...Kaan save us! Look at all them notches. You been swinging this at walls or something?”
“Nope. Most of it’s from one fight.”
The shopkeeper shook his head. “You ain’t gonna fix all that by sharpening it. You’re gonna have to get it reforged, otherwise the thing’ll eventually break apart on ya.”
Gideon had been afraid of that. He grabbed his claymore and slid it back into its sheath.
“I don’t have time for that. Just sell me a whetstone.”
“Yeah, you got it.”
The shopkeeper bent over and rummaged through something below the counter by his feet. Gideon looked around at the bottles of whiskey up on the shelves, and impulsively decided he wanted one.
“You selling any of that whiskey?”
The shopkeeper stood back up and dropped a square whetstone onto the counter. “No, I just like to decorate my store with giant bottles of liquor.”
Gideon gave him a dubious look.
“Of course they’re for sale, ya fuckin’ numbskull. Which one you want?”
He pointed at the biggest one, and the shopkeeper swiftly grabbed it and placed it by the whetstone.
“Anything else?”
Gideon dropped two denars on the counter and collected his goods.
“That’s it. Thanks.”
“Go on, then. Good luck out there.”
He left the weapon shop, and reentered Abraham’s home, locking the door behind him once again. Surelin was still seated in the armchair when he entered the back room, but she was now wearing a pair of brand new boots. Abraham was deftly threading a bootlace through the eyelets of her right boot.
Gideon grinned and raised the bottle up to show her. “Hey, check out what I got! Only in Kenan can you find people okay with selling booze and weapons in the same damn shop.”
Abraham and Surelin both looked at him, and then the bottle.
“Is that alcohol?” Surelin asked.
A scoff erupted from Gideon. “Well, yeah! You’ve never seen whiskey before? C’mon, even a princess must have an occasional drink.”
She looked very concerned. “Forelians can’t drink alcohol. It’s against our religion.”
“You—oh.”
Abraham spoke up, curious. “Apologies, young man, but did you just call her princess?”
Surelin’s eyes widened.
“Uh, yeah,” Gideon said hastily. “But she’s not a real one. Obviously. I was just joking. A little inside joke we have.”
Abraham smiled. “Ah yes, I understand. I used to call my wife by a nickname as well.”
“We’re not, uh.…”
Surelin shot Gideon a look that seemed to say: change the subject.
“Well, anyways. Is she about done?”
“Yes, just about. How do they feel, my dear?”
Surelin’s brows furrowed. “Good, I think. They’re a little…uncomfortable?”
Gideon and Abraham both gave her a knowing smile.
“That is normal, of course,” Abraham said. “You have to break them in. Once the soles have taken the shape of your feet, the discomfort will disappear.”
He finished threading the bootlaces on her boots and tied them. Surelin then got to her feet, staring down at the boots.
“Oh, they’re quite heavy.”
“You get used to it,” said Gideon.
Surelin looked to Abraham. “Thank you so much for helping me. If it’s not too much to ask, may I use your restroom?”
“You are very welcome, my dear. The restroom is across from the kitchen.”
She gave him a grateful smile and walked past Gideon into the hallway.
“And so we come to you, young man.”
Gideon set his bottle of whiskey down on the workbench and sat down. He was an old hand at boot shopping, but he’d never been able to talk one on one with a person who actually made them. Abraham’s knowledge about boots was simply astronomical. Once Gideon had explained his needs, the first pair Abraham presented him with was perfect. After he put them on, Gideon stood up and rocked back and forth on his heels. There were very few feelings better than the feeling of a fresh pair of boots.
Surelin then appeared in the doorway. She had changed out of her rags and was now wearing the simple red blouse from before, with tan shorts to go along with it. She'd tied her hair back in a ponytail, and in combination with her new clothing she almost seemed like a new person. Gideon couldn’t help but notice how scrawny her legs were.
“Kind of amazing what a change of clothes can do for a person,” he remarked.
Anger instantly appeared on Surelin's face. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”
"Uh," he blinked several times. “It’s a better look for you than the rags, is all.”
She pointedly ignored him, and turned to Abraham. “Is he finished?”
“Yes, I believe so,” he replied, smiling. “Unless you would like to purchase extra pairs?”
“We would, actually," said Gideon. "An extra pair for both of us.”
“Of course. You may wait in the living room while I prepare them for you.”
They both thanked him, and Gideon grabbed his bottle of whiskey before heading out.
Surelin turned on him the moment they entered the living room.
I’m about to get chewed out again.
“Tell me something, are you purposefully trying to cause problems? Why would you ever mention who I am in front of a stranger?! For Kali’s sake, how can you be such a competent fighter but still lack common sense in this way? What if the wrong person finds out who I am and attacks us before we can leave?”
“It was an honest mistake!" he replied, stung. "I wouldn’t let something like that happen.”
“Well, thank you! I feel very confident about my prospects for escaping with you going around telling all my secrets to every person we come across. And by the way, you should keep your comments about my appearance to yourself! You are the grimiest, dirtiest person I've ever seen! When is the last time you washed your clothing with soap?”
His mouth fell open with outrage, then abruptly shut when he realized that he couldn't argue with anything she'd just said. Sighing, he turned away from her and plopped himself down heavily onto the middle couch.
Surelin looked on with silent apprehension as he began to absently scratch at the paper label on his whiskey bottle.
“...That came out much crueler than I intended. I apologize.”
Gideon nodded, but didn’t look up. “S'alright.”
She sat down on the remaining unoccupied couch, her attention squarely focused on her new boots. They were both quiet as they waited for Abraham, and Gideon felt relieved when he finally appeared from the hallway a few minutes later, carrying an armful of shoeboxes.
“Here you are, young people! I heard yelling earlier, is everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” Surelin said quickly.
He nodded slowly. “It is getting rather late in the evening for an old man like myself, so if you wouldn’t mind…?”
Gideon stood up and approached him. “Sure, how much is it for everything?”
Abraham set the shoeboxes down on his desk. “Oh, two denars per boot should cover it.”
So that's...sixteen denars? Shit! Well, you get what you pay for.
Scowling, he reached into his pockets and counted out the coins.
Abraham accepted the payment graciously. “Thank you very much. Please, come see me again, both of you. You will always be welcome here.”
Surelin stood up. “Thank you, Hierum. I would love to come back some day and read some of your books.”
“A fellow bookworm!” he grinned. “Yes, of course, come and see me whenever you like.”
With that, Gideon and Surelin both worked to place their shoeboxes into their rucks. With little space remaining inside, Gideon jammed his bottle of whiskey into the ruck on top of everything else, and buckled the flap closed over it. Once everything had been packed away they both said their final goodbyes to Abraham. Surelin waved to him as they left.
They stood side by side on the front step, watching the people pass on the street in front of them. Surelin quietly cleared her throat.
“Gideon.”
He turned to her.
“I’m very grateful for your help. Thank you. Sincerely.”
“I know you are. Don’t mention it.”
She quietly studied his face for a few moments.
“...You can be very even tempered, at times. That is, when you aren’t being rude or starting a fight.”
He gave her a smirk, then set off down the street.
“C’mon, let’s head back. I’m fuckin' exhausted."