That simple rhythm continued for the next half week before Danaria sent one of her ladies to inform him that they would be going to town after lunch so that he could try on and pick up his new clothes for the upcoming party. That suited Lucas just fine, he’d been doing the same thing for so many days in a row that he felt like he was starting to get stuck in a rut.
Every morning he’d cook until the sound of digging and construction got too obnoxious. Then, he’d walk the orchard, look at the progress their hired hands were making. After that, Lucas would gather herbs and other reagents until it was time for Gerwin and Danaria to make him feel like he was the clumsy old man instead of the other way around.
The only difference lately was the different kinds of healing potions he was making when they came in. Bear grease would turn a common potion into a healing salve, and boiled turnip greens would make a healing potion that helped the digestive system.
Tainted Lesser Healing salve (3 doses): Lesser healing, poison 1, endurance 1, 50% more effective against skin ailments.
Tainted Lesser Healing Digestive (2 doses): Lesser healing, poison 1, endurance 1, 50% more effective against stomach ailments and food poisoning.
There were limitless combinations, and someday, he hoped to find the right combination that would grant a bonus to all traumatic injuries, but to date, he hadn’t found that little wrinkle just yet. All he needed was ingredients and time. The most recent ingredient to catch his eye had been the pulverized wings of the stinging dragonfly.
The iridescent wings were surprisingly powerful, and while they might strengthen a potion of true sight, he was fairly sure that they could boost a healing potion in that direction too. There were more than enough people in the nearby villages with eye problems.
Iridescent Dragonfly wings(pulverized): Perception 4, agility 1, poison 1
It wasn’t a bad way to spend his days, and honestly, they were making money hand over fist. Between the potions that Kar’gandin was selling to his cousin and the drugs that were being bought once or twice a week, the coins were coming in like a river. It had gotten to the point where the dwarf had purchased a large, iron-bound strong box and a stout lock to hold their increasing gains.
He’d explained his Byzantine accounting system more than once to Lucas, but he wasn’t really concerned. Items that were to be used by the gang were deducted evenly from the four of them. That included not just reagents and other materials like glass vials, but also wages for their growing workers and hangers-on, along with provisions and other things. Still, all of that was only a few dragons a week, and they were making a lot more than that.
Lucas probably should have argued for a double share early on, but he had no wish to walk down that road. Right now, every member of the group, with the possible exception of Adin, was providing a valuable service, and this wouldn’t have worked without everyone, so the last thing he wanted to do was start nickel-and-dimeing everyone. He hadn’t actually spent a single silver on anything fun since this had all started, either, but he wasn’t too put out by it.
He was patient, and in addition to the thirty-seven dragons and change he’d buried at the fence line, Kar’gandin told him he had twenty-four dragons and twelve kings to his name in the treasury. It wasn’t bad. In less than a month, he’d collected more than ten percent of what he’d need to build a nice tavern. That might seem like a long time, but he was going to have to decide on a name, and he didn’t think that the residents of Lordanin would get it if he called the place South of the Border.
The trip into town was anything but eventful. It was a hot, sunny day, so Danaria brought a deep violet parasol that matched her outfit. Lucas doubted he could afford to replace her closet even if he spent every last dragon he had. Not only was each piece tailored to her, but the fabric was obviously pricey. It was more expensive than anything he’d ever worn but far from the most expensive thing he’d seen noblewomen wearing around town.
The real difference was that the men of Lordanin, even the noblemen, wore fairly simple outfits. It was only for women and bards to dress up like exotic birds, and colors cost money.
I wonder if we could start a dye business up on the side, he wondered to himself as Danaria made pleasant conversation with him about the weather and how Meadowin was flourishing.
Dying was hardly the next order of business, though. Not unless he wanted to find a new way to smuggle drugs. What they really needed was a glassblower to their unlimited demand, and eventually a blacksmith devoted to making them weapons and armor.
Every few days Adin brought home someone else that lived in his holdings or was related to someone who did that was eager to join up, and at the point the only thing they’d spent more money on than Lucas’ clothing were weapons and armor for the new recruits.
It was honestly getting expensive and gave Lucas a lot more sympathy for assholes like the Prince, and his dad, the King. They had to arm and armor thousands of soldiers. Lucas would have to sell an awful lot of Blue to make that happen, but then he’d need an awful lot of enemies to justify such a ridiculous expense.
Well, I have a lot of enemies already, he thought as he exited the carriage. They just don’t know who I am or where to find me, and I aim to keep it that way.
They stopped by the cobbler first and found everything finished. Lucas changed his boots on the spot, finding the new ones to be much more comfortable than the old pair. The other shoes were fine too, of course, but he wasn’t really into the whole shiny-black-leather-with-giant-silver-buckles look that the nobility tended to favor. Air Jordan’s they were not, and he was sure that much like fashions regarding women’s hats, the less functional something was, the more fashionable that made it.
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“You want me to repair those too, your Highness, or—” the cobbler snarked.
“Nah,” Lucas shot back, “Those are my ass-kicking boots, and I’ll still need them when I need to kick a little ass now and then.”
That got a laugh out of the man, though Danaria was aghast at the whole exchange. “I can’t believe that Finnegan would persist in being so rude with you and that you would return that rudeness. Really, Lucas, a Parin is better than that. You must—”
“I get it,” he said, “But your cobbler is a no nonsense dude, and he likes a little no nonsense in return. That’s all. Its a guy thing.”
“I assure you that women can be rude too,” she said as they walked to the carriage to deposit their purchases before returning to the tailor.
“Women, sure?” Lucas agreed. “They can be b… a bit rude sometimes, you though, probably not.”
“You know not of which you speak!” she laughed, “Mister Sharpe, I can assure you that—”
“Perin,” Lucas shot back. “Lucas Perin. Your cousin and you shouldn’t forget it.”
After that little exchange and a small fit of giggles on Danaria’s part, at how she’d let their little lie slip, he opened the door and they both went inside. The tailor’s shop was little changed, except for the fact that this time Mister Twill’s daughter was working away on pinning a dress on a manaquin in the corner instead of coughing in the back room.
The girl brightened immediately as she saw Danaria, who immediately went over to join her. Lucas ignored them and walked up to the tailor instead.
“Glad to see everyone is doing better,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand.
“Much, and I must thank you again for—” Mister Twill started to say, but Lucas cut him off.
“I told you not to mention it, and I meant it,” Lucas said, adding a touch of severity to his false snobbery. “Now tell me, how much of my order have you had a chance to finish? There’s a ball coming up, and I simply must attend.”
“Why, all of them, I think. A few might need alterations after we check the fit, but first, ladies… if you don’t mind.”
The women caught the man’s drift and went outside, leaving the two of them alone. In the real world, Lucas could be assured that if one size L fit him, then all the others probably would, too. Here, though, everything was handcrafted, and just because the left shoe fit, there was no guarantee that the right would do the same.
So, Lucas spent the next half hour trying on the piles of clothing, which was thoroughly and utterly dull. In the end, everything fit just right, and the only keen eyes of the tailor noticed the few problems that existed. He even pointed out a number of small pockets that he’d sewn into jackets and the sleeves since, as he put it, Lucas ‘struck him as a man that placed a great deal of priority of discretion.’
Whether he was referring to Lucas’s nighttime potion delivery, or other rumors about him, Lucas couldn’t say. He didn’t ask, though. Some things were better left unsaid.
In the end, Mister Twill held back only one of the shirts because a button wasn’t quite where he wanted it and a pair of pants because it was hemmed just a little too low. Otherwise, they were basically perfect. With a fresh shave and a little attitude, no one would have any idea about his humble beginnings when he put on one of these suits. Hell, looking at himself in the mirror now he barely recognized himself.
“Excellent work, Mister Twill,” Lucas said with a smile. “If I have any need for more outfits, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“That’s very kind,” the tailor said with a very slight bow.
“I did hear a very interesting rumor about you from my cousin,” Lucas said finally. He’d meant to work this into small talk earlier, but the man had been all business, so he’d never found the time. “He mentioned that you might have a wild talent.”
“Well, that’s not such a rare thing,” Mister Twill said with a shrug. “Half a dozen people in the village have them, and probably hundreds in Lordanin proper.”
“Could I see it?” Lucas asked. “Just a little demonstration? I’m a sucker when it comes to magic.”
The old man smiled thinly but didn’t say no. Instead, he reached out into thin air, and with a little concentration, the silver flash of a small bit of metal flew across the room. It soared quicker than he could see, and Lucas could only make out the slender metallic glint before a needle appeared in the tailor’s hand.
Mister Twill smiled, and then, taking careful aim, he threw it at the counter a dozen feet away, where it embedded. Lucas was about to praise him for the trick, but as he opened his mouth, another needle, and another, and another flew to join the first. In the space of seconds, two dozen needles flew across the room, and all of them embedded in the same spot, one after the other. By the end of that demonstration, that spot of wood was a veritable pincushion.
“Very impressive,” Lucas said, louder than he meant to as he clapped. “If you could do that with daggers or even nails, then you’d be a fearsome assassin indeed.”
“You’re too kind,” the old tailor said. “It’s just a parlor trick and nothing more. It doesn’t work on anything heavier than that. Even a silver king is much too heavy for me to move, but for something truly tiny, like a needle or a small button… well, I can do whatever I like within reason.”
The two of them chatted a little more about wild talents. Mister Twill was apparently among the minority of people who believed that everyone probably had one; it was just that most never figured out what theirs was.
It was an interesting thought, and it gave Lucas something to think about on the ride home as he fended off Danaria’s compliments on the ride home. “Why, with a little powder, one might never know you weren’t born a Parin to begin with,” she exclaimed.
“I’m not wearing makeup,” Lucas growled.
“Well, Then you’ll be the only one,” she giggled. “Welcome to the upper classes, where no one is what they seem, and everyone is out to get you.”