Chương 46: Chapter 029 Thorn And Tallow, Master Tailor To Lundun’s White-Collar Workers

The following morning, Jack spent a couple more hours inscribing [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls, once again forgetting all about his exercise programme. After a family breakfast, he headed into the city wearing his hooded cloak via shadowy alleyways for his nine o'clock appointment with a tailor. The fitting had been arranged by his father to outfit him in a new suit, bowler hat, and shoes for his debut at the Royal Library as a Novice Scribe.

Five minutes early, Jack removed his cloak and stepped from the cobbled street into the cool interior of Thorn and Tallow, master tailor to Lundun's white-collar workers. The bell above the door chimed, and a gentle plume of spent aether-steam curled from brass vents overhead. Jack looked around the shop's interior. It's been a while since I've been here. He'd visited Thorn and Tallow a half dozen times in his past life. It's where he and his father bought all their work clothes.

Having spent twenty-plus years living through the grief of losing his family, his memories of the place were vague and patchy. The interior was what he'd remembered of the tailoring establishment catering to the city's scribes, librarians, and clerks. The air was rich with the scent of fine fabrics, natural dyes and a subtle note of charcoal ink. Rich burgundy wallpaper lined the walls, beneath which fine-tailored coats hung on gleaming brass hooks.

An enormous oil painting of the Royal Library's front façade dominated one wall, its gilded frame catching lantern light. Shelves groaned beneath sumptuous bolts of deep charcoal wool, midnight velvet, and silken linings threaded with pale blue aether-filaments that shimmered as they caught the light. Beside the counter, an aether-powered coat press hissed, exhaling pale blue steam in gentle curls.

"Welcome, Jack. I'm Thorn, proprietor of this humble establishment," intoned a dignified voice. From behind a polished mahogany counter emerged an older gentleman in a crisp pressed waistcoat, spectacles perched at the end of his nose. He offered Jack his hand.

"Your father has sent word that you require a fitting for your new post as Novice Scribe at the Royal Library. Congratulations on your prestigious posting, young man." Jack returned the handshake and inclined his head.

"Thank you." A flush of pride warmed his cheeks, but with it came a touch of apprehension. A dark grey suit, bowler hat, and polished shoes were symbols of respectability; they signified a world from which he'd been absent from for the past twenty years. Would he slip back into that role like a hand in a well-worn glove, or had time and the pursuit of vengeance changed him too much?

"Let us begin." Thorn led Jack across polished oak floorboards to an automated measuring stand.

"Meet Tallow. He'll be your tailor this morning." He turned to a slender man perched by the stand.

"Your next client, give him your best." With a polite nod, Thorn returned to the counter. Tallow adjusted his own spectacles, the frames sliding down his nose. His expression was akin to a disappointed headmaster's, yet his eyes betrayed a keen interest.

"I always do." He offered Jack a firm handshake before stepping back to survey him.

"Right shoulder sits a touch lower. Likely from overuse. Sword arm, is it?" He said that the first time around as well. Jack recalled. When I got home, I thought of a hilarious response. Jack replied with a smile, "Heavy pens… and perhaps lifting a few too many pastries and desserts if I'm honest." He mimicked raising food into his mouth and chuckled. Yes. Perfect delivery. The tailor lowered his head to look over his glasses; he didn't blink.

"Quite droll." He gestured to a curtained alcove.

"Please strip to your undergarments for the initial measurements." Hmm… that was funny. You uptight git. Jack shook his head. Moments later, Jack re-emerged in nothing but his underwear and socks. Tallow directed him to step inside the brass-and-oak-framed device. A trio of measuring drones—sleek, beetle-like constructs of polished brass—whirred into life, each emitting tiny puffs of spent aether-steam as they extended slender, rune-enchanted scanners.

Jack held his breath as the scanners probed his form, recording every contour with small clicks. One drone paused at an awkward angle, measuring his inseam, prompting him to flinch; another poked his side at the arrow wound, surprising him. He forced himself to remain still, imagining the reader's eye as a strict librarian noting each minor imperfection in a book cover. Within seconds, the drones retracted, and a soft chime signalled completion.

"Perfect." Tallow examined a read-out on a small crystal panel.

"Your measurements are now saved. We'll adjust for posture and any lingering… injuries." He led Jack to a fitting chair beside a long mirror.

"Now, let us discuss the style. You requested a dark grey suit, bowler hat, and shoes. For the jacket, I recommend a double-breasted cut in worsted wool, subtle charcoal grey. The lining will be a satin weave imbued with aether-filament, to wick moisture away and prevent creasing." He waited for Jack's response.

"That sounds perfect." It was the same style his father wore and what the same tailor suggested almost a quarter of a century earlier. He'd felt comfortable in the suit and so saw no reason to change anything. The tailor smiled and continued.

"And of course, it will include the requested interior pocket for your scribe pen. Your father insisted that this area be imbued with stain-resistant alchemical elements. Similar to what we use on the collars and cuffs of our shirts. This extra precaution is to prevent discolouring should your pen ever leak." Jack's eyes lit. He remembered the pocket where, for over four years, he'd stored the pen his father had gifted him after his first class choosing day.

He patted his chest where the scribe pen would live beside his heart. Tallow pointed to a sample swatch. Jack ran his fingers over the fabric; it was cool, almost alive in his hands.

"It feels… extraordinary." He'd forgotten how good it felt.

"It is," Tallow agreed.

"But invisible to the untrained eye. Only you will know it carries aether-woven comfort." He continued, "This is a hard-wearing fabric, perfect for an industrious scribe." Jack nodded. He'd worn the suit for over five years with no signs of wear and tear. Thorn appeared with a steaming pot of tea and two delicate china cups on a polished tray.

"Care for a cup, Jack?" he offered. Receiving a nod, he poured the amber liquid into Jack's cup.

"This is Marives Amberleaf."

"Thank you." Jack lifted the cup, and the warm porcelain pressed against his palm. I used to drink this all the time at the Library. He drew in the tea's gentle aroma: a rich blend of sun-ripened amberleaf with a whisper of toasted barley, underscored by a subtle honeyed warmth and a faint, almost smoky edge… like embers glowing in a snug hearth. As the steam curled upwards, hints of crushed mint and toasted nuts drifted to his nose. He took a sip.

The first taste was smooth and mellow, a soft sweetness dancing on his tongue before giving way to a gentle acidic undertone that brightened the finish. Warmth from the tannins spread through his chest, reassuring and steady, as a delicate afterglow of honey and malt lingered on his palate. The tea felt like a welcome companion, encouraging yet refined.

"Wonderful," Jack murmured, closing his eyes for a moment to savour the flavour. He could feel the warmth radiate down his throat, easing the tension in his shoulders. I've missed this. At the Royal Library, they had an extensive collection of teas; he'd been an avid tea drinker, but after the fire… Cheap ale. Thorn beamed.

"Delighted you approve. A good cup of Marives Amberleaf clears the mind before the day's work." If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"I hear they let the amberleaf leaves dry in the sun on barley mats to achieve the rich flavour," Jack said. He'd read multiple books on tea in his past life, and he'd used his [Perfect Recall] skill to access the relevant information regarding the production of Marives Amberleaf tea. The old man's smile widened.

"So few young people these days appreciate a fine tea. It's good to see your father has instilled in you respect for tradition." He withdrew, leaving Jack to enjoy the final sips. Tallow resumed measuring as Jack finished his tea, the comforting taste and soothing aroma steadying his nerves for the fittings ahead. Next, Tallow draped a half-finished waistcoat about Jack's torso.

"Silken weave in matching dark grey, double-breasted, jet buttons. This will sit snug at your waist, creating a clean line beneath the jacket. The buttons can, of course, be replaced with magical protections… We have a partner shop which supplies the relevant rune-enchanted buttons." Jack nodded.

"For now. Just the standard buttons." He recalled the protections Greaves had on his waistcoat. I should save coin for at least the basic protections. With enough coin, a man could shield himself from every common mage spell. Each rune-etched button carried a single enchantment, absorbing one spell before its magic guttered out. Nobles rarely left their estates without at least a ward against [Fireball] or [Frost Breath].

The wealthier—and more paranoid—might wear layers of them, enough to shrug off volley after volley of burning flame or freezing breath before a single wound was struck.

"Their business card," Tallow said, while placing a black embossed card on the table for Jack to collect later. Jack inclined his head as Tallow clipped on a measuring tape.

"And the trousers?"

"Slim cut. Straight from waist to ankle, with a four-centimetre break above the boot heel. A longer hem risks scuffing; a shorter one looks ungainly. For material, the same worsted wool, but with a fine blend of Mercia cotton for comfort." Jack nodded while finishing his tea. Those trousers were really comfortable.

"Next," Tallow said, "we come to shoes." He retrieved a pair of pressed leather brogues in deep slate-grey from beneath the counter.

"These are constructed on a flexible sole with aether-lined insoles to cushion long hours of standing. Please step forward." Jack slipped his feet into the brogues.

"Impressive," he murmured as Tallow laced them and adjusted the fit around his heel.

"They'll mould to your feet," the tailor assured him.

"And the aether-filament will keep your soles warm in winter and cool in summer." They turned to the bowler hat. Tallow retrieved a stiff raven-felt hat from a velvet-lined cabinet. He placed it on Jack's head and activated a hidden rune enchantment.

"Custom-fitted. It'll hug your brow without pinching, and the brim is tailored to avoid shading your sight while you work." Jack gazed at his reflection: a young man transformed, studious, purposeful, ready for his new role. He smiled, recalling his happy years working at the Royal Library with his father. I'll be working with Dad again, he gulped at the thought. Thorn appeared with a wide smile.

"All done?" he asked. Tallow nodded. Thorn continued, "Return tomorrow at midday; your suit, hat, and shoes will be awaiting you. Meanwhile, allow me to walk you to the door." Jack redressed and collected his belongings, including a business card for Thorn and Tallow, and the partner business which supplied magical protections. As they strolled back beneath the painting of the Royal Library, Thorn spoke of the building's vast reading halls, its towering shelves and the hush broken only by the turning of pages.

Jack listened, heart quickening as each detail cemented his future with his past. In his past life, he'd loved his time there. At the door, Jack paused to quickly check that the remaining adventurers weren't nearby.

"Thank you, Thorn, Tallow. I'll wear the suit with pride." He meant it.

"May it serve you as well as your pen," Thorn replied. Jack stepped back into the early morning air, the promise of tomorrow glinting in the sunlight and the soft curl of spent blue aether-steam behind him. After leaving the tailor's, Jack made his way to Harker and Barker to collect his reserved [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll and replace the [Fireball] scroll he'd used. Jack entered the spell scroll shop to the familiar chime of the bell and the smile of the old shopkeeper.

A handful of customers perused the displays. He took a deep breath. Hmm… that smell never gets old.

"Good morning, young man," the old shopkeeper greeted him.

"Morning," Jack replied, stepping to the counter.

"I'm here to drop off a few scrolls and collect the [Chronos Sphere] scroll… if it's ready?" The shopkeeper nodded.

"Indeed. One imbued [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll, prepaid." He produced the scroll from beneath the counter and handed it to Jack.

"Thank you." Jack pulled out the half a dozen unimbued [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls he'd created since his last visit.

"Excellent," the shopkeeper said, inspecting the scrolls.

"These sell so darn fast. After you left yesterday, we had another order for a dozen that we are struggling to fill." He tapped a finger on the scrolls.

"These are much needed."

"I'm glad to help," Jack replied, imagining the coin he could earn if he devoted all his time to inscribing those scrolls. With the right pace, he might produce ten a day, or even fifteen, earning 70 silver to 1 gold and 5 silver each day. While saving enough coin to buy the drow dagger and poison, he'd spent over a dozen hours a day just inscribing scrolls. He shook his head. No, I have to prepare to kill Greaves; only then can I worry about coin. The old man cleared his throat.

"That's six unimbued [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls for a total of 42 silver." He slid the scrolls under the counter.

"I'll be buying a few things," Jack said as he saw the shopkeeper counting out 42 silver.

"So hold the coin for now." The old man nodded, and Jack went to collect some supplies. A burly young warrior at the next display called to the shopkeeper, "Hey, old man, any discounts for buyin' in bulk?" Jack glanced at him. Hmm… another warrior. Many men became warriors; it was an easy combat class to qualify for and level. Making it a popular choice.

"It depends," the shopkeeper replied.

"What do you consider a bulk purchase?"

"Erm… five of 'em," the warrior pointed towards a display of [Fireball] spell scrolls.

"Then no," the old man replied.

"Small discounts are available for orders of above two dozen of the same type of spell scroll." The warrior groaned. After a minute, Jack returned with two [Fireball] scrolls, two [Frost Breath] scrolls, two [Cleansing] scrolls, and 50 medium-quality blank scrolls. The old shopkeeper smiled as he totalled Jack's bill.

"Including the 42 silver from the [Chronos Sphere] scrolls and the ten per cent discount, that will be… 3 silver 90 coppers, young man." Jack already had the 3 silver and 90 coppers ready. The old man chuckled.

"Good to see our young people being capable of simple calculations without those new calculating engines." He took the coin.

"I tell you, it's going to sap the Kingdom's wit, mark my words." He shook his head in disapproval.

"What are they going to do when they don't have access to one of those huge devices? Fail. That's what." Jack smiled and nodded in agreement as he packed away his new scrolls and supplies. His father had made a similar argument when teaching him how to quickly calculate prices in his head.

"Anything else?" the old shopkeeper inquired. Jack shook his head.

"No, that's everything, thanks." He left the shop thinking about coin. After his purchase, he was left with just over 2 gold. He'd had a small windfall when he looted the swordsman's purse. Looting the corpses of dead adventurers is quite lucrative, he thought. Shame I couldn't take his greatsword right away; I bet it's worth a couple of gold.

After heading home via the shadows, Jack sat in the kitchen with his mom, Zia, and the baby. His mom had just asked how the suit fitting had gone.

"Good, Mom," Jack said as he sampled one of Zia's latest creations. It was a buttermilk biscuit shaped like a strange, stubby tree.

"Great biscuit, Zia. Love the tree shape." He took another bite, smiling. Zia offered a shy smile and nibbled at her own biscuit, which looked more like a fat-bottomed duck. Jack continued, "The suit's dark grey, like Dad's. I can collect it tomorrow." His mom beamed.

"I can't wait to see the two most handsome men in my life standing side by side in matching suits." He flushed at the memory of his mom once insisting he and his father stand back-to-back before they'd gone to the Royal Library together for the first time. At the time, she'd said, "You look like a pair of handsome detectives from the cover of one of my books." She'd been deep into detective novels then. He had felt like a complete idiot that day, complaining that he looked ridiculous.

His dad had just smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "It's what we do for love, Son. You'll understand one day." Jack swallowed hard. He'd never got the chance to understand. Baron Greaves had made sure of that. His eyes widened in panic as a new thought hit him. By the Gods, she's going to make us do it again.

"Are you alright, Jack?" his mom asked. He nodded.

"Just… a bit nervous about my first day at work, that's all." He forced a smile. And the fact you're going to make me look like a fool again. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll be fine, Son. Your dad will be there, remember." Jack covered her hand with his own. It felt like home.

"Thanks, Mom." Though they weren't hugging, Zia saw the opening and darted in to steal a hug from both of them, squeezing in with a grin. After enjoying a few more misshapen biscuits, Jack headed up to his room to work.