Chương 60: Chapter 038 A Gentlemen’s Etiquette Pop Quiz

"What should you do if an older gentleman insists on telling you a long-winded story?" Jack's father asked, leaning back in his chair. Jack resisted the urge to sigh. During breakfast, he'd made the fatal mistake of mentioning that he'd already read The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness and was ready for the hunt on Saturday. This was now the sixth quiz question his father had asked to test his understanding of the book's contents.

Like Jack, his father had the [Perfect Recall] skill, so he knew the book word for word.

"I should listen respectfully until he's finished, without interrupting, before I speak again," Jack recited. His father nodded.

"Correct. And if a lady drops her handkerchief at your feet?" Jack smiled.

"I would retrieve it, hand it to her politely, and avoid any appearance of forwardness."

"Good. And where does your napkin go when dining with the Baron?" Jack grinned.

"On my lap, to cover my knees. Never tucked into the collar… that's considered vulgar." His father gave a small smile, tapping his fingers on the table.

"And if you are introduced to a gentleman of superior rank, what should you do?" Jack answered, "Bow slightly, showing respect, and wait for him to offer his hand first before shaking."

"Excellent memory, Jack," his father said.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you already had the [Perfect Recall] skill at a high level. Your good memory will serve you well as a scribe." Jack's heart jolted. Shit. I did it again. He wouldn't even gain the [Perfect Recall] skill until he became an Apprentice Scribe, and here he was, showing off [Perfect Recall] at 100% thanks to his high Compatibility Score with the scribe class. I need to be more careful around Dad. He forced a grin.

"Just a good memory, I guess." His father gave him a look but didn't press further. He checked his pocket watch.

"Time waits for no man." Rising, he fetched his briefcase from his study, kissed Anna on the cheek, and headed out the door to work. Jack sat back, exhaling. He had the day ahead of him; plenty to think about, plenty to plan. But for now, for just a few minutes, he let himself enjoy the lingering warmth of the meal and the comfort of home. The calm before another storm.

Jack repositioned his mask and cloak before pulling out the package containing the evidence of a wraith's hunger drugs ring in the city. The package contained all the information he'd acquired from Mo the Apprentice Mage, including his deciphered version of the letter and the doses of wraith's hunger he'd found in the velvet box. He checked no one was nearby before crossing the cobbled street towards a guard station where two city guards stood at the doors.

Jack gave them a nod and pushed the small package into a drop box where Lundun citizens could drop off evidence of criminality. The two guards eyed him as he went on his way, but said nothing. Let's hope they shut it down, Jack thought as he checked no one was following him. Five minutes later, Jack pulled off his mask and cloak and stored them in his pack before exiting the alley across from the tailor's shop.

He took a deep breath and checked that the three adventurers weren't nearby, crossed the street, and entered Thorn and Tallow. The doorbell chimed as he pushed the door open to the smell of fabrics, natural dyes, and a hint of charcoal ink. Closing the door, he breathed a sigh of relief; he was safe… for now.

"Good morning, Jack," Thorn called from behind the counter. The old proprietor of the shop rose to greet him. Jack smiled.

"Good morning." He offered the old man his hand.

"I hope I'm not too early to pick up my suit?" He planned to take his work suit home and then head back out to the Adventurers Guild to train with Nessa and Ella. He'd entered the tailor's shop early—eight forty-five in the morning—so there was the risk his suit wouldn't be ready yet. Thorn shook Jack's hand and smiled.

"No. Perfect timing. We've just finished your second outfit a few moments ago." Jack looked confused.

"Second outfit?" Thorn nodded as he led Jack through the shop.

"Yes, the rush order for a riding outfit for the deer hunt. Your father dropped it off personally. Congratulations on the invite. It's a great honour to be invited at such a young age."

"Dad ordered me a riding outfit?" Realisation hit. Of course, he'd need a new outfit; he'd be expected to ride and shoot his bow from horseback. Though he could get away with wearing his new suit to the hunt, it could be damaged. The trousers, in particular, weren't designed for riding a horse. Plus, he'd look out of place if he didn't wear the appropriate outfit. As a commoner, it would be hard enough dealing with some of the young nobles who would attend.

"He didn't tell you?" the old man asked, stifling a chuckle as the pair entered the area of the shop where Jack had been fitted for his suit the previous day. Jack shook his head as he watched Tallow adjusting a hunting outfit on a mannequin.

"No matter. It's ready," Thorn said.

"We already had your measurements. We just need to check that it fits and make minor adjustments. Same with your work suit." Jack's gaze swept over the hunting outfit on the mannequin; his eyebrows lifted in surprise. The outfit was nothing like the sharp, charcoal-grey work suit he'd been fitted for the day before. This was a proper middle-class gentleman's hunting attire, something a young man might wear on a deer hunt alongside nobles. Dad must have spent over a gold on it.

He felt guilty about the cost of something he might only wear once. Tallow was adjusting the set of the jacket on the mannequin's shoulders. He turned as Jack approached.

"It's a fine piece, this one. Should last you a good many hunts if you take care of it." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Jack ran a hand over a reinforced suede shoulder patch, designed to prevent wear from the bowstring. Maybe I could use the jacket for archery practice? The jacket was a deep forest green wool with a double row of polished brass buttons. Elbow patches matched, lending both durability and a rugged charm.

Good, I can still store my spell scrolls in the breast pocket, he thought.

"I didn't know Dad ordered this." Thorn chuckled, standing at Jack's side.

"Your father was quite particular. Said his son couldn't be turning up looking like a clerk. No. He wanted you dressed appropriately. Functional, but with style."

"Dad does love tradition." Jack gave a half-smile. Though he has zero interest in hunting.

"Come now," Tallow gestured.

"Let's get you fitted. Make sure everything's sitting as it should." Jack stepped behind the changing screen, slipping out of his day clothes and into the new outfit. The trousers were cut in a riding style, slim through the leg with extra room at the thigh, made from thick tan twill reinforced at the inner knee with dark leather. They were snug but comfortable; the reinforced knees felt sturdy. Been a while since I felt a stiff collar.

He smiled as he put on the crisp cream linen shirt and thought about his early work-life memories at the Royal Library before the fire. When he buttoned the waistcoat and slipped on the green jacket, he turned, watching himself in the tall mirror. He gave a small smile at the discreet oak leaf pattern embroidered on the edges of the waistcoat. That's a nice touch. He flexed his shoulders. The cut allowed full movement, letting his arms raise unrestricted. Perfect for drawing a bow. He looked… different.

A young man ready to join the hunt, to stand alongside barons and their sons. Not some scribbler in a library, or a forty-plus-year-old scarred failure lurking through alley shadows in an assassin's cloak. Damn. I'm going to be saddle sore on Sunday. He was recalling the first time he'd ridden a horse while working on a farm one summer in his past life. Aching back, arse, and thighs. At least I won't get chaffed thighs this time. Tallow appeared beside him, making quick, precise adjustments at the cuffs.

Thorn circled, nodding in approval. Jack slipped on the long, polished leather boots that sat nearby; reaching just below the knee, they were designed to keep the lower leg protected when riding through rough brush or woods.

"Splendid," Thorn said as he helped Jack adjust the matching forest-green riding cloak.

"I daresay you'll make quite the impression." Jack turned, examining the back view. The shorter cloak fastened at the collar with a brass clasp shaped like a running stag; it settled against the line of his jacket, ensuring it wouldn't tangle with his bowstring. At least I'll look the part. I'm going to be sore on Monday as well. Mom's right, I should take it easy for the rest of the week. He reached for his white oak bow, testing the draw. It was smooth and unhindered.

"Feels good," he murmured.

"I look good too… you've outdone yourselves." Tallow beamed. Thorn chuckled.

"We aim to please." Jack exhaled, meeting his own gaze in the mirror. I can be anything I want to be in this life. Can't I? He'd lived one life pulled away from his true calling as a scribe by the murderous Baron. Spending his days crafting spell scrolls for coin, his nights in taverns drinking cheap ale to drown the nightmares caused by his soldier's heart. The start of his new life was already going off the rails; in under a week, he'd killed a goblin, three adventurers, and possessed two combat classes.

And now here he stood… dressed like someone he didn't recognise. For a moment, a hint of doubt crept in. Did he belong in this world of noble games and formal hunts? But the doubt passed, replaced by a quiet, focused determination. I will protect my family and have a good life. No matter what happened on Saturday, he intended to step onto that hunting ground not as a naïve boy, or a scarred failure, but as someone else. He'd be the vengeful scribe, patient, resourceful, and when dealing with Baron Greaves, lethal.

Straightening the brass clasp at his collar, Jack gave a small, wry smile.

"Perfect," Tallow said, standing back to admire his work. Thorn smiled.

"Any tightness or other issues?"

"Everything fits perfectly," Jack replied while stretching his arms and legs to test the fit and feel.

"Boots are a little stiff around the ankles, but that's to be expected with new leather." Without a word, Tallow knelt beside Jack, placed a hand on a boot, and activated a skill. He did the same on the other boot.

"Better?" Jack tested the boots again.

"Much better, thanks."

"Not a problem," Thorn said.

"Your feet should be comfortable for the hunt." Jack nodded.

"Next, we'll check your new suit," Thorn said. Jack stepped behind the changing screen once more, this time peeling off the forest-green hunting attire and hanging it on the provided hooks. He took a slow breath as he laid hands on the charcoal-grey suit. The one he'd originally come for, the one meant for his work at the Royal Library. As he slipped into the crisp white shirt, the fabric smooth and light against his skin, the smirking face of Hermes watched him via his reflection.

The stiff, narrow collar framed his neck. Next came the waistcoat, a matching dark grey silken weave with double-breasted, jet buttons. It hugged his torso with a snug, tailored fit that made him stand a little straighter. Then came the double-breasted jacket, cut in worsted wool in a subtle charcoal grey. Jack eased his arms into the slim sleeves, rolling his shoulders as the cut settled along his frame. The lapels sat flat and sharp, the breast pocket square a quiet dash of silver-grey. Hmm…

should I carry spell scrolls at work? He thought while examining the breast pocket. He fastened the middle button, feeling the smooth fabric pull in at the waist, which gave him a slim, confident silhouette. The trousers matched, their crease sharp, and their fit trim but comfortable. Jack gave a little huff of amusement as he slipped on a pair of deep slate-grey leather brogues.

He wasn't used to dressing like this, like a respectable young man from a decent family, ready to take his place among the scribes and clerks of the city.

"It's going to feel strange working at the Library again," he muttered to himself while stepping out from behind the screen. Jack faced the tall mirror once again. After spending two decades wearing a dark cloak and cheap clothes, he didn't recognise himself.

"I look good," he said with a smile. Gone was the boy in the dark cloak with blood on his hands. In the mirror stood a well-dressed, presentable young man. The picture of an aspiring Novice Scribe, someone respectable, someone ready to walk through the doors of the Royal Library with his head held high. I'm Jack the scribe, he thought. I'm a scribe. He couldn't help but smile. This is who he was, who he wanted to be. A simple scribe.

Tallow and Thorn flanked him, making small adjustments, smoothing the shoulders, tugging at the cuffs.

"Splendid fit," Thorn murmured, his eyes warm with approval.

"You'll cut a fine figure in the Royal Library's halls, Jack. Mark my words." Tallow nodded.

"The suit sits beautifully. No pinching, no awkward pulls when you move?" Jack tested the sleeves, raising his arms, twisting at the waist. It moved with him. His fingers slid into the inner pocket, confirming there was space for small scroll cases or a slim notebook.

"This…" Jack began, almost to himself.

"This is what I always wanted." He gave a small, crooked smile.

"A proper scribe's life." Thorn's eyes twinkled.

"Then make sure you keep that suit sharp, young man. Respect the craft, respect the attire." Jack gave a genuine smile, a faint flush of pride creeping into his cheeks. He nodded.

"Thank you. For everything." Looking at himself in a crisp, new suit made him feel like he could get his new life back on track. I can be who I used to be before the fire. Thorn clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's what we're here for, lad. Now, we'll wrap the suit carefully so it's ready for you to take home." Jack changed back into his regular clothes, folding the suit under Thorn's watchful eye as the tailor wrapped it in a fine linen cover, ready for carrying. The hunting outfit was bundled up with expert care and attention. With both bundles secured in his arms, Jack straightened, rolling his shoulders and tightening the straps.

"Good luck on Saturday," Thorn said.

"And at the Royal Library, come Monday." Jack met the old man's gaze, feeling the weight of everything, the hunt, the work, the life he was stepping back into.

"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying more meaning than just simple politeness.

"Truly." It might just be a suit, a piece of tailored cloth, but it represented who Jack wanted to be. A scribe. And with that, he turned, gave a small nod, and stepped back into the bustling streets of Lundun, his future waiting on the other side.