Chương 6: Ill Tidings

Learn your worth. Don't sell yourself short. The price you put on your goods is the buyer's first impression. —The Artificer's Guide to Merchandising I set up the table in our house by the open window as a makeshift workdesk. The legs were warped, making the table wobble any time I put pressure on it. A small stick wedged under the offending leg made for a temporary fix until I could replace it. The noonday sun provided adequate light, and I sat, peering out the window. A small boy chased a girl, both giggling.

It was nice to hear laughter again. Our situation had improved over the week. Gene and Darby created a small group that went fishing every day. I would have loved to join them, but my efforts were better focused elsewhere. The added meat to our diet did wonders for morale. As promised, the donated coin went to those most in need, and essentials were slowly being handed out. I turned back to the sheet of leather in front of me and laid out my makeshift tools.

They were the hardest part of creating something that met the buyer's standards. Here in our little corner of the city, people didn't need something perfect, they needed something that worked. With this project, form would need to meet functionality. I would need to rise to the occasion if I was going to earn money on my material investment, much less break even. Beginning with the awl that August had made for me, I punched a small hole into the leather near the edge.

I fed the string I had used to take measurements through the hole and tied it to a stick on the other side. Once the string was securely anchored, some tension would create a straight line the exact length I would need to cut. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best method I had without any tools. Slowly, carefully, I pulled the awl along the string and scored the leather. I didn't have the highest hopes going into this. I was essentially doing the measurements freehand without a ruler or yardstick.

Despite this, my bonus dexterity from five levels in Craftsman pulled its weight. My hand was much steadier than it was on the last project I had worked on. I could feel a new sense of control that just wasn't present before, like an invisible hand that braced my own. I repeated the process once more and pulled the string through the hole. I removed the loop from the stick and put it on the awl. I tied the other end of the string to the back of the chair, resulting in a pendulum about 6 feet long.

With the string held tight, I was able to mark the bottom outline of the apron with the tethered awl in a perfect curve. The same method worked for the chestline on the opposite side. The knife I'd borrowed from Wilhelmina left a lot to be desired. It was too thick, too dull, and the shape of the blade fought with me. Nevertheless, after a good hour of delicately sawing at the outline, I was finally able to free the section.

Holding the awl like a pencil and the edge of the leather against a knuckle, I was able to follow the long edge I had just cut and mark out what would become the straps. The key selling point of my design was a cross shoulder strap. Every apron I'd seen thus far was of the same simple design. They had a loop for the neck and a tie around the waist. I'm sure the more successful vendors might have had personalized equipment made for them, but here in the lower-class parts of the city, there weren't such options.

The modified design would take the pressure off of the neck and distribute it across the shoulders. I repurposed the metal buckles from the harness I'd received to allow for adjustments to the strap length. Tough upholstery thread was further strengthened by running it through the beeswax I had purchased. The wax would prevent the constant wear and tear from fraying the stitching where the straps connected to the apron.

I was stuck using a needle that was not meant for leather and had to punch each hole manually with the awl. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The hours ticked by, and before I knew it, the work was complete. It was missing several aspects that I would have done before, like skiving the joining sections to keep the leather from becoming too thick, or beveling and burnishing the edges. That would come in time when my collection of materials and tools had grown.

For now, it would do quite nicely. > Leather Apron > A protective apron made of sturdy leather. > Quality: Common > Grade: Medium > Value: 14s > Leatherworking Leveled Up! > Craftsman Leveled Up! My eyes widened in shock at the level-up notifications and the value of the piece. Fourteen Silver! I had more than quadrupled the value of the side of leather, and I still had some left over. If I could keep up projects like these, I stood to gain a massive amount of money.

I folded the apron over my arm and left for the docks, hoping to catch my client before night fell.

"It's perfect!" The fishmonger was delighted with the apron once I had shown him how the straps worked.

"It's a bit plain, but damn if it doesn't fit like a glove. How much do I owe ya?" He fished up his coinpurse and began picking out several silver coins.

"I'm glad you like it. We're looking at fourteen silver." I decided to go with the flat value of the item's description and hoped I wasn't shorting myself. The value seemed to be in line with the amount of material used.

"It's a bit pricey, but you can't beat the speed and comfort. Fairer than Burles too." He placed the coins in my hand and grinned.

"I can't wait to tell him to shove it and cancel my order. Four weeks! I still can't believe it." He'd included a handful of copper coins as a tip, but I told him to keep them and just pass my name along to anyone else that might be interested. He readily agreed, and upon saying our goodbyes, I made my way to August's to drop off the borrowed knife. Leaving the docks, I noticed a posting on a town board that I'd missed on my first trip here. Further inspection revealed it to be a quest board.

I read through several pinned flyers, taking note of one in particular. It was a call to arms, a reward for the ooze from a 'Tar Fiend'. I had no idea why someone would want the ooze from whatever that was. It sounded foul. There were others for miscellaneous materials, like the hides of smaller animals. I'd make sure and pass that on to Gene. The forge was far busier than I was anticipating this late into the night. August was hammering away at a sheet of metal.

He looked up from his work when I entered the shop and took the opportunity to take a break while the metal heated back up.

"Logan, I was hoping you'd stop by. I needed to talk to you." He pulled his gloves off and sat on a stool with a sigh.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" I asked. He seemed troubled, and I was curious what might be bothering him.

"I don't know. I'm afraid it might not be." He glanced at the door, then lowered his voice.

"As you know, we were refugees from a war. I'll never forget it, the way we were blindsided. Things were good. Business had never been better. We were getting so many orders in that I couldn't keep up!" He wiped at his sweaty brow and picked his next words carefully.

"Something felt off to me, all that work, the backup of orders, inflated prices…" He looked in my eyes, and his voice grew cold.

"I feel that same feeling now. Tensions been high between Vandmar and Corvath. Rumors are always floating about war, but lately things are changing."

"I appreciate the notice, but how does that affect us out here? Aren't we pretty far from any conflicts?" I asked the question, but already in my mind I was running through the possibilities. An influx of people from Earth on an already fragile alliance probably threw a wrench in things.

"If war breaks out, and I'd bet my best hammer it's headed that way, the duke will conduct a draft by order of the emperor. You can bet Demarius and his ilk won't be part of that either."

"They'll draft the lower-class citizens first." I finished his thought for him.

"And there aren't any lower than we are." August nodded sadly.

"I wish it weren't so, lad. But you'd best prepare for what's coming." He got up and adjusted the now red-hot sheet of metal. I could tell he needed to get back to work, so I thanked him again and remembered the reason I'd come in the first place. I placed the borrowed knife on the table beside him and headed back home, pondering our next move.