by Siri Paulson
Read previous installments: Part 1 | Part 2
Marius bowed to Master Poole yet again, praying his customer would leave.
Yes, Marius had done fine work on Master Poole’s vest, up to the last instant; yes, he had risen to the occasion despite the short notice for the party, for which Master Poole apologized once more; yes, he would be called upon again in future, with more notice this time, no doubt, although one never knew when an event would arise unlooked-for, when a society hostess might decide that her longstanding monthly party must be a masquerade this time, or when the fashions might change at the drop of a hat, so difficult keeping one’s wardrobe up to date, thank goodness for a good tailor…
Marius let his thoughts drift towards the tall, dashing airship pirate with the incredible cheekbones who was even now preparing to sail away on the evening air currents. They’d made an agreement, he and Niko. He was to come along to finish Niko’s coat, and in return Niko would introduce him to the weavers of spider silk. And maybe he could get to know Niko better. The glimpse he’d had of Niko’s smoothly muscled chest had made him hungry for more. Of course, Niko was a pirate captain—he wouldn’t be impressed by a lowly tailor. But the heat in Niko’s eyes the last time they’d met…maybe there was hope.
Master Poole kept on talking. All the time, Marius watched the sun drop towards the tiled rooftops beyond his window.
He cast about for some inspiration that would get Master Poole out the door, without offending a man who had given him repeat business and even a referral now and then. If he had aspirations to sew finery, the one thing he must never do was offer offense to his clientele. Many a time he had swallowed his tongue for the sake of the shop.
Finally, the sun touched the peak of the haberdashery opposite, and he knew he must act.
“Good sir,” he said, cutting Master Poole off in mid-monologue, “I do apologize, but I have a pressing engagement.”
Master Poole stared at him in frank astonishment, as if it had never occurred to him that Marius might carry on an existence outside his shop. But this thought seemed to pass almost at once. “As I was saying, my daughter is of an age to need a mantua-maker. Have you ever thought of taking on a female assistant? You could apply your talents to dressing the finer sex without any difficulties of impropriety.”
Marius could have reassured the man on that front, but the ensuing conversation would take time he didn’t have. “I will consider your most excellent suggestion,” he said, cutting the man off again, “but now I really must insist—”
“Pardon me?”
Marius shut his mouth and winced.
Master Poole drew himself up to his full height. He was shorter than Marius, but exuded an affronted confidence. “I have never been so rudely treated in my life.”
Marius was torn between congratulating the man on his incredible good luck and recounting some of the things that Marius himself had narrowly avoided blurting out to him in the past. “I do apologize, good sir,” he said, raising his chin and giving him a level gaze, like something he imagined Niko might produce. “It is not to be helped. But I will be happy to attend upon you again in future.”
Master Poole squinted at him incredulously. “I was about to commission you for a masquerade outfit for next week, but after such treatment, I am of half a mind to quit your establishment right now—”
Marius opened his mouth.
“—and take all my future business elsewhere.”
This was one of his best customers. Marius hesitated, grimaced, and said, “Fine.”
Master Poole sputtered and ranted, but allowed himself to be chivvied out the door, still muttering.
Marius dove for the bag he had packed that morning, grabbed the unfinished scarlet coat in one arm, and flung himself out the door. He barely remembered to lock it before dashing headlong down the street.
The cobblestones threatened to turn his ankles, aided by the leavings of horses and other unmentionables. Wagons and carriages impeded his progress. He’d planned to buy a sticky bun for his dinner, but didn’t dare take the time. He dodged around a bevy of ladies in wide panier skirts without even pausing to admire them—the skirts, not the ladies—and skidded around the last corner before the docks.
Whereupon he realized his mistake.
In the cramped streets of the city, he hadn’t realized just how many airships now loomed above the docks, a whole grove of them, each moored to its own spire. And he’d never asked Niko the name of his ship. And Niko had never volunteered it, as if his own name were the only one that mattered.
“Fie!” Marius said aloud.
No-one paid any attention to him. Sailors of all races and genders bustled to and fro, bearing great casks, which he ignored as being of no consequence, or bales of fabric, which he longed to examine at leisure.
He craned his neck to look up at the rope ladders and pulleys that dangled precipitously from the spires. Perhaps he could go up in a basket, like the cargo, and damn his dignity…
The weight of the justacorps coat over his arm abruptly lessened. The coat was disappearing behind him. Marius made a grab for the coattails as they slid off his arm, and missed. He spun around just in time to see the scarlet fabric vanish into the crowd.
To be continued…