neetha Napew - Spellsinger

know what kind of shop this was. The window was filled with vests and shirts,

elaborately stitched pantaloons, and a pair of trousers with bells running the

length of the seams. Some lay on the window counter, others fitted dressmaker

dummies that sometimes boasted ears and usually had tails.

A bell chimed brightly as Mudge pushed open the door. "Mind your 'ead now,

Jon-Tom." His tall companion took note of the warning, and bowed under the eave.

The interior of the shop had the smell of leather and lavender. There was no one

in sight. Several chairs with curved seats and backs were arranged neatly near

the center of the floor. Long poles supported cross-racks from which clothing

had been draped.

"Hoy, Proprietor!" Mudged whooped. "Show yourself and your work!"

"And work you shall have, my dear whoever-you-ares." The reply issued from the

back of the shop. "Work only of the finest quality and best stitchery, of the

toughest materials and prettiest..." The voice trailed off quickly.

The fox had come to a halt and was staring past Mudge at the dripping, lanky

shape of Jon-Tom. Silk slippers clad the owner's feet. He wore a silk dressing

gown with four matching ribbons of bright I aquamarine. They ran around his tail

in intersecting loops to meet in a bow at the white tip. He also wore a more

practical-looking belt from which protruded rulers, marking sticks, several

pieces of dark green stone, and various other instruments of the tailor's craft.

He spoke very deliberately.

"What... is that?" He gestured hesitantly at Jon-Tom.

"That's the work we're chattin' about, and a job it's goin' t' be, I'd wager."

Mudge flopped down in one of the low-slung chairs with complete disregard for

the upholstery and the fact that he was dripping wet. He put both short legs

over one arm of the chair and pushed his feathered cap back on his forehead.

"Off to it now, that's a good fellow."

The fox put both paws on hips and stared intently at the otter. "I do not clothe

monsters! I have created attire for some of the best-dressed citizens of

Lynchbany, and beyond. I have made clothing for Madam Scorianza and her best

girls, for the banker Flaustyn Wolfe, for members of the town council, and for

our most prominent merchants and craftsmen, but I do not clothe monsters."

Mudge leaned over in the chair and helped himself to a long thin stick from a

nearby tall glass filled with them. "Look on it as a challenge, mate." He used a

tiny flinted sparker to light the stick.

"Listen," said Jon-Tom, "I don't want to cause any trouble." The fox took a wary

step backward as that towering form moved nearer. "Mudge here thinks that...

that..." He was indicating the otter, who was puffing contentedly on the thin

stick. Smoke filled the room with a delightfully familiar aroma.

"Say," said Jon-Tom, "do you suppose I could have one of those, uh, sticks?"

"For the convenience o' the customers, lad." Mudge magnanimously passed over a

stick along with his sparker. Jon-Tom couldn't see how it worked, but at this

point was more than willing to believe it had been treated with a good fire

spell.

Several long puffs on the glowing stick more than relaxed him. Not everything in

this world was as horrible as it seemed, he decided. It was smoking that had

made him accessible to the questing thoughts of Clothahump. Perhaps smoking

would let something send him home.

Ten minutes later, he no longer cared. Reassured by both Mudge and the giant's

dreamy responses, the grumbling fox was measuring Jon-Tom as the latter lay

quite contentedly on the carpeted floor. Mudge lay next to him, the two of them

considerably higher mentally than physically. The tailor, whose name was

Carlemot, did not objeet to their puffing, which indicated either an ample

supply of the powerful smokesticks or a fine sense of public relations, or both.

He left them eventually, returning several hours later to find otter and man

totally bombed. They still lay on the floor, and were currently speculating with

great interest on the intricacies of the worm-holes in the wooden ceiling.

It was only later that Jon-Tom had recovered sufficiently for a dressing. When

he finally saw himself in the mirror, the shock shoved aside quite a bit of the

haze.

The indigo silk shirt felt like cool mist against his skin. It was tucked neatly

into straight-legged pants which were a cross between denim and flannel. Both

pants and shirt were secured with matching buttons of black leather. The jet

leather vest was fringed around the bottom and decorated with glass beadwork.

The cuffs of the pants were likewise fringed, though he couldn't tell this at

first because they were stuffed into calf-high black leather boots with rolled

tops. At first it seemed surprising that the tailor had managed to find any

footgear at all to fit him, considering how much larger he was than the average

local human. Then it occurred to him that many of the inhabitants were likely to

have feet larger in proportion to their bodies than did men.

A belt of metal links, silver or pewter, held up the pants, shone in sharp

contrast to the beautifully iridescent hip-length cape of some green lizard

leather. A pair of delicate but functional silver clips held the cape together

at the collar.

Despite Mudge's insistence, however, he categorically refused to don the orange

tricornered cap. "I just don't like hats."

"Such a pity." Carlemot's attitude had shifted from one of distress to one of

considerable pride. "It really is necessary to complete the overall effect,

which, if I may be permitted to say so, is striking as well as unique."

Jon-Tom turned, watched the scales of the cape flare even in the dim light.

"Sure as hell would turn heads in L.A."

"Not bad," Mudge conceded. "Almost worth the price."

" 'Almost' indeed!" The fox was pacing round Jon-Tom, inspecting the costume for

any defects or tears. Once he paused to snip a loose thread from a sleeve of the

shirt. "It is subdued yet flashy, attention-gathering without being obtrusive."

He smiled, displaying sharp teeth in a long narrow snout.

"The man looks like a noble, or better still, a banker. When one is confronted

with so much territory to cover, the task is at first daunting. However, the

more one has to work with, the more gratifying the end results. Never mind this

plebian, my tall friend," the fox continued, gazing up possessively at Jon-Tom,

"what is your opinion?"

"I like it. Especially the cape." He spun a small circle, nearly fell down but

recovered poise and balance nicely. "I always wanted to wear a cape."

"I am pleased." The tailor appeared to be waiting for something, coughed

delicately.

"Crikey, mate," snapped Mudge, "pay the fellow."

Some good-natured haggling followed, with Mudge's task made the more difficult

by the fact that Jon-Tom kept siding with the tailor. A reasonable balance was

still struck, since Carlemot's natural tendency to drive a hard bargain was

somewhat muted by the pleasure he'd received from accomplishing so difficult a

job.

That did not keep Mudge from chastising Jon-Tom as they left the shop behind.

The drizzle had become a heavy mist around them.

"Mate, I can't save you much if you're goin' t' take the side of the

shopkeeper."

"Don't worry about it." For the first time in a long while, he was feeling

almost happy. Between the lingering effects of the smoke session and the gallant