In Which Isidro Gets a Word of Advice

November 8, 1175

"You're the tailor, I take it?"

The man in the mustard tunic looked up, then turned around, a frown curling on his lip. Talk in the town had given Isidro ample warning of the man's ill temperament, but he hardly cared. After two decades of his own father, most people were helpless, runty kittens. "That depends. Do you have a good reason for barging in here a quarter hour before I open?"

"I do." Isidro shut the door, but not before a crisp autumn gust could announced itself against his cheek. It would be an early winter this year, or so said anyone who could claim any semblance of authority--early, cold, and long. "I'm in town for the week and I was wondering if I might be of assistance."

The tailor sniffed, his skeptical eyes sweeping over Isidro with the thorough swiftness of an October drift; a pity for him it was already November. "You come in here dressed like a squire and ask for work?"

It wasn't the first time he'd gotten such a line. By this point, he knew it was best just to nod. "I've been on the road for several months now and money's getting a little tight. You don't have to pay me in coins, though. There's a toddler in my charge and she needs a cloak. So does my--" His what? After all this time, this was the part that still stumped him. "--my girl."

Maybe that had been wrong. The tailor certainly seemed to think so. "Kid, let me tell you something--there ain't a woman alive about to stay with a man who can't afford to buy her a cloak, especially with a winter this harsh ahead of us. You'd be better off working for a pint of ale and a buxom whore."

"I'll take my chances with this one." He crossed his arms and tried to repress a shiver. Maybe he should have been wearing something a little warmer too. No sense adding that to the bargain, though; his was by far the lesser need. "We're trying to get to Veldorashire in Naroni. Her father is lord there, and if need be he can reimburse you, but right now we're hopping between inns with a two-year-old orphan in tow, and now she's with child and--"

"Is she, now?" The tailor's sneering mouth became a smirk. "Mighty bold of you to be making promises on behalf of her father, then."

Gaze falling to the floor, Isidro looped his finger through the laces of his sleeve. The man was right. If Isidro brought Riona home with a the beginnings of a baby in her womb, Lord Severin would hardly notice whether or not she had a cloak--much less, pay for the damn thing himself. But still... "I'm not asking much. I'll give you anything I can in return. I'm a fast learner; I can help you around the shop, I can run errands for you while you work, I'll even scrub your goddamn chamberpot if it'll get me those cloaks." There was a tiny damp spot on the toe of his boot from a single snowflake that had fallen moments before; Isidro rubbed it against the back of his other leg and met the tailor's eye. "She's the first good thing that ever happened to me."

The tailor sighed, his right hand reaching for the band on his left. Ten or fifteen years ago, maybe he had a similar story. In any case, the room felt just a little bit warmer. "All right, kid--a week of work, and I'll give you the two cloaks. Hell, I'll even throw in something for yourself and I'll cash in that favor the hatter owes me for a nice crispinette for the lady." Perhaps none of the townspeople had taken the chance to get to know this man? None of them had called him generous, but how else did one describe such an offer. Isidro opened his mouth to thank him, but the man silenced him with a shake of his head. "Just a word of advice, kid; if you're willing to do every grueling, tedious, thankless task I'm going to have you do this week all for this girl, then you'd damn well better marry her, because you're not going to find another like that in a thousand years."

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