Chương 162: Chapter 157 - Meeting Preparation

Alric stood in front of the polished metal sheet people used as mirrors here and decided Gwyn had done good work. That was not surprising, as he had found out that Gwyn had done most of the work on the first suit, though of course everyone had credited it to Terven. They were still in the process of opening her business, so she had found time to make this for him. She also seemed to respect Alric quite deeply; she didn't argue with him, she listened, adjusted and asked questions. Alric appreciated that.

The jacket and pants were grey, dark enough to remain respectable without looking as if he had dressed for a funeral. Gwyn had narrowed it slightly through the waist and adjusted the shoulders after the first fitting. It sat well now, even when Alric lifted his arms or turned. Terven would have objected; he had always treated Alric's taste as strange and uncomfortable. Gwyn had watched him move, made three marks, and changed the jacket. The waistcoat beneath it was blue.

Not royal blue or some violent shades the merchants here seemed to love so much. It was a deeper navy blue, visible when the jacket opened but not demanding to be seen from the far side of a hall. The white shirt beneath that was new as well. Alric lifted one arm and looked at the row of small buttons Gwyn had stitched into the jacket sleeve. Gwyn had asked how many buttons he wanted and where they should sit. He adjusted the shirt cuff beneath the sleeve.

It fastened with a small button, which worked well enough, though proper cuff links would be better. He remembered cufflinks well enough from his old world, though he had owned very few and lost one of every pair with annoying consistency. Something silver perhaps, or polished steel if Stromni could make them without deciding they needed to survive a siege. Gold would be too much. No gems. Alric checked the rest of the suit again. The jacket sat properly. The waistcoat did not bunch when he buttoned it.

The trousers had enough room to walk without looking loose, and Gwyn had managed all of it without once telling him that his opinions were incorrect. This always makes me feel a bit badass. Terven wouldn't have made it the way I wanted it. Admiring the suit, "Terven could learn something," Alric said, smoothing both hands down the front of the waistcoat. He assessed it again.

Dark grey single-breasted jacket, gently shaped at the waist, deep blue five-button waistcoat, white shirt, and high-waisted grey trousers falling in a clean straight line. Polished black shoes, pity about the laces. Simple, clean, understated. Just how he wanted it. He left his rooms and headed downstairs. Headquarters was quiet enough that afternoon for footsteps to carry. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, someone was splitting wood.

A maid passed him near the stairs carrying folded linen and paused long enough to curtsy before continuing. Vale waited in the common room. He stood near the hearth with one hand resting against a table and the other adjusting the cuff of his coat. He had dressed formally as well, a suit like Alric's, though there was one small and important detail that was different. Vale's suit was purple. Not dark enough to become respectable in poor light, nor pale enough that someone might mistake it for faded cloth.

It was simply purple, rich and unmistakable, with a darker border around the collar and cuffs. His shirt was vivid green rather than white, and the cloth tied at his neck held enough red to suggest Vale had looked at the coat trying to figure out where another colour could go. Alric stopped on the last step. Accountant pimp. If he had a cane with a pencil in it. The thought arrived fully formed and deeply unfair.

Vale did not look like any accountant Alric had known, mostly because the accountants he had known had favoured grey clothing and boredom. Vale turned and looked him over.

"That is very well done," Vale said, straightening away from the hearth and brushing one palm down the front of his coat.

"What is that extra coat though?"

"Gwyn made adjustments after the first fitting," Alric said, reaching the bottom of the stairs and pulling lightly at one sleeve.

"It's called a waistcoat, Gwyn can make one for you." Vale stepped closer and studied the blue waistcoat with increasing interest. He looked at the buttons, then at the narrow line of colour visible beneath the grey jacket.

"I think I will speak to Gwyn, I would like one," Vale said, touching one hand to the front of his own shirt.

"It gives me space." Alric looked at the purple coat, the green shirt and the red cloth at Vale's neck.

"You think it needs it?" Alric asked, folding his arms carefully so he did not crease the sleeves before Moreen arrived.

"Another layer would give me somewhere to add contrast," Vale said, spreading one hand across his chest as though explaining a simple accounting principle.

"Uh… I'm sure it would," Alric said, lowering his arms again. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Vale nodded to himself, satisfied. Before they could talk further, one of the guards entered from the front door. He stopped just inside the room and touched one fist to his throat.

"Master Moreen has arrived, Mister Alric," the guard said, setting his feet together and inclining his head. Alric nodded; the products of the guard's new training regime were bearing fruit in many ways.

"Show him in, please," Alric said, tugging once at the bottom of his jacket. The guard bowed and returned to the entrance. Seren entered from the rear passage as Alric moved toward the chairs near the hearth. She wore one of her darker dresses, plain but well fitted, and carried a small stack of papers beneath one arm. Her gaze settled on Alric first, moved over the jacket and waistcoat, then shifted toward Vale. She stopped. Vale saw the pause and grinned widely and smugly.

Seren turned her attention back to Alric.

"Gwyn has done excellent work," Seren said, giving the front of his jacket a small approving look.

"She has," Alric said, stretching.

"I didn't expect otherwise, though." Seren's mouth moved slightly at that. The guard returned with Moreen a moment later. Moreen wore a dark green coat with brass buttons and a pale shirt beneath it. The clothing was expensive without needing to announce the matter, the cloth good enough that it sat cleanly across his shoulders and kept its shape as he walked. He had two rings on one hand and another on the other, though none were large enough to interfere with business.

What caught Alric's attention most was the dark red hat with the striking yellow feather trailing behind it. His gaze found Alric as soon as he entered. Moreen slowed by half a step.

"Ooof, well," Moreen said, adjusting one side of his coat as he looked Alric over.

"You have been keeping a sense of style hidden from the rest of us. Is this the style even the king liked so much?"

"It is, this is my own tailor, though. I feel like I should apologise; Terven was also a tailor you used," Alric said, opening one hand toward the chairs beside the hearth. Moreen's eyes moved over the grey jacket again, pausing briefly at the blue waistcoat. He gave a small nod that seemed genuine.

"I have others, it's no matter, but your…" Moreen said, gesturing to the suit while rubbing one thumb along the side of his ring.

"Understated and so tasteful, it suits you."

"Thank you," Alric said, inclining his head and touching the front of the jacket. Moreen then looked at Vale. His eyes travelled from the purple coat to the green shirt and stopped at the red cloth around Vale's neck. He grimaced slightly. Vale stood a little straighter.

"Vale," Moreen said, inclining his head carefully while folding both hands behind his back.

"Moreen," Vale said, smoothing one palm down his purple sleeve. Moreen looked at the coat once more, then chose not to comment. It was the kind of restraint that proved he had spent years dealing with merchants who believed expensive choices were always good ones. Alric gestured toward the chairs.

"Please sit," Alric said, placing one hand on the back of the nearest chair.

"Would you prefer tea or port?" Moreen had begun to lower himself but stopped with one hand still on the chair arm.

"The port again, I quite liked it at your other little inn," Moreen said, nodding at the memory. Moreen finished sitting. Alric glanced toward Seren. Seren nodded once to a maid standing near the dining passage. The maid curtsied, set down the cloth she had been carrying and disappeared toward the rear stairs. Alric had moved the port into the headquarters cellar when gone to the brewery to fill the foamy casks for lager. The brewery cellar had become crowded.

The headquarters cellar was cooler, quieter and now protected by Margaret's magical lock. The port did not require that level of security, but it had found itself benefiting from Alric's other questionable activities. Seren took the chair beside the hearth while Vale settled into the remaining seat, arranging the tails of his purple coat before sitting. Moreen watched the movement, then looked away with admirable professionalism. They spoke about the roads while the maid fetched the drink.

Moreen's carts were all rushing to finish their runs through the countryside before winter made everything impassable.

"The season has barely begun," Moreen said, turning one ring around his finger and leaning back slightly.

"In another week, half the streets will belong to carriages waiting for other carriages to move."

"They arrive like this every year?" Alric asked, leaning back; he crossed one ankle over the other.

"Not this early," Moreen said, lifting one shoulder and glancing toward the front of the building where the main avenue ran beyond it.

"There are too many rumours this winter. War, his royal appointment, new contracts, grain. Every noble who normally waits until the roads are empty has decided that arriving early is useful."

"Or they want to watch everyone else arrive," Vale said, brushing an imaginary crease from his knee.

"That too," Moreen said, giving him a small nod while keeping his eyes above the purple coat. Seren asked after his warehouses, and Moreen spoke briefly about space being prepared for winter deliveries. He had already begun moving some goods closer to the city because storage inside the walls was becoming more expensive. The conversation remained comfortable and shallow, which was the purpose of most small talk.

Everyone said enough to prove they were willing to speak, while carefully avoiding the reason the meeting had been arranged. The maid returned carrying a clay jug and four small bronze cups on a wooden tray. She placed the tray on the low table and poured a modest amount into each of their cups. The dark wine looked almost black against the bronze, though a red edge appeared where it caught the light from the hearth. Moreen waited until the maid had stepped back.

He took the cup in one hand, lifted it to the light and turned it slowly. Alric watched him study it. Moreen had it before, but he seemed to be reassessing it since the king had liked it; he smelled it first. He took a small sip, held it for a moment, then swallowed without immediately reaching for another. His expression did not change much. He took a second sip.

"It is good, I'm just glad I had it before the king did," Moreen said with a slightly smug grin. He lowered the cup to rest against his knee while rubbing one thumb along the rim.

"But it is missing something, you said it before." Alric lifted his own cup and smelled the port before tasting it again. It still tasted like grape juice to him. Strong grape juice, certainly. Sweet enough to hide much of the alcohol and smooth enough that someone could drink too quickly before discovering what the drink had been doing. There was wood in the background from the huge port pipe, but not enough. The flavour appeared late and disappeared too quickly.

"It needs time," Alric said, turning the cup once in his hand and watching the dark surface move.

"About a year, I think. Might be longer, it needs an aged wine feel." Moreen looked down into his cup.

"That may be it," Moreen said, pressing his lips together as he considered the flavour.

"It does not taste bad, it does taste innocent, but I know better. It just feels unfinished."

"The grape is still too fresh," Alric said, leaning back and resting the cup against the chair arm. Moreen took another careful drink.

"The king did not mention that," He said, lifting one brow as he lowered the cup again.

"The king did not wait a year, I think he likes sweet drinks," Alric said, which got a surprised expression from Moreen.

"That is valuable information, you know, given so casually." Moreen watched Alric carefully, but he just shrugged. Vale glanced at his own port before taking a smaller sip. Seren hid the beginning of a smile behind her cup. Moreen turned the bronze vessel slowly, considering the flavour for another moment. Then he nodded, once and with conviction, before drinking again.

"A year," Moreen said, running one finger along the side of the cup.

"I would like to taste it again then. Shall we get to why you called for this meeting though?"