50th Spring, 517
There was an extra spring in the red-haired girl's step today. The sun was shining, and although she was still regularly perplexed and befuddled by the strange city she now called home, it was better than the overwhelming confusion and homesickness that had haunted her first few days. And, more importantly, she had a job. No more worrying about where her next meal was going to come from. Once she had made herself a more presentable set of clothes, she had gone back to see the old lady in the Bizarre about employment, and had got lucky. Betsy had remembered her, had been reasonably impressed with what she had done with the fabric she had bought, and also happened to be in the middle of a busy period and in need of a helper.
Sorla’s first assignment was to visit a large house belonging to the Malone family. They were one of the richer clans in Alvadas, their wealth coming from a prosperous shipping business based down in the Patchwork Docks. More than half of all the ships that came in and out of the Alvadan port were ultimately owned by Jaquemon Malone and his Svefra wife Maretta. And whoever controlled the ships, controlled the trade. It was said that nothing could pass in or out of the docks without Jaquemon’s small army of lackeys finding out about it. But the reason for Sorla’s visit was nothing to do with ships. Jaquemon’s youngest daughter Leire was due to be married in the summer, and the time had come for her first wedding dress fitting. Although the Inarta would not be skilled enough to actually make the dress herself, she had been entrusted with taking the first measurements, and had also taken along a little book of fabric swatches so the Malones could start choosing the design.
She recognized the house with no difficulty as she turned a corner. Just as she had been told, it was designed to look like a large ship, complete with round porthole windows, a rigged mast on the roof with a sail furled along the beam, and a large figurehead looming above the front door. Flags fluttered all along the rooftop parapet, each emblazoned with the Malone’s family crest: a green dolphin on a background of gold waves. As Sorla approached the door, it opened as if someone had been watching from one of the portholes. Awaiting her was a tall woman with piercing blue eyes. ‘Are you the tailor?’ she asked. Sorla nodded. ‘At your service,’ she replied. ‘Come in, come in,’ the tall woman said, introducing herself as Maretta. ‘Thank you for coming to see us. I’ll take you straight up to where Leire’s waiting.’ She turned and led the way up a steep, ladder-like staircase that opened out into a wide hallway, and then along the hall until they reached the last door on the right. ‘In here,’ she said, ushering Sorla through. The room was large and oval, with several portholes along each side. ‘When the house is in the right place, you can see the sea through those portholes,’ Maretta said with a wistful sigh. ‘Today it is just the back garden of the butcher.’ Sorla glanced out of the window and could see a man in a blood-stained apron lounging against a counter, apparently enjoying the sunshine on his break. She turned her attention to the occupants of the room. One was clearly the bride-to-be. She was a tall girl, about eighteen years old, with her mother’s piercing blue eyes but chestnut brown hair where Maretta’s was sun-blonde. She was standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of excited girls of her own age, but Sorla noticed immediately that she did not seem to share their high spirits.
‘Leire,’ her mother called, ‘the tailor is here. The rest of you, move out of the way.’ The girls scattered to the sides of the room, where they giggled on velvet chairs. ‘And you, perk up,’ Maretta said to her daughter. ‘Are you feeling alright?’ ‘Yes, mother,’ Leire said, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m just a bit tired, is all. I didn’t sleep well last night.’ ‘You seem to be sleeping badly a lot at the moment. Are you sure you’re OK?’ Leire nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she reassured her mother. ‘It’s probably just all the excitement.’ Maretta seemed satisfied with the explanation, and gave her daughter a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Don’t be scared, sweetheart. It’s natural to be nervous, but Godric loves you dearly and you’re going to be very happy together.’ Leire nodded, apparently grateful for the comfort, and Maretta went to sit near Leire’s friends.
Sorla cleared her throat. She had never dealt with a customer on her own before; her father had always been in the shop to welcome them, while Sorla watched from the background. She thought back to his way of talking to customers; respectful, but confident enough to make them feel they were in good hands. She looked at the girl standing suddenly exposed in the middle of the large room, and saw a hint of sadness hiding behind her smile. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at the girl as warmly as she could, trying to ease Leire’s nerves and hide her own. ‘I’m Sorla. Let’s get started. If you don’t mind, I need you to take off your outer clothes so I can measure you. Yes, you can leave the vest on.’ The girl looked vulnerable without her heavy gown. She was thin and fragile, with pale skin. Sorla took out the measuring tape and notebook her employer had given her, and started.
Word count: 943
There was an extra spring in the red-haired girl's step today. The sun was shining, and although she was still regularly perplexed and befuddled by the strange city she now called home, it was better than the overwhelming confusion and homesickness that had haunted her first few days. And, more importantly, she had a job. No more worrying about where her next meal was going to come from. Once she had made herself a more presentable set of clothes, she had gone back to see the old lady in the Bizarre about employment, and had got lucky. Betsy had remembered her, had been reasonably impressed with what she had done with the fabric she had bought, and also happened to be in the middle of a busy period and in need of a helper.
Sorla’s first assignment was to visit a large house belonging to the Malone family. They were one of the richer clans in Alvadas, their wealth coming from a prosperous shipping business based down in the Patchwork Docks. More than half of all the ships that came in and out of the Alvadan port were ultimately owned by Jaquemon Malone and his Svefra wife Maretta. And whoever controlled the ships, controlled the trade. It was said that nothing could pass in or out of the docks without Jaquemon’s small army of lackeys finding out about it. But the reason for Sorla’s visit was nothing to do with ships. Jaquemon’s youngest daughter Leire was due to be married in the summer, and the time had come for her first wedding dress fitting. Although the Inarta would not be skilled enough to actually make the dress herself, she had been entrusted with taking the first measurements, and had also taken along a little book of fabric swatches so the Malones could start choosing the design.
She recognized the house with no difficulty as she turned a corner. Just as she had been told, it was designed to look like a large ship, complete with round porthole windows, a rigged mast on the roof with a sail furled along the beam, and a large figurehead looming above the front door. Flags fluttered all along the rooftop parapet, each emblazoned with the Malone’s family crest: a green dolphin on a background of gold waves. As Sorla approached the door, it opened as if someone had been watching from one of the portholes. Awaiting her was a tall woman with piercing blue eyes. ‘Are you the tailor?’ she asked. Sorla nodded. ‘At your service,’ she replied. ‘Come in, come in,’ the tall woman said, introducing herself as Maretta. ‘Thank you for coming to see us. I’ll take you straight up to where Leire’s waiting.’ She turned and led the way up a steep, ladder-like staircase that opened out into a wide hallway, and then along the hall until they reached the last door on the right. ‘In here,’ she said, ushering Sorla through. The room was large and oval, with several portholes along each side. ‘When the house is in the right place, you can see the sea through those portholes,’ Maretta said with a wistful sigh. ‘Today it is just the back garden of the butcher.’ Sorla glanced out of the window and could see a man in a blood-stained apron lounging against a counter, apparently enjoying the sunshine on his break. She turned her attention to the occupants of the room. One was clearly the bride-to-be. She was a tall girl, about eighteen years old, with her mother’s piercing blue eyes but chestnut brown hair where Maretta’s was sun-blonde. She was standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of excited girls of her own age, but Sorla noticed immediately that she did not seem to share their high spirits.
‘Leire,’ her mother called, ‘the tailor is here. The rest of you, move out of the way.’ The girls scattered to the sides of the room, where they giggled on velvet chairs. ‘And you, perk up,’ Maretta said to her daughter. ‘Are you feeling alright?’ ‘Yes, mother,’ Leire said, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m just a bit tired, is all. I didn’t sleep well last night.’ ‘You seem to be sleeping badly a lot at the moment. Are you sure you’re OK?’ Leire nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she reassured her mother. ‘It’s probably just all the excitement.’ Maretta seemed satisfied with the explanation, and gave her daughter a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Don’t be scared, sweetheart. It’s natural to be nervous, but Godric loves you dearly and you’re going to be very happy together.’ Leire nodded, apparently grateful for the comfort, and Maretta went to sit near Leire’s friends.
Sorla cleared her throat. She had never dealt with a customer on her own before; her father had always been in the shop to welcome them, while Sorla watched from the background. She thought back to his way of talking to customers; respectful, but confident enough to make them feel they were in good hands. She looked at the girl standing suddenly exposed in the middle of the large room, and saw a hint of sadness hiding behind her smile. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at the girl as warmly as she could, trying to ease Leire’s nerves and hide her own. ‘I’m Sorla. Let’s get started. If you don’t mind, I need you to take off your outer clothes so I can measure you. Yes, you can leave the vest on.’ The girl looked vulnerable without her heavy gown. She was thin and fragile, with pale skin. Sorla took out the measuring tape and notebook her employer had given her, and started.
Word count: 943