I searched his face at the prying question but decided I would take him up on the offer. “Has the village a tailor?”
He took that moment to dramatically spew tea from between his lips. I stepped back from the splatter and grimaced.
“Whatcha take this place for, eh? We’re every bit as civilized in these parts as wherever yer from, miss.” He set his mug down and dried his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Then he reached to take Poet’s reins. “Now, fer a couple of pennies, I can make an introduction to my personal tailor…”
I studied the man’s drab, ill-fitting garments but willed my eyebrows to stay in place, lest I further insult him. “I’d prefer common clothing,” I said. “I don’t believe I need anything quite so…fine…as an introduction to your tailor. Though I appreciate the generous offer.” I set another penny down, and his hairy hand gathered it, then pointed.
“Ain’t none finer than what you’ll find in the shop o’ Brunello.”
I supposed businesses in Kyruna were able to have names, though guests of the Knuckles & Bones pub were better without them. “Brunello,” I echoed. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Is that a first name or a family name?”
“Both.” My new friend the stableman seemed to be warming up to me. He ran an appreciative finger over the front of his collarless tunic. “Just ask for Brunello. He’ll fix you right up.”
I nodded my thanks and headed off into the market. There were, oddly, very few permanent signs on the shops; instead, most were simple drawings inked on thin slabs of wood and nailed to the doors. The people of Kyruna either didn’t read much, if at all, or the businesses changed so often that crude nameplates were more economical than installing expensive and ornate signs, like the one that hung outside Serlo’s Cutlery.
Brunello must have run a very steady business because his shop not only boasted a beautifully ornate hanging sign bearing his name but a second sign affixed to the door—the image of a needle and spool of thread carved, painted, and polished. Despite the early hour, Brunello’s was bustling with activity. Two women were seated at small tables, their heads lowered as they worked by the light of bright lamps. The older of the two women looked far older than anyone I’d ever known, the deep lines in her face matching the gnarled knobs of her knuckles. Her head was covered by a veil, and an acorn hat sat atop it. The second woman was nearly a mirror image of the first, so identical, the two might have been twins. The only feature that separated the women was the simple cap-shaped bonnet covering the second woman’s hair.
I knocked lightly, then pushed my way inside. The twin ladies froze and stared at me, but quickly, the one in the acorn cap stood and gave me a warm smile. She removed the hat and handed it carefully to the other, then covered her head with a bonnet before approaching me. She greeted me in a language I’d never heard, extending her hands toward me.
“I…I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” I knew from my father’s stories that there were people in other places who spoke in different tongues, but I’d never actually heard a language other than my own. I was enchanted with it and smiled as I tried to convey my need. “Brunello?” I asked. I pointed to where the second woman was working. She had turned the acorn hat inside out and was sewing what I could now see was a repair to the inside of the hat.
“Ah-ha, Brunello.” The first lady nodded and reached for a bell on her table. She rang it once loudly and motioned for me to take a seat in a chair beside the door. I did so, watching in awe as the lady reclaimed her seat at the worktable and appraised the completed acorn cap.
Minutes ticked slowly by, and I watched as the two women worked silently together, one cutting fabric, the other stitching, depending on the piece. I must have lost myself studying their work because, suddenly, one of the women stood in frustration and rang the bell again loudly. She shouted through cupped hands, “Brunello! Eh, Brunello!” And then a long stream of words I did not understand. Whatever she shouted aroused a passionate nod and harrumph from the twin.
The first woman plodded back to her work and gave me a look. “Brunello…” She clasped her palms together and set her hands on one side of her face. She closed her eyes and made snoring sounds, feigning sleep.
“Enough!” A wondrously tall man clomped down a narrow staircase that connected the upper floor of the shop with the main level. I could hardly believe that he was as tall as he appeared, but when he ducked his head as he passed through the doorway, I realized my vision was not misled.
I stood to greet who I assumed was Brunello. “Good morning, sir, I…”
“Good morning. Just a moment please.” He held his hand up and addressed the elderly women harshly, his words coming fast and loud.
The women responded in kind, then showed him the hat and various other garments they were working on. He nodded, and his voice softened as he kissed each of them on both cheeks. Then he faced me, smoothing his hair back with a hand.
“Good morning, I’m sorry for that. My aunts refuse to wake me, but then they complain I sleep too late. They love to start on my projects and then complain that I don’t do enough work.” He sighed, but a warm smile lit his face. “Family business. There is almost more drama than work under this roof. But I would have it no other way. Now, miss, how can we help you?”
This shop and the people in it were the warmest and most reassuring part of Kyruna so far. I was all the more certain my plan was favored by the gods.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I pointed to some items hanging on the wall. “Are those by any chance for sale?”
Brunello squinted at the breeches, tunics, and coarse dresses attached by very thin nails to the wall. “Well, yes, miss, they are. But those are not new garments. We make custom clothing, if you’d like to be fitted.”
He looked over what I was wearing, clearly trying to puzzle over why a woman of my “means,” if such a thing could be inferred by the condition of my dress and fine shoes, would ask after used clothes.
“I understand,” I said. “And I can see you do beautiful work. But I’m specifically interested in these items. I’d especially prefer hosen or breeches, if you have any? Or perhaps you might tailor one of those dresses into breeches for me?”
Brunello squeezed his lower lip between two fingers and looked me over from top to toe. He closed his eyes and turned on a heel before walking up to a very large kirtle, a fabric belt loosely knotted at the waist. He spread his fingers at the widest part of the waist and then came close to me and held the same hand, fingers locked in position, in front of my waist.
“It can be done,” he said, nodding. “My aunts will work quickly. We’ll need precise measurements if none of the material is to be wasted, but I believe we will have sufficient fabric to make two pairs of breeches from this. As for tunics or shirts…” He returned to the wall and removed the thin nails with his fingernails. He took down two different shirts, both of which were slightly stained. “These will fit, with some alteration.” He looked at my clothes. “Do you plan to trade, miss? Should I work up the costs?”
I nodded. “Yes, please. I assume what I’m wearing has sufficient value? I don’t have much money with me, but if I cannot afford two sets of clothes, perhaps one?”
Brunello waved a hand. “May I see just the underside, miss?”
I cocked my chin at him, confused.
“Allow me.” He bent to one knee, putting a hand at his lower back and letting out an audible groan as his knee hit the floor. He motioned toward my dress. “May I?”