Ragnar tapped the computer screen. "Perhaps you would feel less naked if they added two stars, right here and here, on either side of the jacket collar, just like insignia."
Evantha slowly smiled. "You are very observant, Ragnar. Very good." She nodded to dressmaker. "You will have it ready by sixteen hundred hours today?"
"Today?" The man started to shake his head no, but Chris nodded confidently and the dressmaker aped him. "Ah, yes, anything for a friend of Major Kell." He glanced at Chris again and added, "And I will deliver it personally, just in case we need to tuck it in or let it out a bit."
"Bargained well and done." Evantha clapped the man on each shoulder, and for a half-second Chris feared the dressmaker would collapse like a ship with its keel smashed in.
"Thank you, Andre. Send the bill to me." Chris smiled as the man rolled his eyes. He ushered the two Clansfolk back out into the narrow, cobbled streets of Old Connaught, and pulled the little shop's door closed behind him. "Andre" does very good work. You will be pleased."
Evantha nodded and the sunlight gleamed from her nearly shaven head. Her long braid of red hair started back near the crown, roughly where a samurai would have located his top-knot, and hung down her back, even beyond the waist of the Kell Hound jacket she had borrowed for the outing. "I find this curious. I am more nervous about wearing these clothes than I have ever been about entering battle."
"I can understand that—the unknown is always forbidding." Chris smiled broadly. "Which means I will not inflict fuguor haggis on either of you for lunch. And I would not worry, Star Captain. You will look wonderful."
"You are kind, Major Kell."
"Chris. Formality is fine in its place, but not among friends."
"Evantha, then. And I thank you for using your influence with Andre to arrange for tailoring so quickly."
"Oh, he would have delivered. He has a warehouse full of machines that take the design from the screen and turn it into something you can wear. The stall was just a first step in negotiating the price up through the stratosphere." Chris shoved his hands into the pockets of his black woolen trousers. "Andre and I have a working relationship that encourages him to make me happy. I have certain ties to the Draconis Combine that make obtaining certain fabrics a bit easier than through normal channels. Had he tried to make you pay, he knew one source of supply was going to dry up on him."
"I do not know which is harder to imagine," Evantha said, unable to hide her scorn, "a member of the merchant caste daring to cheat a warrior or a warrior like you dabbling in merchant affairs."
Chris shrugged. "Things are not as stratified here in our world. It keeps life interesting and full of surprises."
"I also think, Star Captain, that more mixing goes on than you believe." Ragnar smiled slyly. "There has been quite a traffic in war spoils heading back out to the Clan homeworlds. And, yes, warriors are merely bartering things they have with the merchants for goods they want, but the exchange rate has been very good to the warriors."
"As I said before, you are very observant, bondsman." Evantha frowned as they walked past a shop displaying all manner of shoes. "I supposed I will need a new pair of footwear to go along with my gown?"
Chris glanced down at the combat boots she wore. "Yes, I think that would be appropriate, but not right now. I am beginning to get hungry. Ragnar, did you know that a Rasalhagian refugee family has opened a restaurant in the Oslo district? It's called Callas. We could try it if you like."
Ragnar looked up at Evantha. "If the Star Captain approves."
She nodded and Chris started them down the twisting street. Two blocks further and they turned north, heading up a hill. The whitewashed brick and thatched roofs of the Irish section of Old Connaught did not change that much moving into the Oslo district, but the difference was still readily apparent. Street and shop signs included the unique calligraphy of the Swedenese language spoken by most of the refugees. The citizenry began to look decidedly more like Ragnar, making Chris a dark-haired standout.
"Leaving Luthien, we ran across a Rasalhagian JumpShip that had blown the seals on its liquid helium tanks. We managed to patch the ship up and brought it with us here to Arc-Royal. My grandfather, the Grand Duke, subsidized the expansion of the tourist district in the city and encouraged the Rasalhagians to settle here. They first comers contacted other refugees and eventually a whole.community grew up." Chris pointed to a tall building in the distance. "Your people have done well here, Ragnar. Ryan Steiner financed that tower and dedicated it as your father's home in exile if he ever decides to leave the Free Rasalhague Republic."
Ragnar stared at the white tower but said nothing.
Evantha frowned. "Ryan Steiner did that here,on Arc-Royal, a world belonging to the political camp that most opposes him?"
Chris held a hand out, palm down, and waggled it back and forth. "Not quite, but close. My grandfather embarrassed Ryan into sinking the money into the project by once saying in public that Ryan was long on talk but tight on the purse strings. My grandfather also doled out money in no-interest loans to the refugees, even though that wasn't the most popular gesture here at home. Ryan paid out his cold, hard Kroner and the refugees benefitted. We're here, by the way."
Chris held the door open while Evantha stooped to enter the building. Two steps down into the common room and she was able to straighten up again. A massive wooden beam running the length of the restaurant supported a dark-stained pine ceiling. Similar deep brown planking covered the floors and rose halfway up the walls. Plaster walls connected the paneling to the ceiling, with various pictures, paintings, and other artifacts of lost Rasalhague decorating the room. Blocky handcrafted tables and chairs of various sizes and shapes also lent an antique charm.
Chris shut the door behind them, then greeted the owner with a smile. "God morgon,Olaf. Three for lunch."
The heavyset man had white hairs threading his moustache and goatee and a big smile splitting his face. "Greetings, Christian." He looked the party over, then surprise swallowed his smile. "It cannot be." He dropped to his knees and kissed Ragnar's hand.
Ragnar looked stunned and Evantha shifted uneasily. Chris wanted to kick himself for being so unbelievably stupid. For so many of the refugees, Ragnar is a symbol of what the Clans have taken away from them. How could I have brought either Evantha or him here?
Olaf turned to him. "You have no idea how much this means to me, friend Christian. I will make you all a fine meal. I will call friends and we will celebrate. I . . ."
Ragnar stooped and helped the man to his feet. "Goodman Olaf, you cannot do that. I mean, yes, please, make us a meal." Ragnar sniffed the air and smiled. "The entire Kell Hounds force could not move me before I have eaten here today. Unfortunately, a celebration is not in order."
The heir to Rasalhague's royal line held up his right wrist and tugged at the white bondcord surrounding it. "I am now of the Wolf Clan. I am here as a guest of the Kell Hounds, but this day belongs to Colonel Kell. Another time we will celebrate."
Olaf brushed away the tears brimming in his eyes. He started to speak, but his lower lip trembled and no sound came out. He swallowed once, then again, and finally just nodded. His voice then returned in a hoarse whisper, "I will tell my wife, ja?And my children, and they can help serve?"
"Ja, varsagod. "
"Tack sa mycket. "Olaf guided them to a round table in the center of the room. He held the chair out for Ragnar, placing him in the seat of honor, then sat Chris on his right and Evantha on his left. After patting Ragnar on the shoulders, he headed back toward the kitchen, where they heard him shouting orders over the clanking of pots and pans.