“We don’t have much time,” Brenna said, summoning his mind back to the business at hand. “The sun’s starting to set, and if this is like other cities, that means businesses will be closing soon.”
“How about this one?” he suggested, pointing at a women’s dress shop, the exterior of which was made of rose-colored stone rather than clay bricks. The large front window was trimmed with light blue paint, and bright red flowers were arranged in a planter in front of it. A deep green dress with sequin trim hung in the window.
“Good choice,” she said, thinking Galvin was looking at the dress; in fact, he was staring at the flowers. “But that particular dress is a bit flashy for me. I want to look rich, not gaudy. I’ll go inside and see what I can find. There’s a men’s shop next door. Make use of it.”
Galvin waited until Brenna was swallowed by the women’s shop, then he shuffled toward the men’s clothing store and fumbled with the door latch with his sweaty hand. At last it creaked inward, and the smell of cedar rushed out to meet him. He padded slowly inside, forgetting to close the door behind him.
“High class for a slave.”
The man behind the counter startled Galvin, and the druid whirled around to face the speaker, his eyes at the same time taking in row upon row of folded clothes and brass lanterns that cast a soft, even glow throughout the shop’s interior.
“Sure you’re in the right shop?” the proprietor persisted, eyeing Galvin intently, as if memorizing every detail about him. The man was thin and bald, and the riot of tattoos on his head made it look as if he was wearing a cap. His skin was nearly white from lack of sun and it had the appearance of parchment, frail and brittle.
“Are you in the right place?” the man asked, his voice rising. He emphasized each word.
“My mistress …” the druid stammered, uncertain of what to say and debating whether to flee back out into the street.
A glimmer caught in the man’s dark blue eyes. “Hmmm … I see,” he said, rubbing his manicured hands together. “She wants you to look presentable, huh?”
“Yes,” Galvin said nervously, glancing about and spying a rack of cloaks, several of them green. The druid hadn’t been in a clothing store since his youth. The memory was uncomfortable, as were the outfits his mother had ordered him to try on.
He quickly attempted to take everything in, realizing he must look foolish. Focusing on the glass counter in front of the proprietor, he tried to relax and failed miserably.
“Haven’t been in a place like this before, huh? It’s rare that we get one of your kind here.”
The druid cast his eyes on the polished floor that smelled faintly of lemons and clenched his fist. He understood why Wynter was so opposed to slavery.
“I need clothes,” Galvin said simply.
The proprietor laughed and waved his hand at the racks and neatly stacked piles of clothes. “Go ahead. Just don’t get anything dirty.”
The druid lost himself in a long aisle of cedar shelves, grateful to be out of view of the shop owner. He scanned the shelves until he spied a stack of green tunics. Quickly grabbing the one on top, he trotted back to the counter.
“Right size?”
The druid shrugged.
The proprietor shook his head at Galvin. “Turn around. Here.” The bald man strode from behind the counter and held the tunic up to Galvin’s back, snickering when he discovered the shoulders were far too small. “You need something bigger. C’mon, I’ll help you. Your mistress better appreciate this.”
“Do Red Wizards ever shop here?” Galvin asked as the man ushered him back down the aisle.
“Sometimes,” the man replied, muttering softly about the stupidity of slaves.
“Any zulkirs?”
“Why does a slave care where Red Wizards shop?”
“Just interested,” Galvin replied glumly.
Replacing the tunic Galvin had selected, the man ignored the druid and thumbed through a stack, pulling out an olive-green shirt. He handed it to Galvin and strolled deeper into the store.
“Need some leggings?”
Galvin nodded. The druid realized there were enough articles in this store to clothe an entire village.
“What color?”
The druid flushed. “Umm, green. Or brown. It really doesn’t matter.”
The bald man shook his head and pulled a tan pair of breeches from another stack. Holding them in front of the druid, he smiled, pleased he had guessed the size correctly.
“And a cloak. Green or gray, I suppose,” Galvin added, remembering the green ones he had spotted when he came in. “I guess the color isn’t important.”
The proprietor shuffled to the racks and scanned the garments. Galvin watched the proprietor pull out a plain gray cloak the color of hearth ashes. Satisfied, the man returned to the counter and began scratching on a sheet of curled parchment, figuring out the cost.
Galvin shifted back and forth on his feet. “I should have another set,” he decided. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?” the proprietor quipped.
In case I’m stuck in Amruthar for awhile, Galvin thought. But he kept the thought to himself.
“All right,” the man sighed, dropping the parchment with a flourish and escorting Galvin down another aisle of clothes.
The druid emerged from the shop wearing his second purchase, consisting of light brown pants with a voluminous-sleeved ivory shirt over the top and a cloak. The cloak was rather elaborate—green trimmed with a lighter green embroidery. Its suede collar was dyed green and pinned together by a simple iron clasp in the shape of an owl’s head. Galvin actually liked the outfit, even though the two changes of clothes had cost him all of his coins. He suspected that the proprietor had charged him too much, but he knew better than to argue.
He waited outside the women’s shop for several minutes, catching admiring glances from several Thayvian women who passed by and feeling increasingly ill at ease. One woman stopped to demand directions. She had a pleasant voice and obviously seemed to know where she was going, but Galvin avoided her attempt at conversation and began pacing nervously in front of the shop window. Eventually Brenna came out in a midnight blue dress trimmed with light blue lace that fit her tightly from neck to hips, then flared out to hang a few inches above the ground. Like Galvin, she carried a package under her arm. The druid eyed the bundle and guessed there were two or three dresses in it.
“Nice,” she said, giving Galvin the once-over. “Good taste. Find out anything while you were in there?”
The druid shook his head.
“Well, I found out that Maligor has an army in the woods. A bunch of gnolls.” Brenna seemed pleased with herself and noted Galvin’s surprised expression. “Women gossip,” she explained. “But the women in the shop didn’t know what the army’s for.”
Smugly nodding across the street, the sorceress added, “Want a bath?” Just then the bald shopkeeper closed and locked the door of the men’s store behind them and put up a “closed” sign. The shops were starting to shut down for the day, and that meant they would have to meet Wynter soon.
They scampered across the street, sidestepping the patrons emerging from the bathhouse cleaned and perfumed. The bathhouse windows were fogged, and the scent of soap greeted them as they hurried inside.
After Brenna vouched for the behavior of her slave, they were led into a large room. Steam drifted upward from a dozen large, waist-high wooden tubs, two of which were occupied. The room was divided, one side for women, the other for men.
Brenna waltzed away from Galvin, and an attendant herded the druid to a tub in the back of the room. Galvin noted there were no other slaves here.
The attendant held out his arm for Galvin’s clothes, and the druid quickly turned around. Carefully removing his Harper neck chain and stuffing it discreetly into a pocket, he discarded his clothes and climbed several steps. Settling into the tub, he gasped at the unaccustomed heat. Slowly he eased himself into the water, watching his flesh turn pink from the hot liquid. He glanced over the side of the tub, determined to discover what made the water so warm.