The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Guidance

The tailoring shop was still open when Able arrived, so out of curiosity he went in the main entrance instead of up the stairs. The shop front glowed with the late sun across the long, white counter, racks of hanging garments, and bolts of cloth displayed on the walls. It was unoccupied aside from a collection of fashion dolls modeling their miniature dresses, but from somewhere in the back resounded some truly awful singing.

Able followed the racket to an attached room with the floor littered with threads and several tables buried under piles of scraps where Lark was—no exaggeration—singing and dancing around a dress dummy while he poked at the fabric draped across it with pins.

Able crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame while he marveled at the tailor's unabashed projection combined with his inability to hold a key. "Why do they call you 'Lark' again?"

Lark gave up his tortured note in favor of laughter, itself perfectly melodic. "Sorry, sorry! Now you know why I'm often working alone. How did the rest of Fairbanks treat you?"

"Well enough. You didn't mention Hatling was on the council of elders."

"Splendor?" Lark raised his eyebrows then his shoulders. So he didn't think a woman councilor was any news. "Yeah, she is. And probably more than happy to talk about it."

"I don't know if I need to after reading the minutes."

"Oh." Lark laughed again then winked. "And here I thought you'd talked to someone."

"I talk to people," Able mumbled indignantly.

"They even talk back; I've seen it." Lark was grinning as if enjoying a private joke.

"What about you?" Able changed the subject and nodded to the dress form. "That doesn't look like a shirt."

"Because it is not a shirt. The shirt is finished and Hawk picked it up an hour ago, else I'd show it to you."

"Who is Hawk, anyway?"

"Hawk Downhall, overseer at the wharfs," replied Lark.

"Dockworker? What would he—I mean I was under the impression that you and Hatling did a certain, uh, sort of refined class of work?"

"We do all work to stay afloat these days." Lark shrugged, unbothered. "Technically, yes, we're dressmakers, but Pride was a proper tailor and we learned enough of that trade from him before he passed, so we can do all sorts."

Able blinked then tilted his head. "Pride...Hatling? You mean 'Pride and Splendor' is not just the name of the store?"

Lark grinned again at that. "That's right. Story goes he was interested in her mostly so he could name his shop that, but I think the reality was it was a bonus. But yeah, Pride wasn't so named because he was upper class or anything. He was just the first son born after five daughters. The Hatlings made work clothes, mostly."

"I see, and Splendor came from a wealthier family?"

"Somewhat. Enough that she was influenced by upper-class Dagobari styles, but her aesthetic is still strongly regional."

"I'll, uhm—"

"Yes, do take my word for it." Lark chuckled then without warning said, "So, I was thinking of taking you up to Kettlebrook tomorrow."

"Kettlebrook?" Able frowned and reached in his bag for his notebook. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"It was a hamlet before the war, so named for the underground river that causes the caves to emit this unique whistling noise when it rains. Really neat if you get the chance to hear it."