“I have worked hard, Papa, but look at it!” Borsen answered excitedly. “I can eat anytime. I don’t often get to put together my own establishment.”
Menders laughed and put an arm around his shoulders.
“No, you don’t. Enjoy it – you deserve it. Any interest?”
“Mobs. We already have appointments and we’re not open for business until next week. Everyone is curious and there’s a lot of gossip. The news sheet reporters were here asking questions. I’ll send the articles your way as soon as they come out.”
“We’ll be glad to get them.”
Borsen looked at him. “How is Katrin? I miss her.”
“She’s doing well, better all the time. Fewer nightmares and no waking dreams at all. She’s back to making soap now, though she can’t do much at a time. She’s teaching music to the infant class again. She loves your letters, so please keep writing.”
“I’d hoped she’d come with you.”
Menders shook his head.
“She simply can’t,” he sighed. “It would be far too upsetting. She tried to come but when she got to the dock she began shaking so badly, I turned around and took her home. Borsen, it will take a long time for her to recover from what happened. Going within sight of the Palace is something she can’t bear right now.”
“Poor thing. It doesn’t matter. She’ll see it when she can. I’ll draw pictures of it all and send them over,” Borsen said. “Can you stay the night, Uncle?”
Menders shook his head. “I’ve never been away from Katrin overnight and now is not the time to begin,” he replied gently. Borsen nodded and did a good job of not letting disappointment show. Menders sighed to himself, but there was nothing to be done about it. Katrin was far too fragile to leave for long.
“Now, let me take you to dinner, my young entrepreneur,” Menders said more cheerfully. “I have to get back on the boat by eight, so we’d best hurry along.”
Borsen caught up his hat and let them out the door of his shining, perfect building, not noticing the large-framed man loitering outside the bank opposite as he enthusiastically began telling his uncle about how all the display suits he’d made over the years were being put on mannequins, ready for opening day.
***
“It sounds so wonderful! I can’t believe he’s done it in such a short time,” Katrin said after Menders had described Borsen’s in extravagant detail and given her the sketches Borsen made of the building.
“He didn’t do it alone, he had hundreds of workmen,” Hemmett said, nudging her playfully.
“If you saw him, you’d think he’d done it alone,” Menders said, shaking his head. “It’ll be good for him to slow down and run the place. He’s so thin you could shine a light through him.”
Eiren frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that, not considering the way Borsen eats and still stays so slender.”
“Well, I took him to dinner tonight. He had two starters, two soups, two mains and two desserts,” Menders smiled. “Once he’s not working so hard physically, he’ll bulk back up, my love. I did say something but he’s so happy I couldn’t dampen his spirits.”
“No, I’m glad you didn’t,” Eiren agreed. “He’s worked so very hard.”
“So hard he hasn’t managed to get home,” Hemmett added a little grumpily.
“Oh Hemmett!” Katrin protested, sounding shocked. “He’s been busy and it’s only been five months.”
“Only takes a couple of hours to get here, a couple of hours to get back,” Hemmett answered.
“He’s going to try to get home very soon,” Menders said firmly. “You can’t have any idea just how hard he’s been working unless you go and see the place, which I would recommend, Hemmett. Kaymar will be going over in a week to do some work for me. Why not go along with him? He’ll be there overnight and he and Ifor always stay with Borsen and Varnia. You’ll have a chance to see things firsthand.”
Hemmett looked less grumpy. He stood and stretched.
“I just might do that,” he said, sounding very interested. Then he yawned. “I’m going to turn in. It’s late and I have early patrol in the morning.”
“I’m going to bed too,” Katrin said, rising and going to kiss Eiren and Menders. “Thank you for staying up and letting us know how it all looked. I do wish I could see it.”
“You will. Borsen sends his love.” Katrin smiled at Menders’ encouraging reply and went off to her room.
Eiren waited until the door was closed.
“It took her quite a while to get back to normal,” she told Menders in a low tone. “It’s a shame. She was terribly disappointed, which is what put Hemmett in his current mood.”
Menders sighed and shook his head.
“I’m afraid it’s something only time can cure,” he said. “It’s absolutely understandable that she’s frightened. Possibly curiosity will help her overcome the fear but I’m not about to push. She’ll go when she’s able. Borsen will be writing often and I’m sure he’ll be putting tantalizing and interesting temptation in all his letters.”
“Good,” Eiren said, rising. “Come to bed, you’ve had a long day.”
“My dear, farlins couldn’t keep me from it,” Menders grinned.
***
Stevahn had tried desperately to meet the now-famous Borsen in the last three months. He’d been sure to come out of his bank building at the same moment Borsen left his establishment a number of times. This was not an easy feat, considering Borsen worked longer hours than any of his employees and frequently stayed late at night. Stevahn had even strolled across the street on a pleasant summer evening, making sure that he reached Borsen as the young man was locking the door.
It was his first good, close look at the young man. He liked what he saw as Borsen locked the door, turned partially away from and unaware of Stevahn. He obviously tailored for himself. His suit was beyond perfection. It fit precisely, the color was an unusual grey with a golden undertone. Hat, shoes, waistcoat were all the goldish grey colour, with the emphasis of a gold colored hatband and a rich, heavy gold watch chain. An elaborately carved walking stick with a marble knob was leaned against the door as Borsen turned the big key and then pocketed it. He reached out and touched the marble wall of the entryway for a moment, than picked up the walking stick with a flourish and turned, coming face to face with Stevahn.
Stevahn knew the word ‘ravished’ but had never considered it, particularly in reference to himself. Now he understood it completely, because he was looking at a face that would be burned into his mind until the day he died.
Borsen’s eyes were large, brown and exotic, framed by rimless spectacles. His features were perfectly balanced - his nose high-bridged, definite and perfect, his lips full and sensuous. His face was defined by an elegant jawline beard and moustache. Diamond studs glittered in the young man’s ears, but like everything about him, they were perfectly in proportion and not overdone. Though Borsen could not be more than five feet tall and dressed with style few men could carry off, there was nothing effeminate about him.
Obviously startled, Borsen had his hand in his jacket pocket in a flash, reaching for a weapon. Stevahn smiled apologetically and said, “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Borsen answered guardedly, bowing slightly.
“Nice night,” Stevahn said pleasantly.
“Indeed.” Borsen nodded dismissively, stepped around Stevahn and walked away down The Promenade. Stevahn looked after him, intrigued by the unusual accent that flavored the three words he’d spoken. It was an inflection Stevahn had never heard before.
He sighed over Borsen’s curt dismissal and began walking toward his own lodgings in the young man’s wake, watching as Borsen occasionally gave his walking stick an absent minded twirl when the footpath was clear.
A beggar woman stepped out of an alley and caught at Borsen’s arm. Borsen stopped and doffed his hat to her, bowing far lower than he had to Stevahn.
“I beg your pardon, Mister Borse
n,” the woman said frantically. “I hear that you gives jobs to people what can sew?”
“I do, though right now I’m looking for people who can make ladies’ hats,” Borsen answered, smiling at her.
“Oh sir! I was a milliner before I married,” the woman gushed. “In Erdstrom and then here. I can make hats, straws, felts, bonnets. I can trim, set up patterns, anything you want. My husband’s been killed in the latest fighting and I have three little ones I can’t feed. Please, if you have any work, I can prove myself to you.”
“Come to Borsen’s first thing tomorrow, eight o’clock, and ask for me,” Borsen replied immediately. He took out a money bag, and turned it out on his palm. He gave the coins to the woman, who stared at them as if he’d handed her a priceless jewel.
“How do you know I won’t just go off with this?” she gasped.
“Because you asked that question, my dear,” Borsen answered gently in that odd, cadenced accent. “I will see you tomorrow, bright and early and we’ll get you started. Do you have care for your children?”
“Yes sir! I can leave them with my sister. Tomorrow, sir! Thank you, sir! Loving Galanth bless your sweet face!” The woman burst into tears. Borsen handed her a handkerchief, reached out and touched her hair and then went on his way.
“He gave me twenty florins!” the woman, overcome, said to Stevahn as he drew close. “Twenty florins! I haven’t seen that many florins together in my whole life! My children will eat tonight, won’t they!” She clutched the money close and ran down the alley, Borsen’s handkerchief fluttering in her hand as she went.
Stevahn continued down the street but Borsen had gotten a good lead on him during the moments the woman was exclaiming to him about the money. He saw the young man turn off the footpath and vanish down one of the side streets turning off the Promenade.
Next morning Stevahn was in his office early, curious to see if the beggar woman actually turned up. It was obvious Borsen was already in the store building, as the lights were burning, though the doors were still locked.
At the stroke of eight, the woman came scrambling around the corner, along with several of Borsen’s employees who arrived daily at that time. She’d made herself as presentable as extremely shabby clothing would allow. Borsen opened the door, gave his employees a friendly grin, then welcomed the woman and ushered her in.
“I’ll be damned,” Stevahn said to himself.
He had found to his delight that Borsen’s personal workroom was directly opposite his office. Dictations to his secretary were enlivened by the ongoing pageantry there, as one gentleman after another was ushered in, shown various fabrics or given a large book to peruse. Whenever Borsen picked up the measuring tape always ready on his worktable, he would twitch the curtains closed, so that his customers would not be seen in a state of undress. The rest of the time the curtains were open to give the young tailor sufficient light for his exacting work. Stevahn saw a lot of him, bending over one suit or another, painstakingly stitching by hand or by machine.
Sometimes Borsen stood, easing his lower back with his hands and went to stand at the big window, looking down at the street. To Stevahn’s complete frustration, Borsen never looked over at his own office, directly opposite.
***
Dear Katrin,
I can’t believe it’s been three months since Borsen’s opened. I have so many orders! I don’t know if I’ll ever get caught up, so I just keep plugging along. More people than I ever expected have decided they want the full-on exclusive service, which means little Borsen has to stitch their suits by hand. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.
I finally settled on several levels of service when it comes to suits. There are ready-made suits you can buy off the rack, made by my tailors to my patterns. That’s the lowest level of service. You try it on, you buy it, you leave. The next level is having one of the ready made suits altered to fit. After that, you can have a suit made to one of my patterns by one of my tailors, custom fit, the fabric you want. After that, you’re looking at Exclusive Service. You get measured, a pattern made specifically for you, advice on fabric, the suit made entirely for you by the great man himself, namely me (feel free to bow down). There are even two levels of Exclusive Service, machine made suits and entirely handmade suits. Of course, the handstitched is the most expensive.
Well, I thought I would get a call for a handmade suit once a month or so. Silly little Borsen. I have over a hundred orders for entirely hand stitched suits now and there’s a waiting list for people who want to be measured for the same! It’s as bad as Tomar’s workshop before we got the sewing machines. There I squat at my worktable, stitching madly away. I’m going to raise the prices of the damned things – not that I think it will ease the workload, but at least I’ll die of overwork a rich man.
Never mind, I’m loving it all, but so stretched that I can barely find time to sleep. I wish I could come home and see you all, but there’s no end in sight, and if I let things fall behind now and have people complaining about how they waited an eternity for Borsen to make them a suit … I simply shall not contemplate that. It can’t happen.
Write me with all the news. My best to Petra and best wishes for her to have an easy pregnancy again this time. Punch old Vil on the arm from me. Love to Uncle and Auntie and Bumpy and most of all, for you.
B
Gods, it’s what I was afraid of, Menders groaned inwardly as he read the letter from Borsen that Katrin had passed on to him. Borsen was an excellent tailor, phenomenally so. The clothing he made looked and fit so well that people would pay him any amount of money for it. Reading about his plan backfiring and how he had a massive workload of clothing to hand stitch was daunting. Menders knew Borsen was making it sound funny for Katrin’s sake. Matters were probably much worse than he was letting on.
He set the letter down on the table and Eiren picked it up. She scanned it quickly and sighed.
“I’d better go over there,” Menders said. “Want to come with me tomorrow for a day in Erdahn?”
“Of course,” she accepted rapidly.
“We’ll surprise him at home and keep him away from his workroom all day,” Menders smiled, reaching out and pulling her down to sit on his lap. “I’ll spoil both of you all day long.”
“It’s a deal, sir,” Eiren laughed.
The next day, Menders rapped on Borsen’s townhouse door at seven o’clock. He and Eiren were amazed when Varnia told them Borsen was at the store, working.
“Every rest day,” she said irritably. “He’s there late every night, then out of here at six the next morning.”
“Is there anyone else there?” Menders asked.
“No. If you want to get his attention, you’ll have to throw gravel up at his workroom window. I had to do that last week when Magic ate most of a book and then acted like he was dying.”
Menders felt like an idiot standing in The Promenade, chucking bits of gravel up at Borsen’s window while Eiren rollicked around, much amused by his discomfiture.
“I’m about to just break the glass – that should get his attention,” Menders grumbled, flinging another small stone and adding a piercing whistle between his teeth. He was relieved when Borsen appeared, saw him and started laughing, then disappeared rapidly. A few moments later, he was at the door, opening it for them.
“If you’d told me you were coming, I would have been at home!” he grinned, hugging them both mightily. Menders groaned inwardly. He was thinner. When he saw the piled up table in Borsen’s workroom, he wanted to scream.
“I’m snowed under,” Borsen admitted. “We’ve had to push back all the measurement appointments and I now have to tell people their suit will take much longer, or I’d never get out of this room at all.”
“I’m taking you out of it right now, for the entire day,” Menders said briskly. “No, you’re my business partner as well as my nephew and you are coming with me. You won’t be of any use if you end up collapsing. If you don’t come willingly, I w
ill pick you up and carry you out, so get your coat and hat and let’s go.”
Borsen almost protested, then decided he’d rather not be carried out of his own establishment over Menders’ shoulder. He got his coat and hat, and went.
Erdahn, Mordania
10
Waldrum the Dancing Bear Finds Love
“I
f you want to meet him so badly, Mister Rondheim, why don’t you go over there and order a suit?” Stevahn’s secretary asked. “They say there’s already a waiting list to have him make a suit personally.”
I have become an idiot, Stevahn thought. I’m so intrigued by the little bastard, who is kind to beggar women but close to rude to men who say good evening that I’ve never thought of simply going over and ordering a suit from him!
He grabbed his hat, leaving his office without a word.
“Aren’t you going to finish the letter – oh why do I even ask!” his secretary said waspishly to the empty room.
A smiling doorman swung the heavy red doors of Borsen’s open for Stevahn and gestured for him to enter.
The foyer was incredible. It extended up into the second story and was entirely of black marble, with a brilliant chandelier hanging dead center. A man in a perfect suit was standing directly beneath the chandelier. He bowed as Stevahn approached.
“Good morning, sir,” he said, his voice welcoming and very polite. “I am the Store Director. How may I help you today?”
“I’d like to see about having Borsen make me a suit,” Stevahn answered, rather dumbstruck by the splendour of the place.
“Indeed, sir. That would be the third floor, accessible either by the stairs or by the elevator.”
The marble stairs afforded a view of much of the store, so Stevahn opted for them. He stared around him as he saw most of Erdahn society engaged in buying clothing, from trying ready-made shoes to being measured for gloves. When he reached the specified floor, a man seated behind a counter rose and greeted him.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 43