Half Share Page 4

  “Hi, Sean,” Brill returned. “You look like you’re gonna be doing some knitting. How much yarn do you have there?”

  “About five kilos worth, but I’m not knitting with these.”

  “What then?” I asked. “Five kilos is a lot of mass.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, “but I’ve got a lot to spare. I unloaded almost everything I had between Margary and here. I’m going to use this stuff to make afghans!”

  Brill laughed delightedly. “Afghans?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had a bunch of patterns for crocheted afghans for nearly a stanyer. This is the first time I’ve had enough creds and mass allotment to actually get enough yarn to try them out.”

  “So? This is good yarn?” I asked.

  “There’s just about anything you want here. It ranges from good to excellent. It really depends on what you want to do with it. You looking for trade goods?”

  “Thinking about it. Any suggestions?”

  He pointed down the aisle in the direction we were heading. “Second booth from the end on the left side. Middle aged couple there has big bundles of really good, general purpose wool yarn. The best deals are in the hundred gram, worsted wool skeins. Excellent texture and she dyes it herself with local dyes. Real artisan class work. You can probably buy it for about two creds a skein.”

  “Thanks, Sean,” I said.

  “No problem. Thank you for getting the co-op going. If it hadn’t been for you and Pip, I wouldn’t be able to afford this.” He hefted his big bundle of yarn.

  I did my best, aw shucks ’tweren’t nuthin’ impression.

  “Well, I gotta get this stuff stowed. See you guys on the ship,” Sean said and he headed out.

  “Thanks for the tips, Sean,” I called to his back.

  As we wended our way onward through the crowd, Brill asked, “So, how are you going to handle this?”

  “I’m gonna grab a digital and flash it over to Pip. Sean knows his yarn, so if he says this is good, I’ll take his word for it. Pip and I will put our heads together between now and tomorrow to decide if we want to buy it and, if so, how much. We don’t have any other good prospects right now, and since our mass allotments went up we’ll probably pick up at least a few kilos.”

  The couple was, indeed, amenable to bulk purchases and I made arrangements for Pip to visit the next day. I bought a few skeins to take back to show him and the man put them in a carry-sack for me. Brill fell in love with some extremely soft yarns in warm earthy colors. I excused myself while she dickered. “I’ll be right back,” I told her.

  I left the booth and headed in the direction of the head, but at the end of the aisle, I doubled back. It took me just a few ticks to find the booth with the carvings again, and the man beamed when he saw me coming back.

  “You thought it over, young sir?”

  “Yes, I don’t know what these are, but I’d like to buy some to take with me to Dunsany as trade goods,” I confessed. “Would that be acceptable?”

  “The price is still ten creds,” he said, without changing the expression on his face. “They are what they are, and you may do with them as you see fit.”

  I quickly selected ten of them. I let my hand choose without worrying about picking any particular piece. I sorted my selections onto a corner of the table.

  As I picked them out, the man nodded with each piece as if he was pleased with my choices. When I finished, he wrapped each in a small piece of soft cloth and placing it gently into a carry-sack for me. I started to transfer the credits but he gave me an odd look with a raised eyebrow. “Are you certain you are done, young sir?” he asked.

  I started to nod, but one figure caught my eye. With a smile, I gave a small bow to the man. “Thank you for reminding me, good sir. I seem to have missed the most important piece.” I picked up the heron and handed it to him to wrap.

  As I left the booth, I stashed the sack of figures in the bundle of yarn.

  When I got back, Brill was waiting for me, her purchases complete. “I was just about to send out the search dogs,” she said playfully.

  “I got sidetracked,” I told her. “There’s a lot going on here.”

  “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” she asked as we started off again.

  “You mean for myself? Or to sell?”

  “Either.”

  “I’m always on the lookout for trade goods, but those I just kind of stumble on. It’s not like I’m looking for something specific but I know it when I see it.”

  “Yeah,” Brill agreed. “It’s the excitement of the hunt that makes it fun as much as anything else. But what about personally? Anything in that department?”

  “Well, I’d like to upgrade my wardrobe. These were my going out clothes back on Neris.” I indicated my civvies. “They seem a little—tired.”

  “It’s hard to find clothes that fit at the flea market,” Brill said wistfully. “Not just for me. I’m impossible to fit no matter where I go, but flea market items tend to fall into the one-size-fits-all category to appeal to the most people. Finding anything that is really good is basically luck.”

  “That makes perfect sense, now that you said it.” I sighed. “Well, maybe in Dunsany I can find a tailor and a boot maker.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to wait that long,” Brill said with a grin. She could see over the heads in front of us, and when the crowd cleared a bit, I saw what she was referring to.

  A large banner hung on the drape behind a booth that proclaimed: Bresheu et Fils. An impeccably dressed, portly gentleman with a bald pate surrounded by tufts of brown hair dominated the space with his presence. He held court, directing a small platoon of boys and girls in their tasks. Some measured. Some cut. But all moved with a common purpose. A table set up in the back of the booth held several machines, all humming merrily under dexterous fingers and sharp eyes. The booth—and I realized that it was actually a triple—boiled with activity.

  I laughed out loud at the sight and Brill clapped her hands girlishly in delight. The chrono said we had less than a stan before closing, so this had to be our last stop. It was going to be memorable. I flashed a digital for Pip.

  Brill touched my arm and murmured into my ear, “My turn to find the head. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said, distracted by the commotion. I turned back to the booth and tried to figure out where to begin.

  As I started thumbing through the racks, a voice in my ear said, “How can we help you today, young sir?” I turned and found the man himself smiling at me. He held out a hand. “Bresheu,” he introduced himself, “At your service.”

  I shook his hand and said, “Call me…that is…my name is Ishmael Wang, Monsieur Bresheu. And I am in need of a better jacket.”

  He beamed a smile back at me. “Just Bresheu, Mr. Wang. May I call you Ishmael?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kind of jacket would you like, then, Ishmael?”

  I pulled at the lapel of my glorified windbreaker. “I’ve outgrown this,” I said. “While the size is adequate, I find that it no longer fits me.”

  Bresheu nodded knowingly. “I understand completely. If you would slip off your garment and try…” He snapped his fingers, and a girl hung an exquisite black sport coat on his hand. “This one?”

  I stripped out of my jacket and Bresheu slipped the coat on for me. A boy immediately began tugging and straightening. A girl, who could not have been more than eight stanyers, plunked down at Bresheu’s feet and started writing the measurements as fast as a different boy could read them out. A tape measure flashed as he read numbers for neck, sleeve, length, chest, and waist. Bresheu tsked and shook his head. “No. This will not do.” Before I could even see whether I liked it or not, the jacket was gone.

  He snapped his fingers again and a different girl, I think, hung a brownish, waist length jacket on his outstretched fingers. He slipped it onto my shoulders while the little girl with my measurements scrambled out from under his
feet and the boy with the measuring tools stepped back, his eyes alert for the next command. Bresheu hmmed once and said, “Possibly.” This coat stayed on long enough for me to realize that it fit as if it had been cut for me before Bresheu said over his shoulder, “Marc, the hip length frock, s’il vous plait!” He stripped the jacket off my shoulders in a single fluid movement.

  A boy hustled from behind a rack, took the offered jacket from Bresheu, and replaced it with another, this one in a dark olive green. Before I even had a chance to see it, Bresheu had it slipped into place and a boy had buttoned the bottom three brass buttons. Bresheu tugged the shoulders gently and pulled down on the back before walking slowly around me in a full inspection. It molded to me and had an uncanny feeling of rightness.

  “How does that feel, Ishmael?” Bresheu finally asked me.

  “Incredible,” I told him. “But, how does it look?”

  Bresheu snapped his fingers again, and two girls wheeled a large mirror over. Looking into the glass, I did not see myself right away. Thinking that they must have it turned slightly, I shifted to get a better angle and saw the figure in the mirror mimic my movements. The dark olive-green coat sported a single row of small brass buttons offset down the right side and rich chocolaty-colored leather trimmed the collar and sleeves. The cut resembled a military academy tunic and fell to just below my hip, much longer than the waist length jackets I was used to wearing.

  “What do you think, Ishmael?” Bresheu said to me in the mirror. He smiled over my shoulder.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said and then sighed. “But is it me?”

  Bresheu gave a little shrug. “It could be. But I’m not sure the fit is perfect yet. Please reach straight ahead.”

  I did as he instructed and I could feel the material bind across my back.

  Bresheu tsked. “As I feared. You are a runner?” he asked.

  Confused at this I answered without thinking, “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Your chest is larger and that’s what causes this binding here.” I could feel his fingers trace across just under my shoulder blades. He sighed. “This is just one half size too small for you. It needs a bit of fitting to be perfect.” He glanced at the chrono and tsked again. “I could have it ready by tomorrow…” he suggested.

  I was still gazing at the me in the mirror. The coat seemed like it was the right one, but so much more dramatic than anything I had ever worn before. The flashy buttons and the leather trim seemed oddly theatrical. I blinked and noticed Brill had returned and was eyeing me critically. “What do you think?” I asked her. “Is it me?”

  She smiled. “It’s spectacular, certainly. But, is it you?” She shrugged. “You’re the only one who can answer that.”

  Then Bresheu’s words sunk in. “Tomorrow? No. I have duty tomorrow. And we leave for Dunsany Roads the day after,” I told him.

  “Pity,” he said with a downward twist to his lips. “The coat is spectacular on you, Ishmael, but it needs just that bit of tailoring to make it perfect. Could I tailor it and have it sent to the ship, perhaps?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told him peering once more in the mirror. “This is a fantastic piece, but I wonder if it’s perhaps—I don’t know—too dramatic?” I sighed. “I don’t know that I have the presence to pull this off.”

  Bresheu smiled back at me from the mirror. He caught my eyes in the glass and leaned into my ear, “Ishmael, there is an old saying that the clothes make the man. Is this the man you wish to be?”

  I broke the gaze and examined myself once more before looking back in his eyes. “I don’t know, Bresheu. I need to think and we don’t have much time.”

  “You are a wise man, Ishmael,” he said and slipped the coat from my shoulders. A girl took it and disappeared. Bresheu slipped my own jacket back onto me and gave it his little tugs.

  “May I suggest that you think upon this during your voyage, Ishmael?” Bresheu said. He slipped a business chip out of a sleeve and inscribed a single letter B on the case. “When you get to Dunsany, present this chip at the establishment of Henri Roubaille. If by the time you get there you know who you are, then Henri will be able to fit you.”

  “Merci, Bresheu,” I told him. “My apologies for taking up your valuable time.”

  He shook his head. “But why else am I here? Please do come and see me the next time your travels bring you to St. Cloud.” He offered his hand and a warm smile in parting.

  I took the hand and gave my own smile in return. “I’ll be sure to visit you sooner next time,” I told him.

  Just then, the warning pings sounded to let the shoppers know that the flea market was closing. I saw Brill still standing by the mirror and we joined the stream of people leaving the flea market.

  “Why didn’t you get it?” she asked. “It was exceptional. You looked good enough to eat,” she said in a tone that took me off guard.

  I chuckled. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right. I’m not that showy.”

  “I can appreciate that,” she said. “But, still it was very yummy.”

  Concerned with where this conversation was heading. I suggested we go find some food.

  Chapter 4

  ST. CLOUD ORBITAL

  2352-FEBRUARY-19

  End of day shoppers crowded all the restaurants that catered to the flea market and did not offer the best choices, so Brill and I went down a couple of levels. We found a seafood restaurant that specialized in local St. Cloud fish that looked good. A sign in the window proclaimed, “The fish you eat today, slept in Starvey Bay last night.”

  Brill and I both laughed. “Is that just a little too much information?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, it’s a little creepy, but I guess it’s better than the alternative,” she agreed.

  The hostess was good. She took only one double take at Brill’s height and then seated us at a very pleasant table close to the kitchen but not in the main traffic pattern. Unlike a lot of the orbital restaurants, this one did not have every square meter jammed with tables, which made it feel open. The walls were adorned in lifesize digital murals of various seascapes—probably from St. Cloud itself. All in all, it was a very tasteful display in spite of the rather tacky commentary on the fate of our soon-to-be dinners.

  “Thanks, Brill,” I told her when the drink orders were placed and we had settled in.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “Well, I was feeling a little—displaced—that’s not the right phrase, but something like that.”

  “Displaced?” she prompted.

  “Yeah. When you found me, I’d just finished moving and felt a bit lost. There wasn’t anybody in deck berthing when I left and nobody in engineering when I got there. I felt like—I don’t know—suddenly disconnected somehow. Does that make sense?”

  “Oh yeah, I can see that.” Our drinks arrived—a nice bottle of white wine from a Dunsany vineyard—and interrupted our conversation with the rigmarole of uncorking and tasting. The wine was smooth, dry, and had a nutty aftertaste. “It’s funny how you get attached to a bunk like that. I know when I moved out of engineering and into chief’s quarters I almost cried. It felt like I was leaving home.” She smiled wistfully.

  “Well, anyway when you came in, and asked me to come out with you that meant a lot. So, thanks,” I told her awkwardly.

  The server returned to take our orders and I picked a grilled abo-iba steak and Brill went for the munta fillet. The abo-iba is a large, deep water fish—a fast swimmer and very streamlined. The flesh is dark and has a texture that is more fibrous than flaky. Munta is sort of a cross between salmon and sea bass. The restaurant began to fill up slowly around us as the evening crowds began filtering in.

  “So? Why didn’t you get that jacket?” Brill asked after a small pause. “You didn’t even ask how much it cost.”

  I shrugged. “It was tempting. Back on Gugara there was a black leather jacket with a beautiful silk lining and silver buckles that I passed by. I didn’t buy
that one because it cost more than I had and it weighed three kilos. But I’ve kind of regretted that decision every time I’ve put on this thing,” I said indicating my coat.

  “So, aren’t you afraid you’re going to regret not buying this one?”

  “A bit, but Bresheu put his finger on it.”

  She arched her eyebrow in inquiry. “I was too far away to hear what he said.”

  “He told me clothes make the man and then asked if my reflection was the man I wanted to be.”

  “And you didn’t want to be that man?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t that. The problem was that I just didn’t know. There was a certain attraction, of course. It was a spectacular piece.”

  “I have to give you credit. You know quality when you see it.”

  “Thanks, but the point is that I never really thought seriously about what I wanted to do, let alone who I wanted to be. When Bresheu said that, it was the first time I’d even considered that I might have a choice in the matter.”

  She nodded sympathetically.

  “So, yeah, I may regret not buying the coat, but it just felt like I needed to think about that idea of who I want to be before I commit to being the man who wore that coat.” I snorted. “I’m sorry. I must sound like a loon,” I said, suddenly self-conscious.

  Brill shook her head. “Not at all, Ish. You sound like a guy who’s getting it together. No need to apologize for that.”

  The food arrived and we paid attention to it for a few ticks. My fish was excellent—grilled to perfection and seasoned simply with salt and cracked green peppercorn. It came on a bed of sweet sticky-rice with steamed brocofleur on the side. The wine matched the meal perfectly.

  I broke the silence by saying, “So, what about you?”

  Brill appeared startled. “What about me?”

  “Where are you from? How’d you get to the Lois?” I asked.