Lara breathed, turning to her stepmother. “Isn’t it perfect?” She fingered the beautiful material.
“I have never seen anything so fine,” Susanna agreed softly.
The old mercer smiled slyly, showing his worn and yellowed teeth. “It would make an applicant for the tourney more than presentable, my ladies. And I have a fine, matching blue silk that would sew up nicely into a pair of more than elegant trunk hose.”
“And velvet for a cap?” Lara said quietly.
The mercer nodded. “And I know where you can obtain an excellent selection of plumes.” The twinkle in his eyes was not quite human. His gaze met Lara’s for a long moment while Susanna was murmuring over the cloth. Then he looked at her chain and its star, and nodded. “Ilona’s star,” he whispered.
“You knew my mother?” Lara murmured softly.
“Once, long ago,” was the reply. “Like you, I am half faerie, though few live today who would know my heritage.” Then he was all business once again. “Will you take the brocade, lady?” he asked Susanna.
She nodded. “And the silk and the velvet as well.”
“You have not asked the price,” he said.
Susanna blushed at her ignorance, and stammered. “I must have them,” she said weakly. She looked nervously to Lara.
“And the mercer will be more than fair, stepmother, will you not, sir?” Lara quickly put in.
“If I am fair then the wife of the new Crusader Knight will patronize my shop again,” the old man responded. “Your husband will need many fine garments, as will you and your little son.”
“You know I have a lad?” Susanna looked surprised.
“Everything that can be known about John Swiftsword is known in the City, lady. We have been waiting for this day.” He measured out the length of brocade she would need, and quickly cut it. Then he did the same for the pale blue silk, and the medium blue velvet. Wrapping the materials together in a piece of clean rough cloth he tied the packet shut with a bright piece of yarn, and handed it to her. “If the lady will wait I will write her a receipt,” the mercer told Susanna. “A second receipt, signed with your mark, will be sent to Avram the goldsmith. The amount will be deducted from the credit your husband has with Avram.”
Susanna was half in shock with the transaction. She had never bought anything in a shop like this in all her life. She looked helplessly to Lara.
“It is stuffy in here, stepmother,” the girl said. “Go outside and take the air. I will sign the mercer’s receipt, and learn where we may find feathers for Da’s cap.”
“Yes, I think I will go outside,” Susanna replied. “Thank you, stepdaughter.” Taking up her package, she departed the little shop.
Slowly the ancient mercer wrote out the two receipts. He pushed one forward, and handed the young girl the slender charcoal writing stick. It was almost entirely worn away, but Lara was still able to sign her name to the little parchment. Lara, daughter of John Swiftsword of the Quarter, she wrote in her best hand.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking up her receipt as she pushed his toward him.
“Love and light be always in your path, daughter of Ilona,” the mercer said, and he personally ushered her through the door of his shop. “You will find the feather merchant two lanes over. Choose a hawk’s feather for it will bring your father additional good fortune. Your stepmother will want a more showy plume, but be certain your will prevails in the matter. One feather. No more.”
“I understand,” Lara responded, and then the shop door closed behind her and she rejoined her stepmother, who waited in the street. “Come,” she said to Susanna. “He has told me where to find the feather merchant.”
As the old mercer had predicted her father’s young wife wanted the largest, whitest plume she saw. “Think how fine it will look with the blue velvet of your father’s cap, Lara,” she said excitedly, waving it about as the feather merchant grinned.
“It is beautiful,” Lara agreed, “but do you not think it too big? It will draw all the attention away from Da. No one can compete with so wonderful a waving plume. The least breeze, and it will lift the cap from his very head.” She laughed lightly. Her eyes scanned the tall glass canisters of feathers displayed. “I can see such a plume in your lovely hair one day, stepmother, but not, I think, on Da’s cap.”
The feather merchant scowled at her. “It is my finest plume,” he said.
“Oh, it is very fair,” Lara agreed, “but I think a feather that spoke more to my father’s skills as well as his good taste would better suit. The plume is too ostentatious.” She pointed. “Let us see that glass of hawk’s feathers. Don’t you think them elegant, stepmother?” She drew forth a long slender feather mixed with black, white and russet that was tipped with gold. “This one!” she exclaimed.
“It is very nice,” Susanna agreed hesitantly, “but is not the white plume better?”
“The plume, I think, is the sort of thing every boy applying for the tourney will have jutting from his cap. Is that not so?” she directed her question to the feather merchant. “I will wager you have sold more plumes than anything else since the tourney was announced. I feel the hawk’s feather will distinguish Da, and it will bring him luck, stepmother.”
The feather merchant nodded reluctantly. “Your lass is right,” he said. “I have sold nothing but white plumes to those applying. And I am the only feather merchant in the City. The hawk’s feather she so carefully drew from the canister is the finest one I possess. It will indeed identify your man, and permit him to stand out among the others.”
“Then I shall have it!” Susanna told him firmly.
“The hawk’s feather is more expensive than the plume,” he said.
“Wrap it carefully,” Susanna instructed him. “My stepdaughter will sign the receipt. Our account is with Avram the goldsmith. Lara, I will await you outside.” And Susanna swept grandly from the feather merchant’s shop, her dignity restored.
Restraining her laughter, Lara stood quietly as the man first rolled the elegant hawk’s feather in a length of gauze, then slipped it into a long, narrow wooden tube with a metal top. He wrote out two receipts, and pushed one forward for Lara to sign.
“So you’re to be a Pleasure Woman,” he said as he handed her the container and her copy of the receipt. He eyed her boldly.
“I know not what I will be,” Lara said coldly. “That is up to Gaius Prospero.” Then she turned, and left the establishment. The man was too forward.
“What is the matter?” Susanna asked her, seeing the anger on her stepdaughter’s beautiful face. “Are you all right?”
Lara shook her head. “The feather merchant spoke out of turn,” she replied. “It is nothing. Do you have the proper needles and threads we will need for this undertaking?”
Susanna nodded. “Aye, I do.” When Lara got that particular look on her face it was best to leave her be, and inquire no further.
“Then
