And allow Kasia to be proud of you.”
“Because I show off?.” Robinton had demanded, almost indignant.
“I can’t imagine you ever showing off, Rob,” Clostan had said, shaking his head in mock despair. He grinned, a smile which showed his excellent white teeth and echoed in his dark eyes. He turned serious then and grabbed up the swatch of materials the tailor had on hand. He held them up to Robinton’s face to see how they looked against the weather-tan the harper had acquired over the summer. “Hmmm, yes. I know what Kasia’s wearing, so we must also consider her colours. Can’t clash. Hmmm. I think this rich resset shade of the brocade …”
“Brocade?” Robinton was aghast. He was prudent with his marks, and he had brought the sum he felt adequate with him. But brocade …
“Well, you can hardly appear in something shabby for your espousal, can you?” Clostan remarked in disgust. “Look at it this way,” he said, mastering his impatience, “you’ll be able to wear this to Gathers for turns before it frays.” He robbed the sample roughly between his fingers, and then pulled both ends of the swatch to show its strength. “You’d have to spend far more to match it for quality
over the same period of turns. Good clothing is an investment.” “And you make many,” Robinton said, stung to retort.
Clostan gave him a slightly malicious grin. “I may, but they have all been wise choices, and I can change to fit the mood of the day and the weather of the season. Besides, it heartens my patients to see me well-dressed.”
Dispassionately, and because it was his espousal to Kasia, Robinton fingered the swatch and then held it against his face, noting that the rich russet shade did enhance his skin colour.
“Tailored correctly,” – Clostan gestured for the tailor to take measurements – “you’ll be glad you took the time and effort. And you might consider a few new shirts too,” he added, waving another set of colours. “You’ve only three.”
Robinton, extending his arms for their measure, was half-tempted to clout Clostan for his manners. Then he started to laugh.
At himself.
“And a new pair of pants. The ones you came with are all but threadbare – in embarrassing spots – since you rode out of here,” Clostan added, peering down at Robinton’s backside.
Since the harper had that very morning realized that Clostan’s observation was all too true, he also ordered shirts and pants, including one of leather which would take the harder wear. He had secretly coveted the leather pants he had seen Ifor and Mumolon wearing.
When he returned for the fitting, he had been very pleased with the result and admired himself in the tailor’s long mirror.
Furthermore, they all fitted so comfortably that he wondered why he had never thought of having tailor-made clothing before. But it had been as easy to find something in a Gather stall that was reasonably priced and fitted – more or less.
He was grateful to Clostan and brought him a skin of good Benden wine.
“Well, you do me proud,” Clostan said, gratefully accepting the skin. “The one drawback with this Hold is its wretched wine.” With which sentiment Robinton totally agreed.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Smiling over that episode, he opened the glowbasket over the new worktop which he and Kasia had had such fun finding and setting up in their room. He snagged the sonata from where his mother had left it on the music stand and, taking pen and a new square of hide – Kasia had said she was going to make sure he always had good, fresh writing materials – he began to make a copy of the sonata for his mother to take back to the Harper Hall. Maybe Petiron would even see it and find few faults, since it was written in a classic style. He grinned ruefully even as his fingers flew across the sheet: Robinton could not really see his father approving of anything his son wrote.
He looked back over the score, to be sure he had annotated it properly, and mused over Kasia’s possible reactions to it when she heard it the first time. If she was even half as pleased as his mother…