Iztho stopped in the street and gestured. "The dressmaker."
In a shop on the right side of the street, lengths of fabric hung from beams suspended from the ceiling, waving like flags in a gentle breeze. Orange, bright pink, yellow, blue, red, the colours of an African market blended into a tropical tapestry of colour.
A man in a flapping orange robe squeezed himself from the narrow aisle. He squinted against the light, chest a-glitter with chains and bangles. "Trader Andrahar!"
Iztho spoke to the man in the local keihu, waving a hand at Jessica. The dressmaker’s eyes widened, then beckoned for Jessica to come forward, staring up at her as if she was some weird creature.
"You … like … colours …"
Guess he wanted to know which material she liked. In the shop, the smell of food from the street stalls mingled with a musty, organic scent. It was cramped in here, and she had to bend her head to avoid colliding with beams displaying lengths of fabric. What did she like? She ran her hand over one gaudy-coloured bundle after the other. Certainly not orange, or hot pink, bright yellow or translucent white. Against her white skin, most colours simply looked dreadful. She was hot, wanted a bath more than anything else, and she had always hated shopping. Especially clothes shopping.
Then her attention fell on a shimmer of blue against the side wall: a silky fabric in the clearest of cobalt blues. She squeezed herself between two piles of bundles, and touched it. The fabric ran through her hands like satin. Rich, smooth, soft. She looked over her shoulder, where the dressmaker waited in the aisle.
"I like this one."
Iztho pushed himself forward. "Allow me." He pulled the fabric down from the beam and draped it over Jessica’s shoulder. He nodded, stepped back and nodded again. "That will do just fine." He handed the bundle to the dressmaker, whose face contorted with the effort of suppressing a smile. At this, Jessica was convinced she had chosen the most expensive fabric in the shop.
Iztho dumped an armful of fabric bundles next to the blue one. A soft yellow, a light blue woolly fabric, a satin black, a peach orange with tiny glittering drops, and a shimmering deep magenta, each one more exquisite than the other. "Do you like those, too?"
"Yes." Jessica wondered how from her choice of just one fabric, he had determined her taste. Maybe that was part of his profession. This man had many strange qualities. Being a faded hippie wasn’t one of them.
He pointed out the fabrics one by one. "I’ll ask him to make a second dress, a tunic, a nightshirt, a warm overdress, underclothes…"
Jessica didn’t like it. All this was going to be expensive, and she had no money or whatever these people used to pay. He had to expect something in return.
The dressmaker pressed a few sheets of cardboard-like material in Jessica’s hands. Photographs, or some such thing. "You stay… we make dress—"
Vivid lively colours showed three women walking in a treeless meadow bursting with flowers. Sunlight played in the women’s silken hair. In the background, a landscape of rolling hills stretched away under a stark turquoise sky. "Where is this?" she asked Iztho, although the women’s light-coloured hair made her think she already knew the answer.
"This is the meadow just outside our great capital city of Miran, which bears the same name as the nation. See the clear mountain air? The view over the highlands? Smell the flowers and the freshness of molten snow. That, Lady, is life."
In the oppressive heat, humidity and the overpowering smell of tropical flowers, it sounded wonderful.
The dressmaker tapped the picture. "Which one? We have a lot of work to do."
YOU ARE READING
Watcher's Web
Science FictionShe’s not your ordinary country girl, even though she might look like one. She casts webs of power, reading the feelings of living beings and telling them what to do. Nobody knows what causes it, least of all her. Her name is Jessica, but most peopl...
