The tailoring shop was still open when Able arrived, so out of curiosity he went in the main entrance instead of up the stairs. The shop front glowed with the late sun across the long, white counter, racks of hanging garments, and bolts of cloth displayed on the walls. It was unoccupied aside from a collection of fashion dolls modeling their miniature dresses, but from somewhere in the back resounded some truly awful singing.
Able followed the racket to an attached room with the floor littered with threads and several tables buried under piles of scraps where Lark was—no exaggeration—singing and dancing around a dress dummy while he poked at the fabric draped across it with pins.
Able crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame while he marveled at the tailor's unabashed projection combined with his inability to hold a key. "Why do they call you 'Lark' again?"
Lark gave up his tortured note in favor of laughter, itself perfectly melodic. "Sorry, sorry! Now you know why I'm often working alone. How did the rest of Fairbanks treat you?"
"Well enough. You didn't mention Hatling was on the council of elders."
"Splendor?" Lark raised his eyebrows then his shoulders. So he didn't think a woman councilor was any news. "Yeah, she is. And probably more than happy to talk about it."
"I don't know if I need to after reading the minutes."
"Oh." Lark laughed again then winked. "And here I thought you'd talked to someone."
"I talk to people," Able mumbled indignantly.
"They even talk back; I've seen it." Lark was grinning as if enjoying a private joke.
"What about you?" Able changed the subject and nodded to the dress form. "That doesn't look like a shirt."
"Because it is not a shirt. The shirt is finished and Hawk picked it up an hour ago, else I'd show it to you."
"Who is Hawk, anyway?"
"Hawk Downhall, overseer at the wharfs," replied Lark.
"Dockworker? What would he—I mean I was under the impression that you and Hatling did a certain, uh, sort of refined class of work?"
"We do all work to stay afloat these days." Lark shrugged, unbothered. "Technically, yes, we're dressmakers, but Pride was a proper tailor and we learned enough of that trade from him before he passed, so we can do all sorts."
Able blinked then tilted his head. "Pride...Hatling? You mean 'Pride and Splendor' is not just the name of the store?"
Lark grinned again at that. "That's right. Story goes he was interested in her mostly so he could name his shop that, but I think the reality was it was a bonus. But yeah, Pride wasn't so named because he was upper class or anything. He was just the first son born after five daughters. The Hatlings made work clothes, mostly."
"I see, and Splendor came from a wealthier family?"
"Somewhat. Enough that she was influenced by upper-class Dagobari styles, but her aesthetic is still strongly regional."
"I'll, uhm—"
"Yes, do take my word for it." Lark chuckled then without warning said, "So, I was thinking of taking you up to Kettlebrook tomorrow."
"Kettlebrook?" Able frowned and reached in his bag for his notebook. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"It was a hamlet before the war, so named for the underground river that causes the caves to emit this unique whistling noise when it rains. Really neat if you get the chance to hear it."
"It'll be raining tonight."
"Really?" Lark looked pleasantly surprised, which in turn surprised Able. Wouldn't a fellow sea-faring child would have noticed the signs—then again, he had been in this backroom singing. "You could hear it, then!"
"But you're not taking me for the river." Able found the note he'd been looking for. "It's an outpost?"
"Exactly. After the occupation started, Kettlebrook got built up by the Larbant law. And the sheriff's men recently came here and made some arrests."
"The convoy robbery suspects?" Able recalled and Lark nodded. "The mayor had no arrest records. You think they were taken to Kettlebrook?"
"Yeah, that's where they tend to hold folks they arrest here—the stock houses and barracks at the docks are only for trading stuff, I guess? So, at the very least they should have those arrest records. But if you're very lucky..."
"Recent activity." Able closed his notebook and smoothed the cover. That first story about the jailbreak...that had to have been exaggerated. "What if the suspects weren't culpable—had nothing to do with the robberies or the Resistance at all?"
Lark's eyes flashed with agitation as he replied, "If they're innocent, that means they're being held unjustly, doesn't it? So wouldn't the Resistance have to help them either way?"
"If...if they're convinced the Sheriff wouldn't release innocent prisoners, then I suppose so." Able swallowed back an unsettled feeling. The Borealunders could very well assume further mistreatments when they already believed they were suffering. "And you'd just take me? You don't have work to do?"
Lark shrugged and leaned against the table. "Nothing pressing until I get some upfront payment from those deals I made. And it's only a three-hour ride, so I could be back by tomorrow. Besides, I'm curious to see if I'm right!"
And if Lark was right...was Able ready to see the conflict first-hand? Could he write this chronicle without any first-hand witness? A coward's hope.
"Yeah, okay," Able said with a nonchalance that hopefully masked his squirming liver. "Let's go to Kettlebrook tomorrow, and see what we see."
"Yes!" Lark pumped his fists. Well then, maybe Able was nervous over nothing.
"Oh, hey," he said as he remembered. "I don't suppose I could use your bath after dinner? I mean, I assume dinner is soon."
"Yeah, Splendor's upstairs working on it. And of course, you can use the bath! I'll go fill it right now, in fact, since you say rain is coming."
"Oh, let me help at least!" Able interjected— why he was appalled, though? Lark wasn't a girl.
In fact, he very clearly wasn't a girl, as he worked the pump outside well more vigorously and efficiently than Able could have. What comes of having an older brother insistent on being the man of the house, Able supposed. Or...hoped.
Each with a bucket in each hand, they went on to fill what Lark called a "sit tub," a contraption made of brick and clay that was heated by a built-in oven. Instead of lying in the tub, one sat on the fire-warmed bench with the water up as high as their neck. Lark enjoyed Able's curiosity and obligingly showed him how to work it, from setting up the fire to taking him around back to show him the release valve that would allow the tub to drain into the garden when he was done.
Able took the opportunity to inspect this garden, which was little more than a fenced-in flowerbed with a birdbath and a bench, but an ideal place to spend an afternoon reading. After they brought the last load of water in and while Lark went to put the buckets away, Able lingered in the bathroom to examine the tub again.
He was wondering if a bath like this was easier or harder for an older person like Hatling to use when he noticed a shaving kit. He ran his fingers over the full coat of bristles on his face. His own razor and tools had been one of the sacrifices in his attempt to pack light.
He returned to the back hall. "Hey, Lark?"
"Mm-hm?" Lark looked up from wiping his hands dry.
"This might be a really weird question, but..." Able watched Lark's eyebrows raise in curiosity, so he proceeded, "Could I borrow your shaving kit?"
"Oh." Lark blinked then poked his own chin. "You thinking of taking it off, then?"
The question struck Able funny. All the young men at the university were clean-shaven. He had never done any thinking about it. "Oh, I...is there a reason I shouldn't?"
"Well, I haven't seen you without it, so I have no basis for comparison, but I think it's rather fetching."
"I..." Able faltered over his words as he feared he was blushing. "I more meant like...are people going to take me more seriously with it, do you think? Is it a Borealunder...thing...?" How had the various men been wearing their facial hair around Fairbanks? This was like a test he hadn't studied for.
Lark rolled his eyes and shook his head, but with an easy smile, then took Able's hand. "Come on," he said and led Able back into the bathroom.
Able was startled to be touched and gingerly extracted his fingers from Lark's grasp while following him to what turned out to be the mirror.
"What do you think?" Lark gestured to the mirror.
Able took a breath and looked at his reflection. He looked unwashed and bedraggled. But before he gave in to an embarrassed sigh...the beard did make him look older. Or was he just older? He'd been cutting back the scraggly weeds so long he'd missed the moment the field had gotten full.
"It's pretty scruffy." He tried to gauge Lark's reaction, which still looked expectant. "And...I don't know how you'd make it look neater? Do you just...cut it?"
Lark nodded then unbuttoned the case of his kit and pulled out a small comb and shears. "Here. See how the comb is flat? If you want to even it out..." He placed the comb along Able's cheek then started cutting the hairs that poked through the teeth of it. "See?"
Able watched him work in the mirror. "Yeah, it makes sense..." But how many hours of practice before he wouldn't make a hash of it?
"Would you like to try, or should I just finish?" How did Lark keep picking up on Able's feelings like that?
Able cleared his throat and said as plainly as he could, "You seem to know what you're doing, so why don't we just see what this would even look like?"
"Sure." Lark kept trimming until he'd gone all the way around, and then he set the comb aside and, with the gentlest of touches, began snipping right against Able's cheekbone. And before Able could get too concerned, he explained, "Okay, so what I'm doing now is these parts where the hairs are sparser? Just cutting them off completely. It will make the beard look thicker as well as neater."
"So...you've uh, experimented with having a beard yourself?"
"Yeah, I've tried several different styles," Lark said. "Don't really prefer it, but it is nice in the winter."
Able was sorry he asked because now he was picturing Lark in a dress with a beard. It took several minutes and a couple moments of uncomfortable vulnerability while Lark snipped away the hairs around his throat, but once it was done...
Able stared into his own reflection and swallowed down a lump so he could speak. "I look...like a wealthier version of my father. And younger, too, but...you know?"
"He had a sea-beard," Lark agreed as he set a friendly and not-quite-welcome arm on Able's shoulders. "The salt isn't good to hair. So yes, instead of Able Fisherman, you are Able Bookman."
"Printer," Able corrected, and when Lark's reflection looked at him curiously, added, "my uncle's profession."
"Aha," Lark said and stepped back. "Well, if you still want to take it off, you can use my kit. But for now—"
"No, I think I'll keep it."