Mica awoke to dawn’s first rays spilling across her bed. She stretched tentatively and discovered she felt quite a bit better. Her wounds still twinged a bit, but nothing major. She changed into day clothes, splashed some water on her face, and stopped at the kitchen for some bean before making her way to the practice area. Bassano was already there going through is morning regimen. He nodded to her; she returned the greeting as she found a clear area to claim as her own. She’d done some serious thinking and decided that the morning prayer aspect of her priestesshood just really wasn’t her cup of tea. She always felt awkward and didn’t quite know what to say. Mica figured that Athena in her wisdom would understand that different people had different ways of showing reverence, and so set about doing a different sort of devotional.
* * *
Itch. Itch itch. Itchyitchyitchyitch! Thistlepouch opened her eyes with a frown -- that bandage was really getting to her; she needed a good scratch like nothing else. At least her burn no longer hurt as much as when she went to bed. Her feet were asleep, too, likely due to the large, heavy weight across her legs. She looked down to see her dragon there, curled around her feet. And snoring.
“I think you need to wake up. C’mon, my feet are sleeping,” she coaxed.
His feet twitched as if he chased something in his sleep.
“Pickle. . . pickle pickle pickle!”
He smacked his lips.
She tickled him.
Little spurts of flame shot from his mouth as he squirmed and giggled and twitched.
She stopped tickling before something important caught.
Slowly the dragon raised his head, eyes closed.
Thistlepouch scratched him under his chin.
He leaned into the scritching. One paw started thumping.
“C’mon, we’ll get you some bean.”
Copper eyes half-blinked open.
“You need to get off my feet -- I’m losing them.”
Slowly he rolled to his feet.
Thistlepouch slid out of bed and tried to stand -- and recovered feeling in her feet. “Ow. . . owowowowowow!” She danced from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to make the horrible tingling stop. When it calmed a bit, she spotted a pile of clean dressings on the bedside table and so stripped off her old ones, indulged in a good scratch, and rebandaged herself before Martha could come in and do it for her. She put the elf-silky back on, as well her britches, and vowed to go shopping with Mica to find something that fit as she unbraided and tugged a brush through her hair. When she finally exited her room she saw Grog in the hallway in front of his door staring blankly at a mint-green envelope.
“Oh, you got one, too! Have you opened it yet?”
“No.”
“You might want to.”
“Kee.” He clumsily ripped it open and pulled out a lavender piece of paper. And stared blankly at that.
“You want me to read it for you?”
“Kee.” He handed it over.
Thistlepouch cleared her throat and pronounced, “It is an honor and privilege to inform you that you are cordially invited to a masquerade ball held in one week’s time in honor of the Lady Melissanna's return to the loving arms of her father, the Merchant Antonio. Festivities will take place over three nights at Merchant Antonio's manor house. Response requested.”
Grog blinked at her.
“It means you’re invited to a masquerade ball; Lady Melissanna is putting it on. It means you can get all dressed up in a fancy costume.”
“Oh. Kee.”
“Do you want help making your costume?”
“Kee. Dunno what, though.”
“We’ll make you up to be a dashing hero. Melissanna will be very impressed.”
“Kee.”
“You look upset,” she observed, noting his distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“No. . . just. . . dunno how.”
“You don’t have to. You can just stand on the sidelines and look handsome and ask her to dance sometimes. . . . you don’t know how to dance,” she finished at his stricken look. “That’s okay. We’ll fix that, Grog.”
“Kee. Dunno if I wanna go.”
“Oh, but Melissanna's going to be so disappointed if you don’t show up! If nothing else, you can just get dressed up in a neat costume and eat the snacks and drink punch. Come on, it’ll be fun! What else are you going to do, sit in your room and mope?”
“Guard the boat,” he announced with the air of someone making a great discovery.
“Oh, Grog, you’ve gotta have some fun in life! Guarding the boat isn’t that much fun.”
“Like do that. Guard boat important. Me go guard boat.” That decided, he trundled off.
Thistlepouch let him go and decided to poke Melissanna about the issue a little later. Maybe if she asked. . . She noticed her dragon was no longer with her and peeked back in her room to see him curled up on the bed. Maybe some bean would help him. She checked for Mica in her room, but she wasn’t there, so she went to the kitchen to see if she’d gone down for breakfast.
Trays of food rested on tables in the kitchen, but no Mica. Thistlepouch snagged some dried fruit and a pickle, which she munched on her way to the breakfast area, though her friend wasn’t there, either. Thistlepouch sucked thoughtfully on her pickle, trying to formulate the next leg of her search. Mica was one of those warrior types, so maybe. . . Thistlepouch hiked to the practice area. Bullseye! Mica had a sword in hand, going through forms. Bassano observed her with interest; Thistlepouch smiled and waved at his nod of greeting. She wished she could do some practicing, too, but all the weapons were far too big and she’d left her staff in her room. Bother. She sat down to finish breakfast and wait.
Mica finished up and turned around to see Bassano and Thistlepouch watching.
Bassano nodded. “If you would wish instruction at some point, I would be more than willing to aid you.”
Mica debated a moment whether he was offering or insulting her. She chose not to insult the hospitality. “Thank you; I appreciate the offer.”
“My pleasure.”
“Hey, Mica?” the kita piped up. “Can you show me how to make bean?”
“Yes! I need to change my clothes first, though.”
“Okay.” Thistlepouch followed her upstairs and waited outside her room while the warrior de-stinkified herself. When Mica was finished, they made a quick check on the wounded. Darwin was cursing in his sleep. Tusit was on his bed, asleep with a book open next to him. The women peeked at what he was reading -- stuff in his handwriting, notes and such.
“Is the dragon still here?” Mica asked as they made their way to the kitchen.
“He’s not a morning dragon. He’s asleep on my bed. I think he’d like some bean, too.”
Once they got down to the kitchen, Mica found some beans and a roaster and put them in a pan over the fire to darken them, explaining that it would make them taste better. A cook watched over her shoulder, taking mental notes. When it was done, she threw in chicory and ginger roots as well, and put the whole lot into a pot of boiling water. While it brewed, she explained the proper libations (such as pouring a little of each cup onto the ground) one must give to Cappio, the god of coffee, in order to appease him so that he would not demand large amounts in unfortunate times and places -- such as dumping the entire mug into your crotch.
“May I sample?” requested the cook who had been watching.
“Sure!” Mica offered up her mug.
“Hmmm. . . interesting. . . thank you.”
“You can put other stuff in it, too, to make it taste good, like chocolate or milk -”
Thistlepouch looked up at her very sweetly and batted her lashes.
Mica chuckled and added cow’s milk and cocoa powder to both their mugs, whereupon they went outside to enjoy their mocha. Thistlepouch caught her up on the story of the huffyball. Conversation soon turned to the upcoming festivities.
“I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to go as for Melissanna's party,” Mica mused.
“Grog says he just wants to guard the boat.” Thistlepouch wrinkled her nose.
“Grog's invited too?” Mica looked more than a bit surprised.
“Yeah.”
“I suppose. . . he’s a member of our party.”
Thistlepouch smiled into her mocha. “I think Melissanna has a crush on him.”
Mica gave her a very befuddled, confused look, tinged with horror.
“She didn’t leave his bedside at all when he was hurt.”
“Did she get hit in the head again?” she asked, incredulous, then shrugged the whole thing off. “Okay. . . so, she invited Grog to the ball. Does he know how to dance?”
“No, but I said I’d teach him. Which might be kind of hard, considering the size difference.”
“All right! We have a mission! We will find costumes for us and Grog, we will find a dancing instructor! And learn how to dance! Polka time!”
With their goal thus firmly established, they went off to gather their things for a day on the town. Thistlepouch offered the remainder of her mocha to her dragon.
He lifted his head sleepily and peered inside the mug, gave it a couple casual sniffs. His long tongue snaked out for a sample. He considered a moment, head cocked to one side, nostrils flaring slightly, before clamping his mouth over the opening, tipping his head back, and finishing it off. He put the mug down, rolled off the bed, and stretched.
“You wanna go shopping?”
Mmmmmurfle!
“I’m goin’ shopping. If you want to come along, come with. If not, be nice to Tusit, and maybe he’ll be nice to you, and then maybe we can just get you two being friends.”
The dragon looked up at her with a “who, me?” expression and blinked very innocently.
“What did you do?” she inquired sternly.
Murfle.
“You look far too innocent. That’s the look I get when I’ve been up to something.”
Murfle!
That murfle sounded way too bright. “I’ll have to ask Tusit later.”
The dragon blew a few smoke rings. Thistlepouch decided that must be the dragon equivalent of whistling.
Just then, Mica poked her head in. “You all set?”
“Yup! C’mon,” she beckoned her dragon.
Murfle!
Mica frowned. “Are you smoking a pipe or something?”
“No, my dragon’s blowing smoke rings. Dragons can do that.”
“Fun.”
“I think I wanna be a dragon,” Thistlepouch informed her companion as they meandered to the merchants’ district, the dragon toddling along to the side.
“Okay. That should be interesting.”
“I thought so. What do you wanna be?”
Mica considered. “I don’t know if I should be a person or a thing. . . Grog’s going as a swishbuckler, huh? I could go as a pirate wench. . . that would be fun.”
They turned into the first store on the street and found themselves in a sea of bright masks of all descriptions. Many were obviously animals, but there were a few of the classic masquerade styles as well.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” oozed a clerk.
“We’re looking for masks,” Mica informed him.
“Oh, I know we have one that’ll be perfect for you! Ah. . . yes. . . I see you as a beautiful glowing princess, coming upon the dawn!”
Mica looked like she might be sick. “We need to leave.”
“No, wait! Perhaps. . . how foolish! No blushing princess are you -”
Mica gave him a Look.
“No, you are perhaps one of the noble jungle cats. . . a lioness!” He pulled from a shelf a large mask with a lion’s nose and a mane of brown fabric cut in waves.
It definitely had potential, but Mica couldn’t quite see herself wearing it. “Do you have a black cat?”
“Ah, yes, a night cat! Of course -”
“No, wait! Actually, I would like an owl,” she decided.
“Of course, a lady of wisdom! What was I thinking?” He held up a mask, mostly just a collection of feathers that vaguely resembled an owl.
“Not quite. I was looking for something a bit more. . . definite owl, and regal looking. We are to go to the lady Melissanna's masquerade.”
“I assumed. . . we have had many requests already. I had heard that there would be such a ball, which is why I have managed to stock such an excellent collection.” He took down another feathered mask, this one ornate and froofy.
“Not really.” Mica gave up on that channel and decided to pursue another. “My young friend here would like to be a dragon. Do you have anything like that?”
“Ah, yes, yes. . . ” He displayed with a flourish a green mask that looked close to a dragon, the scaled face sweeping back into a large, ornate ridge.
It didn’t look much like her dragon at all. “Do you have something with a bigger nose?” Thistlepouch requested.
“Let me see, larger nose. . . no, I don’t, but if you’re looking for something particular, I could make a mask that would fit your exact requirements. It might be a little bit more expensive.”
“Maybe we should come back,” Mica suggested, hoping they’d find somewhere with a merchant who was a little less ooze-y. “We have other shopping to do, and this is on our way back to where we are lodging, so we can return at the end of our day.”
“Yes, of course, but if you wish to make a purchase now, I could hold it for you -”
“I think we’ll come back,” Mica reiterated firmly.
“Very well, I completely understand.”
Once outside, Mica turned to Thistlepouch again. “What color do you want your dragon to be?”
“Bright blue,” she answered promptly, “if it’s possible. But if not, that’s okay, just so it’s some bright color. None of this black dragon stuff. . . though gold or silver might be fun.”
“I was thinking purple.”
“Purple might be good. . . I like purple.”
The next store’s shopkeeper stared at them down his nose.
“Yes?” he asked in a condescending, bored tone.
“We’re looking for a couple masks,” Mica informed him, trying to be polite, though his tone rankled.
“Of course. Have a look around.”
“In specific,” she continued, “do you have an owl or a dragon?”
“I’m sure we do.”
“Do you know where?”
“Somewhere. I don’t keep track.”
“Okay. Thanks a lot.” She walked out, Thistlepouch behind.
In the third store, they met with considerably more enthusiasm.
“Yes, of course! You’re looking for a mask, I can tell! I’ve got just the mask for you -”
“And it would be an owl,” Mica cut in before he could start gushing about a princess or something equally pink.
He blinked, but hardly missed a beat. “Oh, of course! An owl, exactly! Let me see. . . ” He removed a mask of a very austere, simplistic owl, more the concept of an owl than something realistic.
“I’m looking more for a white owl with a band around its face and feathers going back, more of a headdress than a mask. And my friend here is looking for a metallic dragon with a large snout.”
“Ah, of course. . . let me see. . . I’m afraid I don’t quite have those, but I could make them for you. One moment.” He bustled back into his shop.
“How do you feel about this guy?” Mica inquired lowly. “I like him better than the first one.”
“Yeah, me too.”
The maskmaker returned holding an all-white mask of a hawk. “All right, now I know this is a hawk’s mask, but what we can do is we can remove the nose on this, curve it down to give it more of an owl’s beak and change the eye shape, and add a white trailing top of white feathers. And if you wish for streamers of feathers?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, and those are easy to add as well. I can do all of that for you. The metallic dragon. . . hmm. . . are you looking for a more comical dragon? An angry dragon?”
Thistlepouch looked down at her dragon. Angry? Definitely not. But not comical, either. “Oh, no, not an angry dragon, and I don’t want it to be silly looking, either. . . I was thinking. . . . a dragon with some personality.” She described her dragon as best she could.
The maskmaker took on a pensive air. “Personality and a big snout. . . . I have a thought. One moment.” He returned to his back room and came out with a wire mesh frame. “Right now I can build on top of this any mask you’re looking for. This one I had originally molded into the shape of an exotic bird called. . . a toucan, I believe. . . large bill on it. But from what you’re saying, you need the snout on it to be more like. . . ” He molded it to something close to her dragon’s snout. “Now, is this similar. . . ?”
“That’s close, yeah.”
“And what color would you want the skin to be?”
“A metallic blue. . . between that and that.” She pointed to two different masks.
“A moment.” He went to the back room. After a few minutes of clinking bottles, he appeared with a strip of white cloth streaked with different shades of blue dye. “Now, where along here?”
Thistlepouch made a surreptitious comparison and pointed to one that was almost perfect.
“Do you want anything off the back, like a frill?”
“Peacock feathers?” she suggested hopefully.
“Peacock feathers.” He looked a bit taken aback by the request, but recovered shortly. “Hmm. . . yes, I do have those.”
“I think you should run a strip of spines from the back down your back and then have a tail,” Mica suggested. “That could pretty much be the costume, and then we could get you a bodysuit or something to wear underneath do you want some dragon-like nails?”
“I wouldn’t be able to pick anything up, then. Maybe if I just got gloves?”
“So you wish a ruff and a trailing spine down the back of the headdress?” the maskmaker asked.
“Yeah. . . maybe turning into a tail?”
“Do you wish the tail to be rigid? I could make it so that it was rigid at the base and curves out naturally.”
The side of Thistlepouch that came from her mother knew how wonderful that would be. The side that came from her father pointed out a very practical point. “I think it would tip things over, though.”
“It could dangle just below your feet,” the maskmaker suggested.
“That could work,” Thistlepouch decided, compromising between the two sides of her heritage.
“One thing that I must do is make sure this would fit you.” He tested it for size. “Hmmm. . . it would be difficult to get off.”
“I could have somebody help me.”
“How about having it hinged at the top, so the front could lift up?” Mica proposed.
“You would have to be careful when you flip it up if you have peacock feathers on the top,” the maskmaker warned.
Thistlepouch shrugged. “Okay.”
“Very well. I could do that. . . and the owl mask, for you.”
“Could you add a little gray? I’d like it to be a wise owl.”
“Of course. Anything else? Do you need me to help you with the actual costuming as well? A shirt or dress to go with this?”
“I think my blue outfit that Tusit was making me could work,” Thistlepouch said, making a mental comparison of the colors.
“I’d like a cape of feathers, too, attached along my arms and going down to my hips, and meeting in a point in the back,” Mica added. “In which case you don’t need to make the train in front as long, so that the mask flows into the costume.”
“All right, I could do that, but in that case I would need to make the shirt as well to be sure it goes together.”
The holy warrior turned to her small friend. “Thistlepouch, do you think a dress or leggings would be better?”
Thistlepouch took a couple moments’ thought. “I think a dress would go more for the flowing owl look. You should get some white doeskin boots, knee-high.”
“Boots! Yeah!”
“I am not a shoemaker myself,” the maskmaker admitted, “but I do have a good friend who is a very good shoemaker, actually, the next shop over, he makes very good boots -- I would advise him. Between the two of us we could coordinate to make sure it all matches properly.”
“Great. Now that we’ve got our costumes, we need Grog too.”
“Oh, you have another friend who is also in need. . . ?”
Thistlepouch thought about it a moment. “Well, you know, for Grog, I don’t think a full face mask. . . I think more of a bandit mask?”
“Bandit mask?”
“A piece of fabric with holes cut, and tied in the back,” Mica explained at the maskmaker’s obvious confusion. “He’s going to be a swishbuckler.”
“Kind of like a pirate,” Thistlepouch clarified.
“Let me see. . . a black mask with eyeholes. . . a silk mask? That is easily enough done. Do you wish any decoration, or just plain silk?”
“I think the plain black would look best,” Thistlepouch decided. “He’s a rather simple sort.”
“I understand. . . simplicity does have a certain charm about it,” the maskmaker agreed.
“And we’ll need a shirt with an open chest,” Mica added.
“I think Merchant Antonio had one we could use, and a belt, too, but I don’t think he had any of those high-waisted pants in black, and definitely not the boots.”
“We’ll also need some gloves, and a flashy rapier and scabbard, and arm bands to show off his biceps,” Mica continued.
“So you know,” the maskmaker cut in, “regarding the payment and such, the approximate price for the costumes will be about 90 barns.”
Mica shrugged. “All right.”
“Do you require part of the payment now?” Thistlepouch asked.
“You said that you were staying at Merchant Antonio's?”
“Yeah,” Mica affirmed.
“Then that is surety enough for me. I’m confident that he will make good on any debits if something should happen to you and you are unable to pay. All I would require is for both of you to make your mark on this simple note.”
Thistlepouch read it -- it just said that they have made a commitment to purchase these different properties as guests of the merchant Antonio. They both signed.
“I shall work on the masks tonight, and I believe I shall have both of them ready for you in another two days,” the maskmaker informed them. “Might I suggest you go next door to have yourself fitted for the shoes? If you wish, just take this marker over to signify that I have sent you, he shall contact me about the boots.”
They thanked him and went next door, where the cobbler took their measurements.
“Very good, then. . . you have told merchant Capote what you need?” he inquired when finished.
Mica nodded.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, then I’m sure they’ll be ready for you soon.”
Thistlepouch thanked him, and since the weaponsmith with the mithrol axe was nearby, they stopped to get their deposit back, seeing as how Forge had disappeared.
“By the way, nothing happened to fall into your pouches, did it?” Mica inquired as they journeyed to a shop to get her some gloves.
Thistlepouch made a quick inventory and displayed a couple pretty feathers, some bits of ribbon, a number of beads, and a tooled buckle with a silver luster.
Mica found some wrist-length white doeskin gloves, but there wasn’t anything small enough for Thistlepouch. They purchased some white doeskin to make a pair for the kita, then headed back to Merchant Antonio's.
***
Disclaimer: The party's Barnicus Express account was not damaged during the creation of this chapter -- mostly because they don't have one.