The Garments of Caean

It could well be worth as much as the rest of the haul put together, he reflected. He directed all the consciousness he could muster on to the suit, dazzled by its simple elegance, an elegance which surpassed any he had known or imagined. He rubbed the cloth of a sleeve between his fingers; the texture was impossible to pin down and endlessly fascinating, neither sleek nor rough, somehow combining perfect drape with perfect structurality.

Caean had thousands of different fabrics, natural and synthetic, but the origin of Prossim was a mystery to Peder. He did not even know if it was grown or synthesized. He only knew that it was rare, and costly, and sublime.

Suddenly he frowned. Had he been mistaken? The suit now seemed a perfect fit for him. He lifted the panel of the jacket and glanced over the lining, but of course there was no size notation.

The excitement of the trip must have warped his judgement, he decided.

He was tired; it had been a long day. Tomorrow he would try on the suit.

He mounted a staircase to his living quarters above the shop. There he undressed, donned a long crocheted nightgown, and settled into a deep sleep on the divan bed.

He was woken by the chiming of the door bell. Blurrily he rose from his bed and peered out of the bay window. The false dawn limned the outlines of the giant emporia half a mile away. Down below in the street, two figures stood in the porch of his shop, but the light was too indistinct for him to see who they were.

He descended the narrow stairs to the shop. Thrown against the translucent front door by the street lamps were two silhouettes, one tall and slim, the other lumpy. With a grunt of annoyance Peder hurried through the racks of clothing and unlocked the door.

Mast and Grawn slid into the shop. ‘Really, Peder, must you keep us in darkness?’ Mast said petulantly. ‘Let’s have some light!’

Ignoring him, Peder led them through the darkened shop to his apartment upstairs. He turned to face them in his main room, which doubled as a sitting-room and bedroom, feeling slightly ridiculous in his nightgown. Mast found the most comfortable chair and draped himself negligently on it. Grawn simply stood there apishly, mouth ajar.

‘What do you want?’ Peder asked. ‘I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.’

‘Good news, Peder,’ Mast told him nonchalantly. ‘My stake-out in the Mantis produced results. Well, I didn’t actually get to see Jadper, but I’m visiting his villa next week. The deal is probably on. But to do business with him I’ll need to know what the goods are worth, so could you start evaluating them today, finishing the job by, say, the weekend? I know it’s a lot of work, but worth it …’

Peder had a presentiment of disaster and groaned inwardly. Mast was going to make a mess of things – he felt sure of it.

‘I’ve already told you – I’m sticking to the agreed plan,’ he said with stubborn exasperation. ‘Disposal of the garments was to be in my hands – those were the terms of the project.’

Mast spoke with sudden sternness. ‘I don’t think you really understand our relationship, Peder. You were never really more than an employee. It’s my operation, and I don’t take orders from you.’

He jerked to his feet, angular, lithe and saturnine. ‘Now don’t be so unreasonable, Peder. Everything is going splendidly! Try to snap out of this silly mood. I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep now. I’ll call on you again this afternoon and we’ll go to the storehouse together.’

Sick with frustration, Peder watched them leave.

Mast hummed softly to himself as his Cauredon saloon car, chauffeured by Castor, slid away from the kerb and whispered through the nearly empty streets.

Grawn, in the back of the car with him, spoke in a gruff voice. ‘Why are you bothering with that creep, Realto? Heave him over the side, that’s what I say. He’s a comedown.’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ Mast replied patiently. ‘But we need him for the evaluation. Never sell anything until you know what it’s worth.’

‘So? He’s not the only goddam tailor in town, for Chrissake. Buy another.’

‘There is the question of secrecy … but you have a point, Grawn. It might be as well to remove the merchandise from Forbarth’s reach. That, at least, should secure his co-operation!’

He tapped on the window separating them from Castor. ‘A change of plan, Castor! Drive to the warehouse!’

Castor pulled on the steering rod. The car swerved round a corner, then proceeded south.

Mast leaned back in satisfaction. ‘He’ll soon realize he’s been bucking the wrong league,’ he said confidently.

Unable to return to his bed, Peder paced the room in an agony of vacillation. He didn’t know what to do!

Eventually he sat down despairingly, his head on his hand. In the end he would give in to Mast, he supposed. But where would that lead him?

To Ledlide, the prison planet, most likely.

For half an hour he must have sat there, until eventually the Frachonard suit began to come into his thoughts. It was getting light outside, and he might as well make a start to the day.