The following morning, Jack spent a few more hours inscribing spell scrolls before heading to his nine o’clock appointment with a tailor. The fitting had been arranged by his father to outfit him in a new suit, bowler hat, and shoes for his debut at the Royal Library as a Novice Scribe.

  Five minutes early, Jack stepped from the cobbled street into the cool interior of Thorn and Tallow, master tailor to Lundun’s white-collar workers. The bell above the door chimed, and a gentle plume of spent aether-steam curled from brass vents overhead.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been here, Jack thought as he looked around the shop’s interior. He’d visited Thorn and Tallow a half dozen times in his past life. It’s where he and his father bought all their work clothes. Having spent twenty-plus years living through the grief of losing his family, his memories of the place were vague and patchy.

  The interior was what he’d remembered of the tailoring establishment catering to the city’s scribes, librarians, and clerks. The air was rich with the scent of fine fabrics, natural dyes and a subtle note of charcoal ink. Rich burgundy wallpaper lined the walls, beneath which fine-tailored coats hung on gleaming brass hooks. An enormous oil painting of the Royal Library’s front fa?ade dominated one wall, its gilded frame catching lantern light. Shelves groaned beneath sumptuous bolts of deep charcoal wool, midnight velvet, and silken linings threaded with pale blue aether-filaments that shimmered as they caught the light. Beside the counter, an aether-powered coat press hissed, exhaling pale blue steam in gentle curls.

  “Welcome, Jack. I’m Thorn, proprietor of this humble establishment,” intoned a dignified voice. From behind a polished mahogany counter emerged an older gentleman in a crisp pressed waistcoat, spectacles perched at the end of his nose. He offered Jack his hand. “Your father has sent word that you require a fitting for your new post as Novice Scribe at the Royal Library. Congratulations on your prestigious posting, young man.”

  Jack returned the handshake and inclined his head. “Thank you.” A flush of pride warmed his cheeks, but with it came a touch of apprehension. A dark-grey suit, bowler hat, and polished shoes were symbols of respectability; they signified a world from which he’d been absent from these past twenty years. Would he slip back into that role like a hand in a well-worn glove, or had time and the pursuit of vengeance changed him too much?

  “Let us begin,” said Thorn, leading Jack across polished oak floorboards to an automated measuring stand. “Meet Tallow. He’ll be your tailor this morning.” He turned to a slender man perched by the stand. “Your next client, give him your best.” With a polite nod, Thorn returned to the counter.

  Tallow adjusted his own spectacles, the frames sliding down his nose. His expression was akin to a disappointed headmaster’s, yet his eyes betrayed a keen interest. “I always do,” he replied, offering Jack a firm handshake before stepping back to survey him. “Right shoulder sits a touch lower. Likely from overuse. Sword arm, is it?”

  He said that the first time around as well. Jack recalled. When I got home, I thought of a hilarious response. Jack replied with a smile, “Heavy pens… and perhaps lifting a few too many pastries and desserts if I’m honest.” He mimicked raising food into his mouth and chuckled. Yes! Perfect delivery.

  The tailor lowered his head to look over his glasses; he didn’t blink. “Quite droll.” He gestured to a curtained alcove. “Please strip to your undergarments for the initial measurements.”

  Hmm… that was funny. You uptight git. Jack thought.

  Moments later, Jack re-emerged in nothing but his underwear and socks. Tallow directed him to step inside the brass-and-oak-framed device. A trio of measuring drones—sleek, beetle-like constructs of polished brass—whirred into life, each emitting tiny puffs of spent aether-steam as they extended slender, rune-enchanted scanners.

  Jack held his breath as the scanners probed his form, recording every contour with small clicks. One drone paused at an awkward angle, measuring his inseam, prompting him to flinch; another poked his side at the arrow wound, surprising him. He forced himself to remain still, imagining the reader’s eye as a strict librarian noting each minor imperfection in a book cover.

  Within seconds, the drones retracted, and a soft chime signalled completion. “Perfect,” Tallow declared, examining a read-out on a small crystal panel. “Your measurements are now saved. We’ll adjust for posture and any lingering… injuries.” He led Jack to a fitting chair beside a long mirror. “Now, let us discuss the style. You requested a dark grey suit, bowler hat and shoes. For the jacket, I recommend a double-breasted cut in worsted wool, subtle charcoal grey. The lining will be a satin weave imbued with aether-filament, to wick moisture away and prevent creasing.” He waited for Jack’s response.

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  “That sounds perfect,” Jack replied. It was the same style his father wore and what the same tailor suggested almost a quarter of a century earlier.

  The tailor smiled and continued. “And of course, it will include the requested interior pocket for your scribe pen. Your father insisted that this area be imbued with stain-resistant alchemical elements. Similar to what we use on the collars and cuffs of our shirts. This extra precaution is to prevent discolouring should your pen ever leak.”

  Jack’s eyes lit. He remembered the pocket where, for over four years, he’d stored the pen his father had gifted him after his first class choosing. He patted his chest where the scribe pen would live beside his heart.

  Tallow pointed to a sample swatch. Jack ran his fingers over the fabric; it was cool, almost alive in his hands. “It feels… extraordinary.” He’d forgotten how good it felt.

  “It is,” Tallow agreed. “But invisible to the untrained eye. Only you will know it carries aether-woven comfort.” He continued, “This is a hard-wearing fabric, perfect for an industrious scribe.”

  Thorn appeared with a steaming pot of tea and two delicate china cups on a polished tray. “Care for a cup, Jack?” he offered. Receiving a nod, he poured the amber liquid into Jack’s cup. “This is Marives Amberleaf.”

  “Thank you.” Jack lifted the cup, and the warm porcelain pressed against his palm. I used to drink this all the time at the Library. He drew in the tea’s gentle aroma: a rich blend of sun-ripened amberleaf with a whisper of toasted barley, underscored by a subtle honeyed warmth and a faint, almost smokey edge… like embers glowing in a snug hearth. As the steam curled upwards, hints of crushed mint and toasted nuts drifted to his nose.

  He took a sip. The first taste was smooth and mellow, a soft sweetness dancing on his tongue before giving way to a gentle acidic undertone that brightened the finish. Warmth from the tannins spread through his chest, reassuring and steady, as a delicate afterglow of honey and malt lingered on his palate. The tea felt like a welcome companion, encouraging yet refined.

  “Wonderful,” Jack murmured, closing his eyes for a moment to savour the flavour. He could feel the warmth radiate down his throat, easing the tension in his shoulders. I’ve missed this. At the Royal Library, they had an extensive collection of teas; he’d been an avid tea drinker, but after the fire… Cheap ale.

  Thorn beamed. “Delighted you approve. A good cup of Marives Amberleaf clears the mind before the day’s work.”

  “I hear they let the amberleaf leaves dry in the sun on barley mats to achieve the rich flavour,” Jack said. He’d read multiple books on tea in his past life, and he’d used his Perfect Recall skill to access the relevant information regarding the production of Marives Amberleaf tea.

  The old man’s smile widened. “So few young people these days appreciate a fine tea. It’s good to see your father has instilled in you respect for tradition.” He withdrew, leaving Jack to enjoy the final sips.

  Tallow resumed measuring as Jack finished his tea, the comforting taste and soothing aroma steadying his nerves for the fittings ahead.

  Next, Tallow draped a half-finished waistcoat about Jack’s torso. “Silken weave in matching dark-grey, double-breasted, jet buttons. This will sit snug at your waist, creating a clean line beneath the jacket. The buttons can, of course, be replaced with magical protections… We have a partner shop which supplies the relevant rune-enchanted buttons.”

  Jack nodded. “For now. Just the standard buttons.” He recalled the protections Greaves had on his waistcoat. I should save coin for at least the basic protections.

  “Their business card,” Tallow said, while placing a black embossed card on the table for Jack to collect later.

  Jack inclined his head as Tallow clipped on a measuring tape. “And the trousers?”

  “Slim cut. Straight from waist to ankle, with a four-centimetre break above the boot heel. A longer hem risks scuffing; a shorter one looks ungainly. For material, the same worsted wool, but with a fine blend of Merciar cotton for comfort.”

  Jack nodded while finishing his tea. Those trousers were really comfortable.

  “Next,” Tallow said, “we come to shoes.” He retrieved a pair of pressed leather brogues in deep slate-grey from beneath the counter. “These are constructed on a flexible sole with aether-lined insoles to cushion long hours of standing. Please step forward.”

  Jack slipped his feet into the brogues. “Impressive,” he murmured as Tallow laced them and adjusted the fit around his heel.

  “They’ll mould to your feet,” the tailor assured him. “And the aether-filament will keep your soles warm in winter and cool in summer.”

  They turned to the bowler hat. Tallow retrieved a stiff raven-felt hat from a velvet-lined cabinet. He placed it on Jack’s head and activated a hidden rune enchantment. “Custom-fitted. It’ll hug your brow without pinching, and the brim is tailored to avoid shading your sight while you work.”

  Jack gazed at his reflection: a young man transformed, studious, purposeful, ready for his new role. He smiled, recalling his happy years working at the Royal Library with his father. I’ll be working with Dad again, he gulped at the thought.

  Thorn appeared with a wide smile. “All done?” he asked.

  Tallow nodded.

  Thorn continued, “Return tomorrow at midday; your suit, hat, and shoes will be awaiting you. Meanwhile, allow me to walk you to the door.”

  Jack redressed and collected his belongings, including a business card for Thorn and Tallow, and the partner business, which supplied magical protections.

  As they strolled back beneath the painting of the Royal Library, Thorn spoke of the building’s vast reading halls, its towering shelves and the hush broken only by the turning of pages. Jack listened, heart quickening as each detail cemented his future with his past. In his past life, he’d loved his time there.

  At the door, Jack paused. “Thank you, Thorn, Tallow. I’ll wear the suit with pride.” He meant it.

  “May it serve you as well as your pen,” Thorn replied.

  Jack stepped back into the early morning air, the promise of tomorrow glinting in the sunlight and the soft curl of spent blue aether-steam behind him.