The Written Works: The Tailor's Quest - Part 2

A few short minutes passed by, before a tall man with an impossible narrow figure came walking in, dressed in suit and tie. He held a small clipboard. Following him was the woman, a smile on her face as though she were trying her best to appease him.

“What did you call me here for, Draska? I have a meeting in twenty, I don’t have time for-”

“Sir, someone would like to speak to you.”

The man rolled his entire head in annoyance, stopping and then looking down at her. His eyes were dull, uninterested, almost seeming to stare through her.

“Well?” he said, taking a short glance at his clipboard before putting his arms at his sides.

“Oh, uhm, sir…” she thought about what she could possibly say in this scenario.

“She would like to arrange an alternate payment, sir.” the woman finished for her, stepping to the man’s side.

“This is my problem how?”

“She does not have any money. So, I was thinking that she could do some work. That’s what Mrs. Derries did.”

The man sighed a long, irritated sigh.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s see here…”

He took his clipboard back up and looked over it.

“Well, there is that shipment that we’ve been expecting for a week. But it keeps getting intercepted.”

The man looked back at her with those gray, dull eyes, devoid of any other thought or feeling than boredom and irritation.

“Get it, that’ll be your payment.”

She went to say something back to him, a simple thank you, when he turned his head up and walked out of the room, his stride powerful and prideful like that of a lion’s. The woman stayed behind, explaining to her what road the shipment was coming from and its contents before leaving, anxiously following the man and asking him a menagerie of questions.

It was decided; she would do this for the clothes she had been seeking. She left the tailor’s, making her way to the southern gate. From what she had been told, they were expecting a shipment of various fabrics from a small seamster in the next town. It was a very regular order for them, yet one they could not survive without.

She strolled the path, petals falling like raindrops around her. The trees on either side of her were so girthy and tall that they blocked almost all light within the forest, a blanket of darkness within. She traveled a while down the path, unsure how far she should go to search for this wagon.

“Perhaps they are sending another, and it has not gotten this far yet.” she told herself, so, she sat down on the side against a particularly large tree, staring up at the sky.

When she heard the clomp of hooves against the dirt path, her hopes were fueled. She looked around her, not seeing a single horse or wagon in any direction. She stood, thinking that, perhaps, it was hidden by trees.

A gust of wind rushed past her, the clomping growing faster to a sprint as a gravelly, authoritative voice spoke in another language. Suddenly, as quick as the blink of an eye, a large hand grabbed onto the back of her collar, whipping her the other way as she was dragged. A gray horse was at her side, a man in cloak and shirt commanding it. After they were a little ways into the forest, the man pulled her up onto the saddle behind him, one hand firmly grasping her arm.

“If you jump off, I will find you.” he said over the wind, leaning slightly forward as the horse’s speed became greater and greater.

She tried to jerk her hand back, but saw it was futile, instead focusing on keeping her hat in the great wind. They weaved through the forest; it was clear this horse was made for jumping and agility.

After a long ride through the dense forest, the man clicked his heels together at the side of the horse, causing it to skid to a stop. It was panting, mouth foaming from the exertion. The man jumped down from the horse, yanking her down from the saddle as well and tying the horse to a tree branch.

Many times she considered attempting to escape, yet she was scared of the dilemma the man had presented her. Now she got a good look at him; he was a short, muscular man with a long, drawn face and a buzzcut. A small scar stretched across the left side of his neck, appearing a few months old. He looked back at her, looking her up and down before beginning to drag her somewhere, clearing his throat subtly.

“What’s your name?” he asked, sounding more like a command to tell him than a simple question.
“Uhm, Jordini,” she responded, readjusting her hat once again.

“And where do you come from?”

“I come from a city called-” she began.

“No, I mean, what prison do you come from?”

Her ears and cheeks turned red, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“I do not know.”

“You don’t know the name of the prison you were in? How long were you in there? A day?”

“Four days…”

He nodded, seemingly impressed.

“For what?”

“Charges of vandalism, breaking and entering, stealing…”

“And you escaped that quick? Impressive.”

She feared that he actually believed she had done those things, so she attempted to clarify.

“As for the charges, they are not-”

The man then stopped in his tracks, pulling her to his side and completely draining her of her train of thought.

“We’re here. And if you try any funny business, we could always try to find someone else. I don’t know where that would leave you, though. We don’t like when people know about us.”

A single thought of the implications of that sent a shiver down her spine. Looking forward, she could see the faint outline of a camp with several tents, a smoldering fire, and many burly and intimidating people talking in small groups. The man directed her forward, and brought her to the fire, doing a two-fingered whistle to gain everyone’s attention. They stared at her, some angry, others unable to stop smiling.

“You brought in another stray!” one happy young fellow exclaimed, gaining a couple of chuckles from the crowd.

“This is Jordini, she just escaped prison, I think.” the man said.

“Join the club!” another voice shouted.

An imposing woman with muscles the width of Jordini’s entire neck stepped forward, putting her tattooed arm out to her.

“Hey, Jordini. Name’s Shyla.”

She carefully took it, and it was very clear which of them had a stronger handshake. And no, it was not Jordini.

Part of the crowd turned back to what they were doing, while the man took Jordini and Shyla to the side, hands in his pockets.

“She’ll shadow you, got it?” he addressed Shyla directly, turning to her.

“Understood.”

Jordini stood there, awkwardly, listening to them talk about her instead of to her. Shyla looked back at her, gave her a flicker of a smile, before guiding her right back to the fire and grabbing her a skewer with little pieces of steak on it.

She looked around at the crowd she now found herself in, taking a small nibble at her food. It had happened too fast for her to process. One hour, setting out to find a shipment, the next, involved in a seedy underworld which had been under her nose this entire time. She had no choice but to let it play out and look for a way to escape. For now, her only chance was compliance.