POV Benjamin
The well-oiled door silently opened, and a man squeezed into the shop with difficulty. No, there was plenty of space inside the shop! Benjamin had widened the doorway a year ago when business had started to pick up. It was just that the man was so tall and broad that the entrance seemed too small for him. His head nearly touched the ceiling.
The tailor glanced at the visitor, whose attire was a gray sack with holes for arms, and, waving his arms in protest, exclaimed, "Get out, bandit! I've already paid Bezukh for this month, and I won't be paying anyone else!"
The bouncer, Peter, rose from his chair near the door. With a menacing glare, he blocked the stranger's path and gruffly said, "Heard what he said? Get lost!"
The guest did not stop. With a casual flick of his hand, he pushed the bouncer aside and stopped in front of Benjamin. A leather pouch thudded heavily on the counter.
"Is this how you greet your customers?" the man said mockingly. His voice matched his physique—deep and low.
"Gold," Benjamin realized from the sound. He immediately broke into a polite smile.
"Forgive me, sir, a mistake was made. Peter, you fool, let him go!" he shouted at the bouncer, who was hanging from the customer's shoulder and unsuccessfully trying to move him. "What are you waiting for? Can't you see a noble guest has arrived?"
Breathing heavily and muttering to himself, Peter returned to his seat, frowning.
Meanwhile, Benjamin darted from behind the counter. Fawning and groveling, he began to praise his goods.
"Anything you fancy, noble sir? Here are the doublets. Golden embroidery, and look at the cloth! Cloaks, both long and short, for every taste. Not interested? Hats..."
The man raised his hand authoritatively, halting the torrent of words.
"I need simple travel clothes: very durable, plain, functional."
"Oh, a traveler, a warrior, perhaps? No, no—must be a knight, right?"
"Almost," the man replied.
Benjamin nodded. He was now certain that the person before him was of noble blood, though a foreigner. Only a knight could possess such cold, commanding brevity.
The customer's build, his face and hands covered in scars, revealed him as a warrior who had seen much in his life. And most importantly—he had a lot of money!
The tailor began searching for suitable travel attire. He pulled outfits from the wardrobes lining the walls, shook them out, and held them up to the customer. As luck would have it, none of the ready-made clothes that had been rejected by other clients fit.
"Forgive me," Benjamin said, gesturing to the pile of clothing. "Nothing will fit you... Oh, what a disaster! But no matter. We can make something custom, it will look beautiful!"
"Fine," the knight agreed calmly.
Benjamin pulled out a tape measure from his pocket and began taking measurements. The customer's build made the task more complicated, turning the usual process into a long and difficult job.
After a couple of minutes, the man broke the silence.
"How long have you lived in Al-Gord?"
"Long, sir. About twenty years."
"Must be that you see all kinds of people here, from different lands and kingdoms. You're right, tailor, I am indeed a traveler. And I want to learn as much as I can about these parts."
Benjamin shrugged.
"I don't even know where to start, your nobility."
"Start with the nearest," the man suggested.
"As you wish, sir. Well, you've already seen Al-Gord. It's just a regular trading town with one simple rule: don't ask where the goods come from. And you understand, of course! Free port—smuggling, piracy. We pay no taxes, just to the local bosses for protection. We live as we want. The Shivan Emir doesn't come here; he's got enough problems of his own, and in return, his ships sail around us. Usually..."
"The Shivan Emirate," the knight quickly picked up. "I've heard of it. Can you remind me?"
"One moment, your grace," Benjamin hung the tape measure over his shoulder, took some chalk, and scratched a series of small numbers on a board.
"The Shivan Emirate is to the east. The nearest city to us is called El-Farrah. Well, as nearest as it gets—about a week's journey. It's an untrodden path—our trade is mostly by sea, and the desert's nearby. Any road gets covered by sand right away, and there are no oases. A small group can pass, but a caravan with a hundred camels? Hardly. El-Farrah—it's said to be a large and famous city. I've never been there myself, though."
Benjamin glanced at the knight, looked down at the board, then back at the knight. Apparently, some of the numbers seemed off, because the tailor, apologizing, said, "Excuse me, your grace. Allow me to measure you again. You're such a powerful man, I'm afraid I might make a mistake."
"It's fine, measure," the man said with a hint of friendliness. "You didn't finish talking about El-Farrah. Why is it so famous?"
"I've heard they have many libraries and mages. They've loved sorcerers for ages, even opened an Academy for them," Benjamin continued, not noticing the glint of predatory interest in the knight's eyes.
He went on: "But, forgive me, I don't understand all these bookish things. Empty thoughts, philosophy," he said with clear disdain. "A noble, honest warrior like you—now that's something real!"
"Indeed," the man agreed. He paused for a moment, as if recalling something, then crookedly smiled, "What could be better than a sharp blue sword and a sturdy black shield?"
"Just what I thought, your grace. A warrior is straight, like a blade. And what is a mage? Bah! All they do is throw fire around," Benjamin said dismissively.
"Well said," the knight replied with a barely perceptible smile. "The words of a true man, a true son of his world! But enough of geography. You mentioned monsters. You know about them?"
"Of course," Benjamin replied. "Everyone knows about them."
"Do they attack often?"
"Not rarely," the tailor measured the customer's height and moved on to his shoulders. "Sometimes Scylla grabs one, sometimes Mershark gets another—truly a disaster."
"What are these monsters? Do they prefer to eat human flesh?"
The tailor looked at the knight with confusion, then laughed obsequiously.
"You must be from the lands of the Order, sir," Benjamin guessed. "Come, let me measure your hands."
"Something like that," the knight replied vaguely. He raised his hands, and Benjamin measured his chest again.
"Oh, you probably can't talk about it! A noble vow, perhaps? I understand, I understand. Forgive me for guessing! It's just that only in your lands do people think monsters eat humans. In Al-Gord, such superstitions are hardly known at all."
"They don't eat humans? What are they, then?" the man asked, expecting a more detailed answer.
"Monsters? Oh, just women, really," Benjamin said with a light laugh.
"Some with tails, some with wings or tentacles, but it's all the same. A woman is a woman. And what does a woman need? A man! But the monsters don't have men, sir, only girls are born. So they look for husbands among humans.
But it's not easy to find a groom, even though they're all beauties, one better than the next. People don't want to get involved with them and pick their partners from among themselves. That's why the monsters get upset. They see a guy, even if he's crooked, squinting, or poor-looking—they fall madly in love... Pick your material, sir!"