The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Pride and Splendor

Dusk had settled in by the time they reached the house. While Able couldn't see it too clearly in the waning light, he could tell it was a town home with multiple floors above a storefront boasting a sign that read "Pride and Splendor." Most of the houses on the street were much like it, but many were not lit within.

"Are most of the houses empty up here?"

"Not most," Lark replied as he led the way up the stairs to the door of the abode side of the structure, "but some, yes."

This door opened into a charming little foyer with dried flower arrangements and a framed intricate scene of the town in needlework. The walls were a pale pink color Able had seen nowhere else in this city, and the coarsely hooked round rug was dark red. Able followed Lark's example by taking off his boots and placing them in the tray beside the door, right next to Lark's discarded slippers. Lark had already taken the left into the equally charming sitting room.

"I'm home," he called. "And I brought a surprise!"

"Oh, I do love surprises," came a mature woman's voice from deeper in the house. "When they're good surprises, that is." Following the voice was a stylish woman with grayed hair, plump cheeks, and an overall pleasant demeanor. She clasped her hands together when she saw him. "Well, now! Is this the gentleman you were off to meet?"

"Yes, this is Able Houser." Lark gestured to Able and then to the woman. "Splendor Hatling."

"Charmed," Able gave perhaps the most awkward possible delivery of that word as he stepped forward to take her hand and proceeded to be even more awkward when she shook it heartily rather than offering it for a kiss.

"Delighted!" She beamed, thankfully unfazed by cultural differences. "Lark said you're here to chronicle the after-events of the war?"

Able blinked before replying, "Yes, that's the idea." Lark had phrased that quite neatly. Able needed to remember it when people asked him in the future. "Oh, uhm, and so you run a tailoring business here? Are you the only one?"

"The only...business, since I'm sure you know Lark works with me? And he's such a blessing to have, to be sure, at my age, I simply can't keep up with—oh, business. Right, no, I think there are others still...Caring Harbor and Proper Overhill, am I right?"

"Yes," Lark confirmed with a nod. "They're still in business, although Proper isn't doing so well since he's lost so many of his weavers."

"Yes, that was Proper's specialty, see, he would cut clothes from patterned fabrics of his own design," her pale brown eyes were bright as she gushed. "Such things of beauty! Everyone wanted one of his coats, and the town was so cheery in the winter with them walking about. All those colors..."  She sighed with a hand over her heart.

"That...sounds lovely," Able said probably unconvincingly as he looked to Lark for help.

"I still have a few of them myself," Hatling continued. "Shall I go get them so you can see?"

In the meantime, Lark had raised his eyebrow at Able, then rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smile. "There will be time enough for that later. Able's going to be staying here while he's doing research in town."

"Oh, he is? How lovely! I should have suspected, what with those bags. I'd offer to take them, but you see—"

"I couldn't impose," Able interrupted, horrified at the idea of an elderly woman carrying his things even though she was in the process of refusing to. "But, if I could be shown where to put them?"

"Why don't I take the bags to Elm's old room, and you can show him the house?" Lark cut in.

"Oh, that is a good idea," Hatling agreed and Able passed his bags to Lark, who hoisted them with ease before vanishing up the stairs.