The Seamstress

The Seamstress

This was going to be fun, Lin thought to himself as he leant into the frigid wind that swept over the rooftops and rushed through the street, scratching at windows and tugging at chimes as it went. What an utter waste of time this would be. He knew what the Seamstress was all about, and so he knew that there was nothing a broken corpse of a man could gain from this meeting. A man with no past would elude even her most probing questions, and a man with a face like his was best left garbed as plainly and discretely as possible. Both of the Seamstress’ masteries would be utterly ineffective; no old wounds could be picked opened up and stitched shut by this wise old hag. No old doors to a painful past could be prised open and their dark secrets put to rest. He had no memory more than one year old, and this dark abyss of ignorance would swallow up even the most penetrating question hungrily. And no amount of silk could make him any less ugly, unless it was fashioned as a tent around him and sewed shut. Permanently.
A grim smile twisted its way across Lin’s scarred face as he thought about the futility of this appointment. In his satchel he had three roles of parchment; he was only ordered to hand over the first of these orders. If he was impressed with the service, the other two orders were his to hand over. He might as well tear them up now. For the Seamstress’ needle and thread, her sharp tongue and sage council, were better used on someone else.
As Lin approached his destination the wind desperately tried to beat him back, howling hard truths into his tattered ears. He wrapped his skeletal arms around his chest and bowed his head to protect himself from its icy teeth, ignoring its chant that this whole thing was an utter waste of time. The arched doorway bade his new friend wait outside, and Lan stepped into still air and warmth.

She was as unimpressive as was possible; an old lady draped in simple clothes without a hint of gold trim or lace. She could have worn the most enchanting display of skill that had ever existed, and yet modesty and humility fitted her better than any robe he had seen. Her startlingly blue eyes had swept over his first parchment and now held his own, calmly.
‘Well, what does it say?’
‘It bears the royal seal’ she murmured curiously. ‘You have another order form for me, or is this all you have?’
Lin frowned. ‘I have two more order forms, but I’m under no mandate to hand those over unless I’m completely satisfied with your work on the first order. What do the characters on that fist parchment say?’
‘They say that I don’t have to provide any service to you at all’, she replied briskly. ‘Which I plan to do to the letter. Off you go now, if this is all you have.’ She dismissed him with a quick brush of her hand, all of her curiosity in him dispelled in that instant.
‘Wait, just out of interest what would you make for me if I handed you another royal order form that left everything up to you. Would you dress me up like an aristocrat ponce, with fitting silks and trimmed coats?’ Lin found himself asking.
The old lady had her attention on him in an instant, visually undressing him and appraising him.
‘Why no dear. The first thing you would need is a mask or a veil!’