Chapter 56

  It was a strangeness and also strange comfort how quickly days followed each other and conformed to an inevitable pattern.

  Hektor had experienced such a thing twice before. First when he had left the castle to live in the city, away from his mother. He hadn’t been old enough to understand the enormity of the change it was going from living in a castle with a Duchess for a mother to living anonymously in the city. He had his caretakers, sure, but he had essentially moved out at the bare age of ten. It hadn’t been easy, change rarely was, but then one unassuming day in a string of unassuming days, Hektor had found that his new circumstances had become the norm.

  Like a plant that had been uprooted from where it had sprouted and replanted elsewhere, so had Hektor’s roots that had been repotted and he had barely realized.

  The second time was when Hektor had moved back to the castle in Faymoren to prepare for his countship and engagement to Gwen. Once more, his roots where unearthed and sowed back elsewhere. And yet again, a few days later, he had adapted to his new situation. The sudden circumstances had quickly gone the way of a routine that had then become Hektor’s day to day. The new and strange had become the usual and normal.

  Hektor’s capacity for improvisation was tested once more with Roheim. Only now he was wise to the subtle nuances that he had lived through in the past.

  Three days following his arrival in Roheim, Hektor could feel his bare roots finding ground and burrowing once more. While the fort hadn’t become a home just yet, Hektor could foresee it becoming a refuge in the coming weeks. The surroundings had started on their way to becoming familiar, with the walls of the fort warming up to seem homely and sheltering.

  It was the little things that roped Hektor in and anchored him to this new place. The simple acts of sleeping and waking up in the same bed, of eating and working in the common rooms, of going out and returning, of living in the same walls with the same people. All of which cultivated the sense of belonging that would hopefully go on to endear a house to become a home.

  A week in Roheim and Hektor had come to know more about the place and its people. Not just the people in the fort, but also of the locals of the county. The former he got acquainted with mostly through proximity and the latter he got to know through exploration.

  Throughout the week, Hektor’s day usually began with waking up before dawn which followed immediately by his morning workout regimen. Hektor was surprised by how much he had missed practicing his exercises in the few days when he hadn’t due to the travelling and moving houses. The return of the familiar training routine was meditative and grounding, helping him start his day on the right foot in this strange new place.

  Following breakfast, Hektor’s timetable was more amenable. He mostly remained in the company of his deputy Marolyn Lloyds, shadowing her as she performed her duties. Otherwise, Hektor frequented his other advisors and looked to build a rapport, striving for a delicate balance of coming across as a keen observer and receptive learner without being a childish hindrance and nuisance to his seniors.

  Meanwhile, Mayor Williams had been a regular visitor over the past week. Ever courteous in paying his respects to Hektor as his liege lord, the Mayor mostly had business with his retinue and Miss Lloyds.

  Not one for being high-handed, Hektor didn’t begrudge the adults their collaboration with his exclusion. At the same time, he wasn’t negligent in that he wasn’t in the know as to what was happening. Rather, Hektor was committed to wielding the most powerful tool available to him, delegation. He was all for delegating his duties amongst his subordinates. Duties, which at the start of his reign, were thankfully few and not so urgent.

  It was not on accident that Miss Lloyds was a capable Deputy and served as a fine intermediary between Hektor and the rest of his regime.

  To begin with, there wasn’t much for Hektor to do besides maintaining the guise of a figurehead. His countship of Roheim had been thoroughly planned and discussed extensively well before his ennobling by people much more capable and experienced than him. For up to a year, everything had been planned for meticulously. To the point that Hektor could leave everything to his subordinates and his countship would carry on like a well-oiled machine without needing any input on his behalf.

  It was both fortunate and unfortunate that Hektor wasn’t the sort to simply abandon his responsibilities onto others.

  The highlight of Hektor’s day was his visits into town. Almost daily, Hektor would leave the fort with Sir Gideon and explore some portion of the territory on horseback. The first few times, he merely passed through town, but on the subsequent days he started to visit the marketplace and other attractions, entering shops and engaging the bolder residents in polite conversation.

  The purpose behind the socializing was simple. Hektor wanted to get to know the lay of the land and at the same time accustom the natives to his presence, to show the locals that he wasn’t a villain come to subjugate them and threaten their way of life. Before anything else, Hektor had to reassure the people of his county of his goodwill and earn their trust.

  One late afternoon, Hektor left the fort with Sir Gideon on an errand.

  Having the made the trip into town numerous times by now, the ride over was akin to a daily commute for Hektor. The route he took from the fort to town was the one he took most often simply on the impulse of preference. In navigating the recurring path, Hektor recognized a few people and put name to faces, shouting out small greetings as he passed by those who were civil enough to acknowledge him.

  A week later and the natives had warmed up to Hektor considerably. More so than anything else, the novelty had somewhat worn off and the locals had come round to tolerating his presence and not outright rejecting him for a stranger. Just as Hektor was growing fond of Roheim, so were the natives in turn growing accustomed to their new count who was little more than a well-mannered child in their eyes. Hektor didn’t try to dissuade them of the notion. Few things were more endearing and sympathetic than children and Hektor had no complaints if the people of Roheim were to see him so. He would take any help he could get.

  In the town proper, with the winding cobbled streets, Hektor had to pay more attention to his horse. It wasn’t a bother for he wasn’t in a hurry and it also helped him be seen by the people out and about. Hektor smiled and waved to the children and offered chivalrous nods to the adults.

  Just thinking about what he was doing, Hektor was half embarrassed and half exasperated with himself. That it had come to this, that he was parading himself out in the open for everyone to see, willingly at that! He felt like such an entitled fraud. And yet, at the same time, it would be worse if he came across as a snobbish recluse. The former was the lesser of two evils.

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  “The lesser of two evils, words to live by for any nobleman,” Hektor thought to himself in black humor.

  Being a small town, shops and stores usually ended up in small cloisters of neighborhoods. Unlike in the city where entire buildings were assigned for the sole purpose of various businesses and offered services, in Roheim they were mostly combined buildings with the workplace on the ground floor and the living quarters being upstairs or segregated to the side.

  Hektor’s destination was one such shop, the plaque and store sign reading that of ‘Thatcher Tailors’ with a cute sketch of a spool of thread with a slanted needle poking through.

  The shop was a charming establishment with a glass window display showcasing fine suits and dressing gowns on mannequins. Before that was a fenced miniature garden with a cobbled path leaving up to the shop entrance.

  Looking above the shop were two curtained windows beneath the eaves of a slated roof and a quaint little chimney spewing white smoke.

  One glance and it was evident that the owners of Thatcher Tailors were proud of their work and took care of their home. Everything was neat and meticulous, from the brickwork and the decorative yard, to the little filigreed fence and the pruned garden.

  Hektor and Gideon disembarked and hitched their horses to a nearby post. Opening the fence and taking the carved path to the shop entrance where a door sign hung with the word ‘Reserved’ in elegant cursive.

  Ignoring the sign as he was most likely the cause for the reservation, Hektor knocked politely and opened the door to the jingle of bell.

  Ready at waiting just a few paces for the threshold were a middle-aged couple. As soon as they spotted Hektor, they sang, “My Lord,” as Mister Thatcher took a knee while Missus Thatcher bowed to a deep curtsy.

  Used to such repeated performances by now, Hektor uttered patiently, “Please, rise. Mister and Missus Thatcher, I presume?” he asked in polite clarification.

  “We are, My Lord,” Mister Thatcher uttered in a genteel voice. “You grace us with your presence.”

  “Please, Mister and Missus Thatcher. If you would be so kind, please be at ease. Your fealty has been observed and that done with, I request that we be less formal and more friendly. We are the visitors after all and I wouldn’t want to impose. And I must say that you have a lovely shop,” Hektor complimented.

  The shop was indeed impressive. With the distinct scent of bundled cloth, shelves took to the walls stacked with rolls of fabric in display for reference and selection. Wooden desks stretched with the side walls, clear and ready for perusing for a customer with tucked in armchairs. To a corner near the outdoor display was a small mahogany table and a couple of chairs, most likely used by the very couple in their downtime. A drinks cabinet nearby was prepped ready with a decanter and crystal glasses. A miniature chandelier illuminated the space with lamps on the walls to ensure even lighting for picking colors. The walls in turn were covered in tastefully decorative wallpaper and the wooden floor carpeted with lush rugs.

  All in all, Hektor was silently impressed with the high standards. And judging by the display pieces, the Thatchers were skilled in their profession.

  “Thank you,” Missus Thatcher thanked Hektor’s compliment.

  “I hope my appointment wasn’t on short notice,” Hektor offered politely. They had sent a messenger the previous day informing the tailors the he would be visiting.

  “Hardly, My Lord,” spoke Mister Thatcher. “We are flattered that you looked to us for your needs.”

  “You were highly recommended,” Hektor added in praise, playing along. “Allow me to introduce Sir Eric Gideon,” Hektor gestured to his protector. “He is also here for a fitting.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” offered Missus Thatcher.

  “Thank you, My Lady, but I am fine,” Gideon declined politely. The mode of address had Missus Thatcher blushing.

  Hiding a smirk at his wife, Mister Thatcher offered, “Shall we proceed with the measurements or are you of a persuasion to browse first?”

  Hektor opted to be measured and was led to a fitting room. Mister Thatcher was quick and accurate with the tape and was done within fifteen minutes. After Hektor, Gideon had his turn.

  That done with, they returned to main area to be seated with personalized catalogues to make their selections.

  Browsing through the diagrams Hektor explained, “Before I forget, I would be remiss not to inform you that I am putting on weight and still growing. My clothes usually need adjustments every three months or so. I hope that is helpful to know.”

  Thatcher nodded. “It is. Anything else? Any preference?”

  “To the dismay of most, I prefer comfort over style,” Hektor confessed with a smile. “And I am woefully behind with fashion. If you would be so kind, I would defer to your expertise in that regard.”

  Thatcher cleared his throat as his wife shared a worrying glance. “To take liberties with the Count’s bearing; I am afraid that would be most improper,” Thatcher tried his best to refuse tactfully.

  “Do not worry, Mister Thatcher. Anything you and your lovely wife see fit to make, I will wear it proudly.”

  “That is most generous of you, My Lord.”

  Hektor looked away from the catalogue and turned his gaze to the Thatchers with shrewd intent.

  “I am the Count of Roheim and so I will wear clothes made by the people of Roheim,” Hektor spoke casually, but the simple statement was rife with insinuations.

  “It is for the same reason I am having my home furnished by resident artisans and craftsmen. Same reason that my staff is employed locally, as are the recruits for my guard,” Hektor elaborated.

  “I am an outsider. And while I have a mind to belong and set my roots here, I will not do so at the cost of those who already call Roheim home. So, I strive to prove myself and earn your trust.”

  Hektor leaned back in his chair and regarded Thatcher casually. “I hope you do not fault me for trying, or for my methods?”

  “No, My Lord. It isn’t my place,” Thatcher answered promptly, distancing himself from the sensitive issue.

  “At ease, Mister Thatcher. You have a right to your opinion. I only hope that my actions endear me in your good graces.”

  The rest of the hour proceeded with Hektor and Gideon confirming their choices from the catalogues and pairing fabrics.

  “Your clothes will be ready by next week,” Thatcher announced once finished with the shopping.

  “Please, Mister Thatcher, extend it by another week. While I have full confidence in you and Missus Thatcher, I know that it would be a rush to make such a deadline. Take your time, it is not like I do not have enough clothes.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you, My Lord,” Thatcher spoke showing relief.

  “Part of my education was to learn about various professions and pick up some understanding pertaining to the working men and women,” Hektor informed. “Tailors, farmers, doctors, clerks, servants, laborers, and of course, administrators, to name a few.

  “It may seem common knowledge, but my tutors tell me that most nobles have a more sheltered upbringing. I suppose I am closer to Mayor Williams in that regard than a conventional noble, perhaps,” Hektor suggested with a shrug, planting the idea that he was more down to earth than other aristocrats.

  It was underhanded, and yet true at the same time.

  “So, Mister Thatcher, what would be the advance?” Hektor asked abruptly.

  Thatcher hesitated and fumbled into saying, “No need for an advance, My Lord.”

  Hektor turned to Gideon, “A third of the final amount is a respectful advance for such a commission, I would think. Sir Gideon, if you would settle the bill, please.”

  “And Mister and Missus Thatcher, I would not be unreasonable by not paying an advance. As now, I am your customer and I will not misuse my authority to impose upon you, hopefully not ever. So I will hear no objections,” he said with mock sternness.

  The Thatchers were all too compliant to play along.

  As Gideon was settling the bill, Missus Thatcher stepped closer to Hektor and spoke in a hushed voice, “Is it true that you are looking for people to apprentice in your court, My Lord?”

  Hektor was surprised by the sudden inquiry, but gathered his composure to reply, “Yes, Missus Thatcher. With Mayor Williams’ help, my advisors are looking at candidates that could apprentice under them,” he admitted freely.

  “Have you decided on anyone?” Missus Thatcher probed.

  Hektor had to strain his memory and recall if any possible applicants had the name Thatcher or a relation to the couple. It was clear that Missus Thatcher was asking after someone particular, but unfortunately Hektor couldn’t come up with a connection.

  “Not at the moment, no,” Hektor answered truthfully. “However, the mentors will have the final say in the matter.” The mentors being Hektor’s advisors. “Afterall, they will be the ones who will teach the apprentices and invest in them.”

  “Forgive me if I overstepped,” Missus Thatcher added quickly, almost as if she had just realized that she had spoken out of turn.

  “You have a right to know of your administrators, Missus Thatcher. And it was no great secret to begin with. There is no need to apologize,” consoled Hektor.

  By that time, Gideon and Mister Thatcher had settled their affair and returned.

  “We will deliver to our best ability, you have my word, My Lord” assured Mister Thatcher.

  “I have no doubt,” appeased Hektor. “Please inform us when you will be finished. We would love to have you and Missus Thatcher over for dinner.”