MoboReader > Adeventure > The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - Investigating Trouble

   Chapter 3 No.3

The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - Investigating Trouble By AaronDennis Characters: 5412

Updated: 2018-01-04 12:02

"Rolas did seem to know about it, but I thought it was just his ability to divine."

"No…we have another item…and it has caused a great deal of trouble for us, " Mathew breathed. "Ah! We have come to a clothing retailer."

The fencer was left stunned for a moment. His mind reeled, thinking over the possibility of numerous, dangerous artifacts. He then took to rousing Larson.

Mathew called to his driver to stop. Once everyone was off the cart, they started towards a two story, block building. The fighter grumbled and groaned before resting his forehead to his arm, which he propped against against a pillar that held the awning in place.

"Hey, " Garrett called.

Dismissively, Larson followed everyone to the door and then inside. It was surprising to find such a business open so late at night, and even more surprising were the fine garments displayed beneath the light of a giant chandelier. From the far end of the spacious and glamorous interior, an older, refined man with white hair sauntered over the green carpeting. He was short, a bit droopy, and had his long nose pointed to the ceiling.

"May I help you…gentlemen, " he asked as if Larson and Garrett, still the worse for wear, were simply barbarians with no coin to spend.

"Yes, Albert, " Mathew said, politely. "I'm sparing no expense. Please assist my friends. They have been through Hell."

With a gracious bow of the head, Albert perked up, and took both men by their wrists and began leading them around the room. From racks of pants, tunics, shirts, vests, belts, boots, and everything in between, the old man forcefully pulled them one way, suggested an item, and then pulled them another before they were both carrying more clothing than necessary.

"Now, go and try them. There are full length mirrors in the dressing rooms by the stairs. Do not hesitate to call upon me."

Garrett seemed at home and quite happily acquiesced to the elegance. Larson, however, stood there, trying to figure out how to begin. He looked at Albert, who adjusted his black finery. The old man then made a shooing motion of the hand. Larson shrugged and jittered as though struck by a mild seizure. Giving in, he wandered to the dressing room and removed his armor.

He started by putting on the new pants, which were gray, wool, and tight fitting. He then threw the blue, button down shirt over his back, tucked it in, slid the belt around his waist, rolled up his sleeves, and checked himself by turning both profiles in the mirror. Not a bad look, he thought. Once finished, he decided to try and strap his armor on over the clothing, but it just didn't seem to fit right, and so many of the straps and buckles were destro

yed. He walked back out, wearing the new, black boots and woolen cape, but still holding the remainder of his shredded attire.

Albert walked up briskly and tore the items from Larson's grip. "You won't need that trash."

By the time the old man vanished behind rows of clothes—to dispose of the proposed trash—Garrett sauntered out wearing a long, yellowish tunic with puffy sleeves. His braided belt held the garment in place over a pair of fine, black, silk pants, which were neatly stuffed into pointed, black boots.

"This feels right, " he claimed and adjusted his cuffs.

"What about our stuff, " Larson asked.

"Do you need it, " Mathew asked in turn.

Frowning, Larson admitted he did not, especially when Albert gave them a few more garments, besides they had their pouches, their satchels were back in the cart, and the rest of their gear was with their horses. Figuring they were ready for a night of rest, Larson suggested returning to Balthasar's, but Mathew demanded they try another shop.

"I'm beat, brother, " Larson huffed.

"A warrior without armor, " Mathew asked. "I think not."

"You're buying us armor?"

"And perhaps a sword or two, " Mathew almost smiled.

"Say thank you to the nice man, dear, " Garrett scoffed and made to leave the shop.

"Heh, thank you, " Larson said and followed suit.

Outside, back on the cart, they started to ride beyond more buildings of similar design; two story buildings of dark block with mahogany trim and those gothic rooves. Occassionally, they passed beneath arched walkways, which allowed people to traverse from one building to another without taking the crowded streets. Before too much longer, as Larson fiddled with his new duds, they came to another stop after Mathew called to his driver. That shop was also open, which was even more surprising considering the very late hour. Inside, they found it to be a near replica of the previous shop, except the clothing was replaced by fine, glimmering steel, and the shimmering wooden floor was not graced by lavish carpeting. A middle aged, dour man came to assist.

"Detective, " the swarthy man said with an even tone.

"Margol, show the big one to the heavy armor, and show the thin one to your, eh, finer pieces."

The man nodded, which made his curly locks bounce, wiped his beard, adjusted his leather trousers, and led them around. It took only moments before Larson accepted a breast plate with a lion emblem engraved upon the chest and back. He also graciously received a two headed axe. While commenting on the quality of the equipment, Garrett procured a studded, leather vest and a sabre.

"You can fight with a saber, " Larson asked, stunned.

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