The feeling of being watched faded slightly as I left the central square of the cit- town, heading down the road towards Jeanne’s shop. I also have to keep in mind the whole list of things I need to get done today. Not only do I have to pick up my clothes, and the items Mary is looking for, I also need to try and find a reputable blacksmith. Because now that I’ve decided on it, there’s no way I’m not getting a rifle. There’s no way they don’t have smiths here who could put together a simple lock and barrel. I’ll even do the stock myself if I have to.

 

              The level of technology here really should be enough to allow this. If I had to I could make a percussion lock, a cap lock, since ignoring the chemical part of the percussion caps the mechanism is simpler and cheaper to produce. And with Mary’s reckless and unnerving experimentation with mercury fulminate, the hard part of sourcing materials for caps has already been completed.

 

              But it’s hard to beat the romanticism of a flint-lock. Yes, instead of just having a hammer slamming down on the cap you have to have a cock with a screw to hold a flint. And you have to go through all the effort to forge a frizzen for the flint to strike against to cause sparks, and an extra spring to keep tension on the frizzen and pan cover to protect the powder charge until you fire. But flintlocks are just cool.

 

              And once I have one, I can always have the smith make a percussion lock later. If a smith can make one, they should be able to make the other. The hard part is probably making the cone for the percussion caps to be placed on. But there’s really no reason why a smith here wouldn’t be able to make one. Rifling might also be a hassle, but again, they’ve been doing rifling for hundreds of years in my world, and I could even draw the plans for how to make it if I have to.

 

              I wonder if they’ve discovered bluing in this world for preventing rust? I know browning, a form of controlled oxidation, was a popular way of preventing rust before bluing became popular as a process. In fact, the British Brown Bess musket became known as that because of the brown tinge to the barrel, which different from the barrel of their adversary’s the French Charleville, which was manufactured with the barrel left untreated, in the white. After the Revolutionary war the US copied the Charleville rather than the Brown Bess for the primary infantry musket, but browning was still the preferred treatment for the famous American long rifle.

 

              But maybe I shouldn’t go to a smith right away. It’s probably be best to draw up blueprints first. Or tan-prints? I don’t think they have cyanotype here, so calling them blueprints seems kind of weird. Technical drawings, let’s just call them that. Although doing scales on them might be kind of hard. Is there any official unit of measurement here? I’ve heard Mary use both Imperial and Metric measurements, but considering her interest in the mundane world I came from she’s probably an outlier. I’ve also heard her use archaic measurements such as cubits and hands. A few times she’s even referred to things by finger widths.

 

              Well, at the very least I should stop by a stationary shop, but I really should pick up my clothes first. The walk to Jeanne’s shop is rather uneventful. Standing in front of her store on the increasingly crowded street towards the docks, I hesitated a moment before stepping through the door. Mary had warned me about the Tailors guild, and despite her friendliness, the woman running this shop is a member. A bell rings as I open the door.

 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order? I’m Mary Korppi’s apprentice…” I begin to say, but the apprentice inside jumps at the mention of Mary’s name.

 

              A short while later Jeanne steps out of the same back room. I get the feeling she’s attempting to look as composed as possible, but when she opens her mouth to greet me several of the pins she had been holding there spill out and fall to the floor. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t swallow when she gets nervous.

 

“Rose, it’s nice to see you. I was wondering when you’d get here to pick up your order. Cathy, go fetch her order,” she said, gesturing to the apprentice at the end of it and motioning her to a back room.

 

“Getting a lot of orders?” I ask. I know how it can be getting drawn into a big project.

 

“You know how it is when something new comes in.” she replies.

 

              As she finishes, the apprentice comes in with several bundles and a hat box. The bundles are opened first, a line of shifts and a couple stays laid out over a table. Not only do several have the black-work embroidery I had asked about, two even had lace at the cuffs and hems. It looks like I’ll really be living up the high life, with such luxury. I even ask Jeanne about this inclusion.

 

“Well, you did say you wanted some for your hat. And you seemed the type to care about fashion, even if your color choices tended to be as drab as Mary’s. A woman deserves to look good, even if she’s digging in the garden or mixing potions like you witches usually do.”

 

“And the stays?”

 

“Steel-boned, so you’ll need to be careful with washing them. It’d be a shame to undo the flossing at the end so try to keep them clean. I’m still surprised you know so much about them, considering the weird mundane-world undergarments you wore last time you were here,” She explains.

 

“It was a hobby back in my old world.”

 

“Really, a woman’s undergarments were your hobby?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

 

“N-not like that! I mean I found the way people used to dress interesting.” I say. I pray she doesn’t notice the reddish tinge reaching my cheeks.

 

“Shame, Mary will be disappointed to hear that.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Now, let’s show you your new dresses” she says.

 

              At this, the apprentice bundles the shifts, stays, stockings and garters back up and sets them off to the side. She grabs a second bundle, opens it up, and lays the contents across the table. There are three sets of bodices and skirts, both rather plainly cut, but done so in a manner that shows off the skill of Jeanne’s tailoring. Even laying flat, you can see the sense of balance across the garments. Two are in the same black that Mary is fond of wearing, which should be helpful in hiding the regular wear and tear of everyday life. The other is in a dark shade of blue. A rather familiar shade of blue as a matter of fact, as someone who’s both studied biology and dabbled in art.

 

“Prussian blue?” I ask. The confusion in my voice alone says enough.

 

“The Tailor’s guild in this town just started importing fabrics with this dye the day after you left town. Apparently it’s come from a city far to the west of here, the manner of creating the color coming from an other-worlder like you.  The color of it has made quite the impression on them, as well as the knowledge that it’s not made from any plant or mineral that they’re familiar with. It’s whetted their appetite for more novel colors.”

 

“So…” I sort of get what she’s implying, but it can’t help to be sure.

 

“Be careful. Word that the Madness Witch has an apprentice, an otherworlder apprentice as knowledgeable and dangerous as her has already spread. That should scare off most but the most uninformed street thug from messing with you, but the Tailor’s Guild tends to ignore what may seem like common sense when they feel there’s profit to be made. They’ve already been champing at the bit to try and get information about otherworld manufacturing from Mary, and they may be willing to ignore the tales of you surviving outnumbered six to one by bandits as hearsay or exaggeration. A soft new other-worlder only two-weeks into our realm would be the ideal source of information on new looms and spinning wheels, in their eyes.”

 

“So watch out for the Tailor’s guild?”

 

“That’s an understatement. And if they learn you have knowledge of techniques that are specifically in their purview, I think you did mention being familiar with pad stitching, then they might even make the argument that they have the legal right to deal with someone leaking secrets of their trade. Step carefully.”

 

“Aye,” I respond.

 

              A somber mood hangs over us, until Jeanne breaks it by grabbing one of the black dresses and bodices from the table.

 

“Well we still need to make sure it fits right? You know where the changing room is,” and with a push she hustles me into the changing room.

 

              The clothes seem to fit, and from what she said she cut all three garments from the same measurements, so it’s likely safe to say that the rest of the garments fit. Jeanne’s work makes me envious, compared to my decently well fitted but not perfect attempts at sewing I made back in my original world. I had tried to make historical garments but it was just a hobby to me. Putting on this skirt and bodice, it becomes apparent that this isn’t just a hobby, but a trade that she’s dedicated her life to, working her way up from a tailor’s apprentice to her current position as a Master Tailor. It really puts into perspective the hard work it takes to work one’s way up in a guild system. I can only hope to aspire to the same as an apprentice witch.

 

I decide she intended me to wear her clothes out, so she could check the fit. I place the clothes I had been wearing into my bag and strap my sword back on over the new outfit. As I exit the fitting room I see they’ve already opened the hat box. Sitting on top is the hat. Made of what appears to be fur felt, it has a pointed brim that has been bent to one side. A purple silk brocade ribbon decorates the hat, with lace sticking out from underneath.

 

              “This is the main reason you came here, right? We can’t have a new apprentice walking around without her hat, and it wouldn’t do to have an apprentice of the sister of our current lord wearing a shabby one. Well? Try it on.”

 

              I slowly grab the hat, and place it on my head. Walking over to the display case of ribbon, I can see myself in the reflection off the glass front of the case. I look, from the floppy, large-brimmed hat on my head to the black stockings and boots covering my toes, like a fairy tale witch.

 

Except not old, and with no warts on my nose.

 

And not green.