Chapter 12: Cat In The Hat
Item: “Hedia’s Annulet” [Soulbound] — Description: ??? | Effects: ??? | This is a soulbound item. It cannot be possessed, worn, or otherwise used by anyone other than you.
The door closed behind him with a ding as the bell rung, transporting his mind back to Dave’s Tech and Repair. For a split second, it felt as if he’d never left. He shivered momentarily before snapping out of the experience and taking in the shop before him.
He was struck by the sheer density of sensory information assailing him. The interior of the building resembled a long, cramped hallway lined with shelves and the disembodied heads of mannequins sporting a wide variety of hats.
Everywhere he looked, he saw hats; there was seemingly no order to their display, they hung from strings suspended from the ceiling, sat on metal skeleton-tree display hooks, and rested on multi-leveled tiered shelving.
Even as his eyes struggled to keep up with the vibrant yellows, pinks, and greens, his nose was greeted by the scent of a stuffy closet that had been packed full of burning incense and lit candles. His eyes began to water, and he felt a tingling in the back of his throat and sinuses as multiple layers of intense aroma competed for dominance of his senses.
He considered simply stepping out of the shop to recover, but was interrupted by a heavily accented voice calling from the back of the shop’s long corridor.
“Oi there ye fine lad. ‘n what brings ye in today for a perusing of me here fine establishment? C’mon back’n let me ‘ave a look at ‘ya,” the voice said, wafting from the far side of the store, its richly accented flavor putting an even greater strain on Logan’s already overflowing sensory organs.
He couldn’t see the shopkeeper from where he was standing, but Logan ambled towards the back of the shop, his head swiveling to look at hats as he passed. A jester hat hung from a string, fluted cloth adorned with bells; a mannequin wrapped in what looked like a mink coat sported a hat of exotic, feathered plumage; a triangle of fez’s, stacked like polo cups, sat on a glass countertop.
Logan passed all of these, turning his body, and craning his neck, before he arrived at the waist-high wooden counter in the back of the store.
Arrayed behind the counter were several perplexingly strange mannequins of varying heights and features. Some were nearly seven feet tall, others only rising some four feet to the top of the counter. They had intricately designed faces with flowing beards and hair, life-like skin, detailed, open eyes, ornate clothing, and of course, flamboyant hats of every conceivable design.
They were so realistic he was sure that they must be magically created wax sculptures, improved versions of what you’d see in fancy museums on Earth. They all stared straight forwards with incongruously lifeless eyes adorning their lifelike expressions.
He looked to either side, seeing no sign of the shopkeeper. Logan frowned, about to call out, when suddenly he noticed that the eyes of the central mannequin were locked onto his.
He jumped backwards with startlement as the creature removed the pipe from its lips and began to chortle, blowing out smoke that floated towards the ceiling.
“Never seen a Yal ‘fore have ya? ‘aw well ye country bumpkins ne’r seen much of anything. I reck’n yer here for a hat now aren’t you mate?”
The Yal, whom Logan could only assume to be the shop’s proprietor, Hephesto, smiled at him, upturned lips revealing sharp pearly white teeth. His whispers rose nearly to his yellow-green eyes, the soft vertical oval pupils seeming to glint in the sunlight pouring in from the skylight windows above.
His face was covered in short, light-brown fur, and all that Logan could think of was a Burmese cat merged with a human. Pointed ears stuck out from under the sides of a tan fedora, one of them flicking as Logan inspected him with a startled expression.
“You’re a cat!” Logan said, wonder in his voice. He’d expected to encounter other intelligent races eventually, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of the situation.
“I’m Hephesto, a Yal, not a cat. ‘Em feisty feline’s ‘re like our cousins is all. Stupid cousins that you wouldn’t let ‘round your litter, that is. Now if you’re done gawkin’, let’s get talkin’. What’re you lookin’ for?” Hephesto licked a paw before returning his pipe to his mouth.
Logan stared at the Yal, mind racing, before calming himself enough to accept Hephesto’s oddity and return to the moment.
What was he looking for? There were so many options. Maybe he should get something for Ryan too, he thought. He’d never worn hats in his previous life, but seeing the—somewhat—familiar designs brought him an odd sense of comfort, and he wanted one.
“Cowboy hat, Cowboy hat, Cowboy hat,” Mikey chanted as Logan looked around the store.
Not a bad idea… maybe black or brown, something at least a little inconspicuous, he thought.
His eyes fell on a vertical hangar tree, and Mikey erupted in his mind.
“THAT’S THE ONE!” he shouted, and Logan despaired that he couldn’t mute or lower the volume of his celestial companion.
A deep brown leather cowboy hat with a classic old-western crease and pinch and a softly bent brim sat on the tree’s top rung, seemly staring at him, beckoning.
Following his gaze, Hephesto opened the gate of the counter and strode to the rack, removing the hat from the rack and holding it in front of him for Logan to inspect.
“You’ve a good eye lad, ‘tis a classic Nostets, a Qortle-Herder’s hat, stylish n’ practical, it’ll keep the shade off ‘uh ‘ya while you’re swingin’ round that big sword,” he said around his pipe, looking from the hat in his paw to Logan.
Logan took the hat, trying it on.
Pulling it into place, he was pleased by the snug fit; it wasn’t too tight but didn’t move at all as he shook his head. He’d definitely be able to wear it while moving quickly and changing direction without having to worry about it falling off.
Not sure when I’ll actually wear this, but I like it. It’s—
“Logan, LOGAN. It’s purr-fect,” there was a long pause as Logan blinked and stared at the ground.
“purr-”
“I get it Mikey. I get it. You can stop now.”
“Would you like me to attempt a soul-removal surgery, Master Logan? The parasite’s infusion is deep, but with some determination I may be able to surgically remove the infection without too much damage,” Susie said, a text box depicting a 2D drawing of his body with red and blue intermingled coloration appearing in his vision.
“That’s quite alright Susie. Mikey, no more puns,”
“Come on! I was just kitten around…”
“Never mind, Susie, how much damage are we talking?”
“Stop being such a pussy!”
“Forget the damage, just do it.”
“Fine fineee, I’ll stop. What are we getting for Ryan?” Mikey asked.
Logan snapped back from his distant gaze as he saw Hephesto’s paw slowly rise curiously towards his face.
He really is a cat, he thought.
“I’ll take it,” he said, locking eyes with Hephesto who hurriedly lowered his paw with a somewhat abashed look.
“Of course, a fine choice indeed, anything else for ‘ya?” he said, taking the hat from Logan as he returned to the counter, placing it on the surface.
Among a row of newsboy caps and top hats arrayed in no discernable order, Logan spotted a fluffy brown fur cap with a tail striped with black lines. It was a perfect Daniel Boone coonskin cap, and he knew immediately that Ryan would love it.
He retrieved it and set it on the counter next to his Nostets “qortle-herder” hat— he gathered qortle must be the equivalent of cows on Earth—and looked up at Hephesto.
“These two. How much do I owe ya? And where the hell do you get all these hats anyways?”
“Seventy silvers for the both of ‘em, and that’s because you’re weird, and I like weird,” Hephesto said, his broad grin revealing a mouth of menacing incisors.
Logan winced at the price as he removed the coins, placing them on the table. He was sure he’d recover his funds when he sold his wares later, but he was still dismayed at the absurdly high cost of the seemingly innocuous items. As the Yal continued animatedly, enthusiastic about the opportunity to share his passion, Logan began to see why they were so expensive.
“There are a number of skilled leatherworkers in Durham, they do ‘a lot of monster killin’ down there, got an abundance of hides and not much but fightin’ to occupy their time. Isolation leads to some strange hobbyists, and with them bein’ the only ones that trade with the crag savages, they get first pick ‘o the dyes. I travel there once or twice a year an’ stock up on hats, sell them things from the rest of the world,” Hephesto said eagerly.
“Crag savages? Dyes?”
Logan recalled Huck mentioning Durham during their discussions about the southlands. It was a border village far to the southeast that sat on the largest of three entrances to the inhospitable desert that separated the south and eastern borders of the southlands from the ocean. According to Huck, the desert stretched for hundreds of miles and was near triple the southlands in size. He hadn’t mentioned anything about people living there, only that the desert was home to dangerous monsters that Durham and their contingent of soldiers guarded the mainland from.
“Hick town, I never should’ve moved ‘ere,” Hephesto shook his head and puffed his pipe.
“The Awali live in tribes in the wastelands boy, I don’ ‘ave time for a history lesson, but they hunt the ‘uge flyin’ fuckers and harvest ‘em for their dye sacs, hence the coloration of my fine stock. That’s the only place you can get those colors on the whole continent, so some adventurous merchants like me will go through hell ‘n high water to get our paws on it.”
Logan had no idea what half of that meant, but he understood the hats, and the dye specifically was rare. He hid a grin at the coonskin cap, anticipating Ryan’s reaction. He had grown fond of Ryan and enjoyed putting a smile on his face. He felt that it was the least he could do to repay Huck for his hospitality.
“I see,” he said, pushing the coins to Hephesto who eyed him critically then snorted.
“Sure you do, anyways, ‘twas nice doin’ business with you, uh-“
“Logan,” he said, holding out his hand.
Hephesto raised his paw, and upon seeing the razor-sharp claws protruding from it, Logan settled for an awkward facsimile of a fist bump instead of a handshake.
“Good doin’ business with you, Logan. Stop by if you’re around,” he said, bowing slightly as Logan put the hats into his inventory and exited the shop.
He stepped into the sunlight and took a deep breath, replacing the dominating perfumes and incense with the scents of sizzling meats, odorous bodies, and clean air.
Judging by the sun’s position, Logan could tell that the time was fast approaching to meet with Huck and sell their goods then do some real shopping. He turned towards the direction of their cart, where they’d decided to rendezvous, and started walking.
