Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

The market seemed to take up much more real estate than the office cubicles that corralled the middle managers. Not only were there vendor booths, but there were multilevel buildings that had shops at ground level and housing on the floors above. The fluorescent overhead fixtures that dotted the ceiling of the office space were gone. In fact, the ceiling was non-existent. Granny guided Dorian up the sunlit street, waving to shop owners as they passed.

“Granny, why is this here?”

“The marketplace? Folks need stuff.”

“No, I mean, why is there a town underground?”

“It’s employee housing. State-of-the-art! Garderobes in every home, I might add.”

“I’m sure that I’d be impressed if I knew what that meant,” Dorian replied.

“Indoor privies. Poop chutes that direct crap right out of the side of the house! A nicety everyday folk usually don’t get to experience. Way better than straddling a hole in the backyard.”

Granny illustrated her point by walking with widened steps.

“That’s just lovely,” Dorian winced.

“Lovely, yes, but if you think walking under a ladder is bad luck. . .eesh!”

Dorian looked up involuntarily.

“What do these employees do?”

“They do the jobs you would expect at any major corporation. There are accountants, middle managers, and worker bees that do the real day-to-day work that keeps the gears of time moving. Then some provide goods and services needed to live here. Besides the open-air market, there’s a general store, a clothier, a pub, and this guy, right here.”

Granny came to a stop beneath a sign that read “ARMURER”.

“Gotta love the old-timey spelling,” she chuckled. “Then again, it’s not old-timey to them!”

The shop’s interior wasn’t the rough-hewn, dusty hovel Dorian had envisioned. It more so resembled a gift shop in a “Dungeons and Dragons” theme park. Gleaming suits of armor and shields were displayed in vignettes themed to match their aesthetic, all surrounded by rich wood paneling and draped tapestries. The cleanly swept floor was tiled with large, flat fieldstones that were so meticulously puzzle-pieced together that a strand of spaghetti wouldn’t fit in the spaces between them. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the nooks and crannies that sunlight couldn’t reach. The scent of cinnamon and apples drifted in the air.

“Hellooo!” Granny called toward the rear of the shop.

A gentleman, quite small in stature, pushed through a door behind the sales counter using his backside as he wiped his hands on the skirt of his apron. His silver hair was pulled into a braided ponytail that hung down to his tailbone. A black bandana capped his head. He wore stylish pince-nez glasses that were tethered by a silver chain to a hook that hung over his ear. They magnified his eyes and enhanced the laugh lines that crinkled when he smiled.

“As I live and breathe!” he said as he embraced his doppelganger.

Granny kissed his cheek and then wiped away the pink smudge with her thumb.

“Dorian, let me introduce. . .”

“Lenny?” Dorian interrupted.

“Excuse me? No, Raphael.”

“I’m sorry. You look like someone I know. You look like a couple of people that I know.”

Dorian chuckled and nodded toward Granny.

The two elders examined each other with furrowed brows.

“I don’t see it,” Raphael shrugged.

“You should be so lucky!” Granny poked back.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Raphael continued.

“My friend needs a breastplate.”

“Of which I have many. There’s quite a handsome one right over here.”

Raphael turned to a display to his right.

“That is quite lovely, but he needs a replica of a specific breastplate. The Ouroboros.”

“The armor of legend? From what I understand, it is quite elaborate. I can create one, but I’ll need a few weeks.”

“A few weeks!” Dorian gasped. “Granny, that . . . that . . .”

“I know, dear.” Granny patted Dorian on the arm. She turned to Raphael. “We need something today. Something similar enough to be convincing at a distance. Silver top, leather skirt. A round emblem between the pectorals.”

Raphael put a finger to his nose and ran through his existing inventory in his head.

“I think I may have something we can work with!”

He motioned for the pair to follow him. They passed back through the door behind the counter and then a kitchen area and into the forge.

This area of the building, while still very orderly, was much more along the lines of what Dorian had pictured. Big wooden posts and beams, a floor of scarred wooden planks, and a great big stone forge. He was a bit surprised by the trio of apple pies baking at the forge’s edge in front of the glowing embers. Raphael scurried to the pies and rotated them and rejoined the two.

“Caught those just in time!”

“Those smell wonderful!” Dorian breathed deeply. “Is that cardamom?”

“Yes! There’s some in the crust and the filling.”

“I bet they taste lovely.”

Granny cleared her throat. “I’d love to get to the armor if you hens are done cackling!”

Raphael leaned into Dorian and whispered, “Thank you. I’ll cut you a slice whilst I assemble your armor.”

He led them to a pile of damaged armor in the corner, clanked around through the pile, and pulled out a dingy breastplate that had the remnants of leather skirting hanging from the bottom.

“It isn’t pretty, but it should do. I have a silver serving dish and some salvaged adornments from other armor that I can cobble into the basic shape. You’ll have to limit the amount of visibility it gets, but it’s better than nothing.”

“You can wear my vest,” Granny offered. “It should fit right in with that cabana-barbarian motif you’ve got going on.”

“How long do you think you will need?” Dorian asked.

“About as long as it takes to enjoy a couple of slices of pie. Granny, please take Dorian and the pies back into the kitchen and fix both of you some tea and a slice. I’ll modify the armor and be in to join you in no time.”

Granny sashayed over to the forge and stair-stepped the hot pies along the length of a single arm and nodded for Dorian to follow her as she passed through the door.

Dorian looked to Raphael, mouth agape.

“Waitressing is just one of her many talents. She’s going to expect a tip,” he replied.

“A big one!” Granny sing-songed from the kitchen.