Jocasta snickered to see the normally confident Beren so adrift. She set the letter down and pulled her broken archeoscope from her pouch. The cracked green lens glared angrily at her, reflecting a dozen distorted versions of her own face at her. Reaching into her pouch she withdrew a fine cloth wrapped around a small bottle with a cork stopper. Pulling the cork she dabbed several drops of the bottles purple viscous contents onto the rag and then began to scrub the broken lens furiously. The hairs on Beren’s arms rose and there was a soft crackle of energy that smelled vaguely of crushed stink bugs. When Jocasta lifted the cloth the lens was whole one more, green and gleaming. She held both halves of the broken glasses together and sighed.

 

“I wonder if they have any brass, one of the candlesticks in the front hall looked like…” Jocasta mused. Beren snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“The party, remember, a little focus?” he cajoled. Jocasta made an indelicate sound and set the two halves of the broken instrument down on her bedside table, thought the better of it and tucked it into one of her pouches. You never knew when you might have to flee without time to recover your archeoscope after all.

 

“Right, well you will have to risk it as far as dancing goes,” she advised, “As for clothes…” So far as she knew neither of them owned even a change of clothes. Well she owned a sarong, but she doubted that freezing her tits off in such a tropical garment was likely to make a good impression. That left only one option.

 

 

The cost of new clothing was astronomical. Everyone in Iskura, nobles and peasants alike, was outfitting themselves for the following day’s celebration. A remote city like Iskura couldn’t be expected to produce its own cloth, with wool and linen coming from far to the south, and silk further still. Jocasta wasn’t willing to waste most of their small stash of coin on new clothing, but fortunately this wasn’t the first time she had been poor and needed outfitting.

 

“You really think we will find something in a place like this?” Beren asked as they stepped into  a dilapidated shock in a decidedly seedy looking alley. The place was the worst kind of pawn shop, probably nothing more than a fence, and by the filthy state of the store, not a very successful one. Rusted swords and spears were stacked in half rotted barrels. The shelves were lined with battered lanterns, old jewelery and various tools.

“Hey they have brass,” Jocasta observed brightly.

“Clothes,” Beren said, drawing the word out to keep Jocasta’s attention focused.

 

“Oh, right,” she said, leading the way to the back. As she had expected there were racks of clothing there. Like the rest of the store they were in abysmal condition, faded, moth eaten, and all but falling apart. In the case of one bright red jacket, there were visible knife holes.

“Um… I’m all for cost savings,” Beren put in judiciously. Jocasta waved away his objection as she plucked at a yellowed lace dress.

 

“Just find something that looks like it might have been good once,” she advised as she found a ripped silk bodice in white and green.

 

“And then what?” Beren asked. Jocasta gave Beren a conspiratorial wink.

 

An hour later Jocasta emerged from her room in a dress of gleaming white and green silk in a jaunty checkered pattern. The cut plunged rather lower than was the current fashion, bearing more of Jocasta’s bosom than was generally on display. She had a pair of white stockings and white leather slippers with silver stitching that matched a sash that was wrapped around her waist in a series of clever knots. The magical repair she had wrought wouldn’t last forever, but it would last for the next couple of days.

“Come on out and show me!” she called through Beren’s door.