“Come now,” Tallow gestured. “Let’s get you fitted. Make sure everything’s sitting as it should.”

  Jack stepped behind the changing screen, slipping out of his day clothes and into the new outfit.

  The trousers were cut in a riding style, slim through the leg with extra room at the thigh, made from thick tan twill reinforced at the inner knee with dark leather. They were snug but comfortable; the reinforced knees felt sturdy.

  Been a while since I felt a stiff collar. He smiled as he put on the crisp cream linen shirt and thought about his early work-life memories at the Royal Library before the fire. When he buttoned the waistcoat and slipped on the green jacket, he turned, watching himself in the tall mirror. He gave a small smile at the discreet oak leaf pattern embroidered on the edges of the waistcoat. That’s a nice touch.

  He flexed his shoulders. The cut allowed full movement, letting his arms raise unrestricted. Perfect for drawing a bow. He looked… different. A young man ready to join the hunt, to stand alongside barons and their sons. Not some scribbler in a library, or a forty-plus-year-old scarred failure lurking through alley shadows in an assassin’s cloak.

  Damn! I’m going to be saddle sore on Sunday. He was recalling the first time he’d ridden a horse in his past life. Aching back, arse, and thighs. At least I won’t get chaffed thighs this time.

  Tallow appeared beside him, making quick, precise adjustments at the cuffs. Thorn circled, nodding in approval.

  Jack slipped on the long, polished leather boots that sat nearby; reaching just below the knee, they were designed to keep the lower leg protected when riding through rough brush or woods.

  “Splendid,” Thorn said as he helped Jack adjust the matching forest-green riding cloak. “I daresay you’ll make quite the impression.”

  Jack turned, examining the back view. The shorter cloak fastened at the collar with a brass clasp shaped like a running stag; it settled against the line of his jacket, ensuring it wouldn’t tangle with his bowstring. At least I’ll look the part. I’m going to be sore on Monday as well. Mom’s right, I should take it easy for the rest of the week. He reached for his white oak bow, testing the draw. It was smooth and unhindered. “Feels good,” he murmured. “I look good too… you’ve outdone yourselves.”

  Tallow beamed. Thorn chuckled. “We aim to please.”

  Jack exhaled, meeting his own gaze in the mirror. I can be anything I want to be in this life. Can’t I? He’d lived one life pulled away from his true calling as a scribe by the murderous Baron. Spending his days crafting spell scrolls for coin, his nights in taverns drinking cheap ale to drown the nightmares. The start of his new life was already going off the rails; in under a week, he’d killed a goblin, three adventurers, and possessed two combat classes. And now here he stood… dressed like someone he didn’t recognise.

  For a moment, a hint of doubt crept in. Did he belong in this world of noble games and formal hunts? But the doubt passed, replaced by a quiet, focused determination. I will protect my family and have a good life. No matter what happened on Saturday, he intended to step onto that hunting ground not as a na?ve boy, or a scarred failure, but as someone else. He’d be the vengeful scribe, patient, resourceful, and when dealing with Baron Greaves, lethal. Straightening the brass clasp at his collar, Jack gave a small, wry smile.

  “Perfect,” Tallow said, standing back to admire his work.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Thorn smiled. “Any tightness or other issues?”

  “Everything fits perfectly,” Jack replied while stretching his arms and legs to test the fit and feel. “Boots are a little stiff around the ankles, but that’s to be expected with new leather.”

  Without a word, Tallow knelt beside Jack, placed a hand on a boot, and activated a skill. He did the same on the other boot. “Better?”

  Jack tested the boots again. “Much better, thanks.”

  “Not a problem,” Thorn said. “Your feet should be comfortable for the hunt.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Next, we’ll check your new suit,” Thorn said.

  Jack stepped behind the changing screen once more, this time peeling off the forest-green hunting attire and hanging it on the provided hooks. He took a slow breath as he laid hands on the charcoal-grey suit. The one he’d originally come for, the one meant for his work at the Royal Library.

  As he slipped into the crisp white shirt, the fabric smooth and light against his skin, the smirking face of Hermes watched him via his reflection. The stiff, narrow collar framed his neck. Next came the waistcoat, a matching dark grey silken weave with double-breasted, jet buttons. It hugged his torso with a snug, tailored fit that made him stand a little straighter.

  Then came the double-breasted jacket, cut in worsted wool in a subtle charcoal grey. Jack eased his arms into the slim sleeves, rolling his shoulders as the cut settled along his frame. The lapels sat flat and sharp, the breast pocket square a quiet dash of silver-grey.

  Hmm… should I carry spell scrolls at work? He thought while examining the breast pocket. He fastened the middle button, feeling the smooth fabric pull in at the waist, which gave him a slim, confident silhouette.

  The trousers matched, their crease sharp, and their fit trim but comfortable. Jack gave a little huff of amusement as he slipped on a pair of deep slate-grey leather brogues. He wasn’t used to dressing like this, like a respectable young man from a decent family, ready to take his place among the scribes and clerks of the city.

  “It’s going to feel strange working at the Library again,” he muttered to himself while stepping out from behind the screen.

  Jack faced the tall mirror once again. After spending two decades wearing a dark cloak and cheap clothes, he didn’t recognise himself. “I look good,” he said with a smile.

  Gone was the boy in the dark cloak with blood on his hands. In the mirror stood a well-dressed, presentable young man. The picture of an aspiring Novice Scribe, someone respectable, someone ready to walk through the doors of the Royal Library with his head held high.

  I’m Jack the scribe, he thought. I’m a scribe. He couldn’t help but smile. This is who he was, who he wanted to be. A simple scribe.

  Tallow and Thorn flanked him, making small adjustments, smoothing the shoulders, tugging at the cuffs.

  “Splendid fit,” Thorn murmured, his eyes warm with approval. “You’ll cut a fine figure in the Royal Library’s halls, Jack. Mark my words.”

  Tallow nodded. “The suit sits beautifully. No pinching, no awkward pulls when you move?”

  Jack tested the sleeves, raising his arms, twisting at the waist. It moved with him. His fingers slid into the inner pocket, confirming there was space for small scroll cases or a slim notebook.

  “This…” Jack began, almost to himself. “This is what I always wanted.” He gave a small, crooked smile. “A proper scribe’s life.”

  Thorn’s eyes twinkled. “Then make sure you keep that suit sharp, young man. Respect the craft, respect the attire.”

  Jack gave a genuine smile, a faint flush of pride creeping into his cheeks. He nodded. “Thank you. For everything.” Looking at himself in a crisp, new suit made him feel like he could get his new life back on track.

  Thorn clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s what we’re here for, lad. Now, we’ll wrap the suit carefully so it’s ready for you to take home.”

  Jack changed back into his regular clothes, folding the suit under Thorn’s watchful eye as the tailor wrapped it in a fine linen cover, ready for carrying. The hunting outfit was bundled up with expert care and attention.

  With both bundles secured in his arms, Jack straightened, rolling his shoulders and tightening the straps.

  “Good luck on Saturday,” Thorn said. “And at the Royal Library, come Monday.”

  Jack met the old man’s gaze, feeling the weight of everything, the hunt, the work, the life he was stepping back into. “Thank you,” he said, his voice carrying more meaning than just simple politeness. “Truly.”

  It might just be a suit, a piece of tailored cloth, but it represented who Jack was.

  A scribe.

  And with that, he turned, gave a small nod, and stepped back into the bustling streets of Lundun, his future waiting on the other side.

  Chapter 108 The Gentleman Scribe And The Young Archer