“Ah hah!”, I said, “I bet the Mistress was Syrene!”

  Silas grinned and nodded, “I of course had no idea at the time.”

  “After breakfast the next morning I asked the barkeep if there was a barber in town where I could get a haircut and a shave and he gave me brief directions. Months on the river and road had not been kind to my hair, or my scraggly wisp of a beard and I was in desperate need of some maintenance.”

  “The barber’s place of work was located next to a cobblers and I found the two of them sitting outside their stores chatting. The cobbler looked down at my sandals then up at my face and grinned at the barber, “This one’s for you I suspect!”, stepping back inside his shop, leaving me to talk with an elderly man of quite burly build but very short in stature leaving him looking somewhat like a barrel - although decked out as he was in a heavy duty apron sporting a wide variety of combs, scissors and a seriously large razor, I doubt anyone would be so foolish as to voice such a comparison out loud”.

  “We chatted briefly about what the occasion was and he gestured for me to come inside and sit down in a straight backed chair while he fetched a small step ladder - from which he worked rather like a sculptor, chipping away locks of my hair like so much cast off marble. Every now and then he would produce a small silver mirror for me to get a glimpse of the transformation - my hair tidied to shoulder length and my scraggly beard trimmed into a goatee as was the fashion at the time.”

  “By the end I was quite pleased with his work, and strutted about a little examining his work in the mirror but my joy was muted somewhat after learning that I had just spent the equivalent of a day’s wages.”

  “Waving to the Cobbler as I left, I made for the Bean so that I could retrieve some of my formalwear that I had packed away during the trip, meeting up with young Flotsam on the way to the wharf.”

  “We don’t got a lot of time, mister!”, he said, nervously looking at the angle of the sun in the sky while I struggled with my luggage. I slipped behind some piles so no one would see me change and quickly put on my Masters Robe along with the rank regalia, a midweight chain necklace sporting a silver pendant with inscribed saw and hammer.”

  “How far away is the estate?” I asked, thinking that it couldn’t be too far, only to learn that it was 20 minutes walk away down a dusty road. “Do you have a coachman or a carriage in this town?” Was my next question - there being no way I was going to walk for 20 minutes in my formal wear. Flotsam’s young eyes went wide in excitement, “Really! Can we really take a carriage!?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “I figured there was no point in spoiling my entrance, so the two of us wandered over to the inn and found someone willing to drive us out to the estate for a reasonable sum. He even offered to bring me back, apparently he had a relative out there that he could lunch with.”

  “The cart, while not as fancy as a city wagon, was still more comfortable than walking so I sat up the front with the driver watching the scenery roll by, leaving Flotsam to sit in the back, where he was suspiciously munching on an apple he seemed to have purloined from a nearby basket surrounded by some sacking and some sample wares a store owner had thrust at the driver as we passed, for a quick exchange of coin. The carter, I supposed, thinking that he may be able to sell some to the staff at the estate or at least get some orders that he could deliver later in the day.”

  “When we arrived I thanked the driver and Flotsam and I left the stables for the Manor whereupon arriving at the front doors we were greeted by a single doorman, impeccably dressed, and noticeably sweating in the hot sun.”

  “Presenting Master Silas, Carpenter.”, said Flotsam politely, then abandoning all decorum, squeezed out “Ee’s all yours”, while the rascal made a beeline for the staff door to the kitchens. The doorman shook his head sadly, “Every time, he starts off all proper, then has to go and ruin it!”

  “I was led through the house across a highly polished floor, quite reminiscent of a ship’s decking, the wood was dark and the grain had clearly been exposed at some time, but some master craftsman had managed to provide a clear lacquer that really made it shine. On the walls, where one would normally find portraits of family and relatives were instead a series of ships, from odd looking experiments, to mighty frigates, to oared galleys from the ages of antiquity. We passed a hallway, then turned into a sitting room - the slatted blinds of Venetian styling, letting bars of light through to illuminate a set of loungers.”

  “I’ll leave you here”, said the doorman, “Take a seat and a maid will be through shortly to take you out to the garden.”

  “I had only been sitting for a few minutes, when an elderly lady swept into the room, looked me up and down, ‘harrumphed’ and then swiftly turned and left as I was still getting to my feet.

  “Ah, excuse me!” I called, but she was gone, already swallowed up by the closing door, the ‘clip clip’ of her shoes on the floor fading into the distance.

  “Well that was strange!”, I said, aloud to myself before realising that I was no longer alone in the room. As I was turning from the door, a familiar sounding voice called out.

  “Please excuse Maria, on Mother’s orders she is to protect me from the unwanted attention of any riff-raff or suitors who might steal off with me in a carriage!"

  "I completed my turn, the face and voice matching my memories, I smiled warmly and called out, ‘Syrene!’"