1. The Tailor's Son

Amelia's scream brought Gabriel running across the shop.

Which was no small feat, as the course from Point A to Point B was littered with mannequins, half-finished dresses whose hems were easy to get one's feet tangled in, boxes of shoes, and even stray pins that required one to wear shoes at all times on the sales floor lest one wanted to be stabbed. Gabriel didn't know what to expect when he reached the door, where Amelia was frozen in horror. Perhaps it was something as simple as her seeing another rat, though he'd thought he'd chased the last of them out of the shop a while ago. Perhaps she was in some sort of danger, though he couldn't quite imagine what. Or perhaps, terror of terrors, something had happened to the as-of-yet unborn child in her womb.

Gabriel was somewhat surprised to find Amelia clutching a mere piece of paper. Her hands shook as her eyes retread the page again and again. "Amelia?" Gabriel asked cautiously. "Amelia, my sweet, what's wrong?"

"She's dead," Amelia replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Who's dead, my sweet?"

Amelia broke down into tears then. "It's Penelope! She's dead!"

Gabriel went pale. He knew quite well the relationship Amelia had with her aunt Penelope. The old woman had been a mentor and friend to her niece, guiding her through times of trouble. It wasn't surprising for her to have passed, really, Gabriel realized as he reflected. She had been getting on in years quite a bit. Still, it was disconcerting to remember that the last he'd heard from the woman, she was promising to be in town for Amelia's child's Christening.

Amelia crossed to a table in the center of the shop, easing herself down onto one of the chairs and laying the letter out on the wood before her. Gabriel wracked his brain for how best to comfort his beloved wife, knowing very little in the world could replace Aunt Penelope for her. In the end, he moved to a chair adjacent to hers, placing his hands on her shoulders, drawing her close as she sobbed.

After some time, Amelia stated, "I want to name the child after her."

"I think that would be very fitting, my sweet," Gabriel said softly. But then a thought occurred to him: "What if the child is a boy – "

"I don't care. After you and the child, she was the most important person to me."

"My sweet, you can't name a boy 'Penelope.' They'll jeer at him in the streets – "

"GABRIEL SPENCER SNATCHER!" Amelia wrenched herself from her husband's embrace, seizing his shoulders and locking her burning blue eyes onto his. It was then that Gabriel knew there was no arguing left. "THIS CHILD WILL BEAR MY AUNT'S NAME ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!"

"…Perhaps the middle name for a boy, then?" Gabriel suggested meekly.

Amelia took a deep breath, thinking it over. "Yes. A middle name for a boy. That would work."

Three months later, when the child was born, Gabriel happily signed the boy's legal existence as Archibald Penelope Snatcher.

...

Eleven years passed.

Two girls gossiped to each other as they walked up the winding sidewalks of Cheesebridge. "I finished that book about the ugly bell-ringer who never left the church tower," one of them began.

"Oh?"

"And I was thinking…what if that's why Archibald Snatcher never leaves the tailor's shop?" the girl giggled. "Because he knows he's so ugly!"

"I think you missed the point of that book," her companion stated, though she had herself a giggle as well. "We're…not being mean, are we?"

"How can we be mean about it? He's the TAILOR'S son. It isn't like we're talking about a member of the Guild."

"And besides," a third voice broke in from directly behind them, "he's heard it all before, anyway."

Both girls shrieked and spun to see the subject of their discussion standing right behind them. The eleven-year-old Archibald was clothed in a long coat of brown that day, with several patches he'd sewn in himself. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail held in place with a single blue ribbon tied in a bow. That day, he carried a roll of fabric hoisted onto one shoulder. In terms of height, he somewhat towered above the pair of girls, and he knew that was making them nervous. He put on his best unnerving smile to let them know he'd heard exactly everything.

"We didn't MEAN it!" one of the girls squeaked. "We were just…having a laugh!"

"We do it to everybody!" The other was slowly backing away. "The butcher's daughter, the doctor's son – "

"Aren't you the butcher's daughter?" Archibald replied coolly.

"We're sorry!" the other girl burst out before the pair of them turned and bolted. As they ran, Archibald could hear one of them shrieking, "He's so CREEPY!"

All Archibald had to offer in reply to this was a roll of the eyes. He really had heard it all before. It was a rare day when he could pass any of his peers and not overhear some crack about his looks or his station. The Snatcher family was renowned throughout town as quality tailors and dressmakers, but there was no pretending this was a high-class position; the family could barely afford basic plumbing for the shop and their living quarters above it. As for Archibald himself, he had inherited his father's pointed nose and crooked teeth as well as his mother's metabolism. He'd spent a good few years wishing it had been the other way around before simply giving up and waving away the whispers this brought him behind his back. Ergo, to say a popular child was more than a gross error. He had literally no friends his own age in all of Cheesebridge.

And this, to Archibald, was just fine. He didn't see why he would need any in the first place.

"Oh, Mother!" he called out, pushing open the door set into the curved, wide-windowed façade of the shop called Snatcher's Stitches. "Oh, Father! Guess what arrived today!"

Amelia hurried down the stairs from the upstairs quarters while Gabriel stepped in eagerly from the back room. "The yellow silk!" Amelia sighed happily.

"We should have Elizabeth's order done within a matter of days," Archibald announced.

Gabriel shook his head. "Remember, Archibald – "

Archibald sighed, rolling his eyes yet again. "I know, I KNOW. Call other men and women, especially those of station, by their surnames. It shows respect."

"We'll have MISS BACON'S order completed within a matter of days," Gabriel corrected. He stepped forward to clap a hand on his son's shoulder. "No matter. You'll get it right soon enough. Why don't we get to work?"

Elizabeth Bacon had ordered several grandiose gowns and hats, and all in yellow, which seemed to be her favorite color for reasons that Archibald couldn't even begin to guess, as he found the particular shade putrid. However, when one worked in the business of making clothing for an entire town, one learned quickly there was no accounting for taste. Gabriel, Amelia, and Archibald became a well-oiled machine, cutting lengths of the putrid-colored silk and bringing it around to a triad of mannequins, where they began pinning and stitching. It hadn't taken long at all for Archibald to pick up all the tricks of his parents' trade, and Amelia and Gabriel trusted him fully to put together orders with grace and precision.

As he wrapped cloth over his assigned mannequin, Archibald glanced over a sheet of Miss Bacon's measurements. It struck him that she had a very particular figure. She was short, and somewhat rounded in the midsection, though with gangly limbs. This struck him as familiar, and he stored the information away for later use.

...

Dinner that night was rather meager, though the promise of the Bacon order brought with it a future of more splendid meals to come. Amelia laid the table out quickly, hoping she'd vetted the food well enough. Avoiding using dairy in day-to-day meals had become routine, but Amelia still worried about being too careless one day and missing something. She'd never quite gotten over the fright that had been instilled within her when she discovered the hard way that her son had quite a violent allergy.

And as it did every night, the worry crossed her mind that young Archibald wouldn't be able to make it in a town that based its economy upon cheese. She forced such thoughts away and focused on placing the silverware.

"I tell you," Gabriel announced as he strode into the room, "the Bacon order is just the beginning! Once the rest of them see the splendor of her gowns, they'll come flocking to Snatcher's Stitches in droves, and we'll find ourselves with more work than we know what to do with!" He took a seat, with Archibald following suit right beside him. "And then, it will finally happen!"

"Yes, dear." Amelia nodded. She knew what was coming, and sat down across the table from her husband and son.

"After all," Gabriel began, unaware that Archibald, having committed this particular speech to memory, was lip-syncing it next to him, complete with overblown hand gestures, "hard work is the route to a White Hat! Those who put in the time and patience will surely be rewarded, and soon, I will have the honor of being invited into the one and only Tasting Room to discuss matters of urgency and town betterment among kindred minds! …Amelia, my sweet, is something wrong?"

Amelia bit her lip to stifle a giggle from Archibald's mockery. "Nothing. Nothing at all!"

"It's going to happen," Gabriel insisted. "And soon. I know it will. Then we'll live like a king, queen, and prince."

Amelia had become disillusioned a long time ago. Gabriel had been saying the same thing since before Archibald was born, always insisting that the time he was to be named to the elite council of White Hats was "soon." Always "soon." Amelia was sure by now that the White Hats didn't care, not about a tailor. No matter how hard Gabriel worked, he would never have the lineage or the wealth. She wondered how Archibald felt when year after year, Gabriel's prediction of joining the upper class failed to come true. In truth, the boy was only just beginning to become disillusioned as well, as much as he wished ever so much that Gabriel would one year be correct.

...

On his way toward his bedchamber, Archibald became aware of a disturbance in the hallway. Something was making an awful racket, squeaking and clanking in the corner. Since that was where Gabriel had set up a cage-style trap for rats, Archibald had a fair guess of what was making the noise.

Kneeling, he spied a rat rapidly clawing at the walls of the cage, trying to free itself in vain. "Well, hello there," he said softly. "What sort of trouble have you gotten into, then?"

Amelia, passing, began to ask, "Archibald, what are you looking at – " Then her eyes lit upon the tiny prisoner. "RAT!" she screeched, loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. "IT'S A RAT!"

Gabriel came rushing into the hallway. "We caught a rat?"

"GET RID OF IT!" Amelia shrieked, pointing with a shaking finger at the trap. "GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW! THAT UGLY, DISGUSTING THING DOESN'T BELONG HERE!"

"At once!" Gabriel nodded. "Archibald, stand aside."

"You're…going to kill it, aren't you?" Archibald replied.

"Yes," Gabriel affirmed. "It's a filthy thing that needs to be removed. Now, stand aside or hand me the trap."

"No!" Archibald stood, clutching the trap tightly. "Don't kill it!"

"Archibald," Gabriel said sternly. "Please see sense. That rat will make us all diseased."

"I want to keep it." Archibald fixed a glare upon his father that he'd inherited from his mother, one that warned Gabriel that an impasse was forthcoming.

"Maybe," Amelia said shakingly, "so long as it stays in your room…and doesn't leave…and you take good care of it…you can keep it."

Gabriel relaxed a bit; if Amelia was willing to let Archibald protect the rat, he had less of a reason to destroy the creature.

"Can I really?" Archibald looked at his mother with a not-too-often-seen expression of joy.

"IF IT STAYS IN YOUR ROOM," Amelia reiterated.

"Thank you, Mother!" Archibald replied happily. He turned his attention to the trap's prisoner: "I think I'll call you Framley. That's a good name for a rat, is it not?"

Perhaps he didn't find the concept of friendship so useless after all.

...

Within a few days, Elizabeth Bacon's gowns were finished. The final touches were placed upon the last putrid-yellow confection in the evening, and it was decided that Miss Bacon would be informed of the readiness of her gowns the following morning. With that, the Snatcher trinity packed up their sewing needles and seam rippers and made way for their beds.

Though Archibald lingered, looking back at the gowns, particularly one that had been accented with blue and given a series of flamboyant ruffles. The fact of the matter was that Elizabeth Bacon, through some twist of fate, was roughly Archibald's size and shape. And this was something that had lingered on his mind for a while, though he couldn't quite explain to himself why.

He moved halfway up the stairs before hearing the door of his parents' room click closed, then, overcome by curiosity over the connection he'd made, he crept back down toward the mannequins. The yellow and blue number wasn't really so bad after all. Perhaps "putrid" had been too strong of a word. It was actually somewhat beautiful. And it would probably look all the more beautiful on someone.

As the thought formed in Snatcher's mind, he knew his parents wouldn't approve of it. He knew absolutely no one would approve of it. But his curiosity was overcoming him, and it was such an enticing gown.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he'd whipped the yellow and blue silk gown from its resting place, being very careful not to fold or crease it as he smuggled it up the stairs. His parents were still shut in their chamber, leaving Archibald an unimpeded route to his own room. He quickly scurried inside, closing and locking the door.

In a few short moments, his prior clothes lay discarded on the floor, and he was draped in the yellow and blue silk, admiring himself in the mirror. Short as Miss Bacon was, she was still taller than an eleven-year-old child, and the hem of the skirt pooled a bit around Archibald's feet, but otherwise, the dress fit as though it had been fated.

On a table on the opposite side of the room, Framley had been set up with a small living cage, provided with food, water, and spare fabric to make a bed out of. "What do you think, Framley?" Archibald asked the rodent, giving an experimental twirl in front of the glass and watching as the fabric billowed out.

Framley just made a clicking noise.

"Right," Archibald stated. "The hair doesn't quite work. Perhaps if I…"

He loosed his ponytail, teasing his hair atop his head and tying it into a messy updo with the ribbon. "Better?" he asked Framley.

The rat made no response.

"Better," Archibald decided. "You know, Framley, I might even call myself beautiful." And he gave the mirror an honest smile. The smile quickly faded; "The hair's still not working. Perhaps with one of the hats…Framley, I'll be back."

He crept out of the room, avoiding the steps that creaked on his way down to retrieve one of the hats commissioned for Miss Bacon. One in particular, a yellow sun hat tied round with a blue ribbon, caught his eye. He quickly crossed to it, flipped it once in his hands, and then settled it on his head. Archibald then turned to hustle his way back to his room and the mirror only to be stopped short by the sight of his father on the stairs. He was frozen, staring in shock at Gabriel, and Gabriel's reaction was much the same, though Archibald was sure Gabriel's heart wasn't threatening to beat its way right out of its rib cage the way Archibald's was.

"Archibald," Gabriel said, and Archibald could hear the anger slowly bubbling up behind his voice. Archibald tried to think of an excuse, something to talk his way out of the situation he'd just been caught in, but no words came. When Gabriel spoke next, it was an absolute growl:

"There are things that men…men of status, or men who wish to be men of status…don't do. There are things that men don't do at all. And men do not wear women's garments."

"Understood," Archibald replied hoarsely.

"I don't know why you decided to do this," Gabriel continued, "but you're going to put it all back the way you found it. And I am never going to see you dressed in such a manner again. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, father."

"Well, then." Gabriel searched for words and failed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, father."

Gabriel turned and made his way up the stairs, and Archibald returned to his room to change out of the gown and put it back the way he found it. He knew very well that there were rules about what men did and did not do, and he in no way wanted to threaten his father's chance for a White Hat…or, as far off as it seemed, the dream that Archibald might one day wear his own.

Still, it wasn't every day he actually found himself pretty.