Chapter 2
John went to bed that night feeling decidedly odd. Slipping under the sheets he told himself that it must have been the second helping of meat surprise he had eaten for dinner. The surprise, of cause, was if you could identify what animal the meat was from. He put all thoughts of dinner from his mind, wishing he could do the same for his stomach, and laid his head on the pillow.
The idea prowled about the recesses of Johns mind waiting for him to fall asleep. When the time came it seized its chance and John dreamed. He dreamed of sheepskin coats and flat-caps, of a forecourt full of carts with no horses. He dreamed of a business empire with him at the head, but, most importantly, he dreamed of the cabbage motor.
The next morning John awoke with a start. He had never felt this alive. Ideas crackled like electricity across his brain. This was unusual for John, normally when he woke it was a struggle just getting his brain to talk to his feet long enough to get out of bed. Today, though, John leapt out of bed. His brain was fizzing like a troll on Slab. Running to the door he threw it open and ran outside. "Good morning Mrs Slovell", he shouted at his neighbour. "Bloody pervert", she replied. In his excitement he had forgotten to dress. Not to worry. He went back inside and opened his wardrobe. "No, no, no", he muttered to himself. "None of this is right. Not right at all." Part of John, the tiny part that watched all the other parts, said, "Well it was alright yesterday. What's changed?" The answer to this was, of course, everything. Dressing quickly in his best, and indeed only, shirt and trousers he once more stepped out of his front door. He needed new clothes. He didn't know why. He just did. The problem was money, or at least it should have been a problem. Somehow, though, John knew that today, money was no problem at all. He rounded the corner and walked until he arrived at the Morpork Tailors for Men, a small yet expensive shop rumoured to be official tailors to the Patrician. The man behind the counter eyed him suspiciously.
"Yes sir, can I help you?" he asked in the tone of a man that knew not only the exact size of a customer at a glance but also noted bulges in the cloth suggesting a full wallet or, in Johns case, lack thereof.
"Maybe we can help each other", John countered. "I'm looking for a long coat, sheepskin. Oh and a hat, mustn't forget the hat; tweed cheese-cutter, and a suit, pinstriped double breasted".
"Very good sir, and how will you be paying for said items", sneered the assistant looking down his hawk-like nose at John.
"Well, I was hoping we could come to some sort of arrangement on that", said John. "Let's have a little chat."
Two hours later John emerged from the shop with a promise that if he returned later the clothes would be ready for collection. Part of him wondered how he had talked the man round. He had told the shops owner that the tatty old shirt and trousers he was wearing were immensely desirable and after an hour and a list of reasons why, that John couldn't now recall, the man had agreed. Indeed he had not only agreed to exchange the items for John's clothes but had begged him to bring any similarly desirable threads straight to him.
Later that day John returned to collect his new outfit. He changed in the small changing room and emerged with his old shirt and trousers, which he gave to the grateful shop owner.
"A pleasure doing business with you", John told the man and shook him firmly by the hand.
"And you sir. I hope we can do more in the future".
That night the store owner sat in his little shop looking at the clothes he had exchanged a weeks profits worth of stock for. He couldn't remember what all the fuss had been about. He did remember that earlier it had seemed the best deal he had ever made. Now, though, with his wife about due to count the day's takings, he couldn't remember why exactly. All he could think of was the look on her face when he told her and the prospect of a few cold nights on the sofa.
John was happy with his new look, but that was just the start. He had plans, big plans. All he needed was a skilled metal worker, an old cart, and a big box of cabbages. With that in mind he made his way to the Street of Cunning Artificers.
