Once Upon a Summer Day by Mckiernan Dennis L

Author:Mckiernan, Dennis L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group

In the small shop on a side street—Marie’s Millinery—Borel examined a silver needle, one just the size to fit Flic as a sword.

“Demoiselle, have you a silver sequin?” he asked.

“Oui, Monsieur,” replied a fille who had just begun to blossom, she the daughter of the milliner. At a table to one side sat her mother, fixing ribbons to a hat.

“A sequin that is not holed?” asked Borel.

“Oui,” said the daughter.

“Ah, good. And I see by your sign without that you make minor repairs to jewellery.”

“Small things. Nothing major.”

“Can you puncture this sequin in the very center with the silver needle, and then slide it up to the eyelet and fix it in place?”

“What’s that for?” asked Flic.

“Your needle will act as an épée or a foil, and the sequin as a bell,” said Borel.

“A bell?”

“A guard for your hand,” said the proprietress, looking up from the beribboned hat.

“Madame, you are familiar with épées?” asked Borel.

She nodded. “Although I am known as the Widow Marie, a mere milliner, I am well acquainted with fencing blades. My Renaud—bless his departed soul—was a maker of fine épées and foils for going out into the world, as well as fine rapiers. He even made a colichemarde or two.”

“Colichemarde?” said Flic.

“The ancestor of the épée,” said Marie. “For you, though, my tiny Sprite, I would suggest an épée.”

“Why not a colichemarde or a foil?” asked Flic.

“A foil, I think, is not stiff enough,” said Marie, “and a colichemarde is a bit on the heavy side for one as small as you.”

“Ah, then you know what it is I want for my wee friend?” asked Borel.

The proprietress stood and stepped to the counter. She eyed Flic, and glanced askance at Buzzer, and then said, “Sieur, I think a finer choice than a needle would be a silver hatpin or, better yet, a man’s scarfpin; they’re a bit sturdier, less likely to snap. Of course, I’ll need to remove the ornamental head; it would just get in the way. And with the bell fixed in place and the grip properly wrapped with my finest silver thread it will be a weapon worthy of this Sprite.”

At Borel’s assent, she selected several of her scarfpins and held each up next to the Sprite, finally selecting the one that best fit his stature.

“He will need a baldric,” said Borel.

“A matter of a few strokes of needle and thread and a ribbon,” said the milliner. “Step here, Sprite; my daughter will take your measure.” She turned to the demoiselle. “Renée, s’il-te-plaît.”

Even as the mother passed through an archway to a back room, “But, Mère, he’s naked,” said the daughter.

“Demoiselle Renée, it’s not as if I am going to ravish you,” said Flic.

Though she reddened, the demoiselle laughed and said, “Wee little thing as you are, I do not feel threatened.”

“Ah, ma chérie, I might surprise you, for I am Fey.”

“Oh!” Renée exclaimed in startlement and backed away.

With an eyebrow raised, Borel looked at Flic, and the Sprite laid a finger alongside his nose and gave Borel a slow wink.

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