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Journal (pp 8-10)

14 Mardal, late.

Picked up the blue outfit from the tailor. That’s the one I’m going to be wearing under the costume, so I put it on before heading out to Rogue Street. The tailor is well worth the money; the singlet fits perfectly. Normally I wouldn’t wear the lace, but it is all the fashion this season. Or so Andrew assures me.

The Costume of Death is red, of course, and will be about seven feet high when finished. Death has wings in this culture, and the support for those is why we need multiple fittings. I will be able to move the wings by moving my shoulders. I’m not sure I like all the mechanics; they might get in the way if I have to move suddenly. I persuaded Michel to make a buckle rather than just a band across the chest. And I do have my arms free; a lot of the height is in the neck and wings and I see through a scrim at the base of the neck.

The first two fittings involved taking my measurements and then, after an hour or so, fitting the harness for the wings and head. Michel is a very talented costumer, and much in demand, but seems to feel that doing this particular Costume for a friend of the Marats will make his business. It might do that, actually, if Andrew survives this next week.

After two hours Michel declared himself satisfied with the fitting so far, and told me to come back in two days. At that point I need to be wearing everything I would be wearing at the Ball so that we can be sure that none of it will interfere with the Costume. I am particularly worried about the amulet and my sword. Michel says the amulet can hang from the neck of the Costume (which could put it near my eyes so that I don’t have to be seen to look at it). Belting the sword on the outside would spoil the line of the Costume, but he thinks that robes are full enough that I should be able to wear it underneath. The front of the robes will be open so I will be able to draw if needed.

Had dinner at the Crown and Anchor with Andrew and his crowd, in the private room. Most of them are younger than we are. Andrew is my senior by a year and a half at 32, and Phillip and Marcel are about my age, but most of the group are in their early twenties. All are from the noble houses and most are younger sons and daughters. The evening was pleasant enough, but Andrew left early, with Roxanne.

Tomorrow I have to pick up the other two outfits from the tailor and present myself for dinner with the elder Marat and his children. Roxanne is invited, of course, and Andrew wants me to meet his siblings and to introduce his new “best friend.” Sleep now.

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