Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 39 The Meva Brothers
The driver spoke earnestly and refused to discuss the matter further.

We can't arrest him and torture him to extract a confession, so it seems we won't get anything else out of him.

“I’m just curious. You don’t need to be nervous. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” Winters reassured the slightly flustered coachman, ceasing his questioning.

The driver nodded gratefully.

Kosa came out from the main entrance. She had changed out of her comfortable home clothes and into a dark green dress decorated with embroidery and lace, paired with a light purple silk shawl and an elaborately decorated hat.

"It's just a trip to the tailor shop, this is such an exaggeration." Winters walked over to Kosa in surprise: "Aren't you hot? Auntie, you're not wearing a corset, are you?"

"Silly child, the tailor shop is a woman's battlefield!" Kosa glared at her nephew, then happily took Winters' left arm and walked onto the carriage.

She gave the driver her destination with demure politeness: "Mr. Barto, please take us to the Meva's house."

The carriage glided along the cobblestone streets, its wheels making a rhythmic clatter as they passed over the cracks in the stones, the horseshoes striking the pavement with a steady beat. The carriage was suspended from its body by leather straps, so it didn't shake.

Kosa lifted the curtains and admired the street view, seemingly in a great mood.

But Winters was preoccupied with his thoughts, preoccupied with the coachman who seemed to have joined some secret group, and the brotherhood he spoke of.

Kosa gently tapped Winters' hand with her small folding fan: "What are you thinking about? You seem so lost in thought."

"I wasn't thinking about anything," Winters replied with a smile, snapping out of his reverie. It was clearly inappropriate to tell his aunt about his worries in the carriage; he needed to discuss it with his uncle. So he changed the subject, asking, "By the way, where's Ella? Isn't she home?"

Whenever Elizabeth was mentioned, Kosa got a headache. She rubbed her forehead and said helplessly, "She went to Madame Anguisola's studio. Sigh... Your sister is such a worry for me. She's already sixteen, but she still acts like a crazy girl and doesn't have a bit of ladylike manners."

“Isn’t learning to paint a good thing?” Winters admired those who were good at painting. Although he was not religious, he always lingered in front of the exquisite murals in the church.

Kosa's mood became somewhat downcast: "She's not really going to learn painting. She's just looking for a pretext to play with her little friends. When your mother and I were her age, we had to do your grandfather's accounts every day. Unlike her now, she can't do needlework, she can't do accounts, and she has no ability to manage a household at all."

Winters felt that his aunt was belittling his sister a bit too much. Elizabeth was one of the few people he could admit was smarter than him, so he had to speak up for his sister: "If you teach her to read accounts, she will definitely learn very well. I am completely convinced of her mental arithmetic skills."

“I taught her, of course I taught her,” Kosa said, her tone growing heavier. “But your sister has no perseverance at all. She started complaining after less than two days of teaching her to read account books. She loses interest in anything she barely learns. How is she going to get married? What decent family would want to marry her? Won’t she be cheated sooner or later?”

Kosha was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked Winters hopefully, "Among your classmates at military academy, are there any outstanding boys?"

Winters thought about his classmates and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, his whole body trembling. From Lu You onwards, nearly ten years of living and working together in military academy had allowed his classmates to witness each other's most vulgar side.

Therefore, neither emotionally nor rationally, he could accept any of his contemporaries marrying his sister. If any of them dared to marry his sister, Winters would stab them to death, no matter who they were.

So he answered firmly, "Absolutely not. None of my contemporaries are good enough for Ella. You absolutely must not try to find a husband for Ella from among them. Don't even think about it."

"Is that so?" Kosha sighed in disappointment. She suddenly looked into Winters' eyes, reached out and grasped Winters' right hand: "Let's not talk about your sister anymore, let's talk about you."

Kosha's attitude suddenly became very formal, which surprised Winters. He also sat up straight and listened attentively.

Kosa said very seriously, "I mentioned this once six years ago when you went to the United Province, and I will mention it again now that you're back. After your maternal grandfather passed away, his property was divided equally into two parts, one as your mother's dowry and the other as mine. My part was taken to the Serbian family, and your mother's part is being kept by me as her guardian because you are not yet an adult. Next year, when you officially come of age, I will give you your mother's dowry, thus settling this matter on my mind."

Winters had initially thought his aunt was going to say something important, but it turned out to be about the inheritance again. Winters was born posthumously; his father, a second lieutenant, had died in battle twenty years ago, and his mother had also passed away.

Although Kosa had always strictly forbidden anyone from mentioning the details of her sister's death to her nephews, only stating that it was due to illness, Winters, being quite perceptive, managed to get the real answer after a few subtle probing questions: his mother, Kosa's sister, had died of postpartum complications.

But he wasn't really affected by it. In his eyes, his aunt was like his mother, and his uncle treated him like his own son.

Compared to his biological parents, whom he had never met, he cared more about his closest family members who raised him. Since his aunt didn't want him to know the truth, he had been pretending not to know.

“Auntie, I’ve said it several times already, you can do whatever you want with this money. You can put it in the family accounts or give it to Ella as a dowry, I have no objection.” Winters strongly opposed Kosa’s resolute stance of not using any property in her name.

Kosa may have been worried about gossip, but in Winters' view, the effort required to raise a newborn baby to adulthood is priceless, no amount of gold could buy it.

“Silly boy, you still have a family to settle down in, and there are many places where you’ll need money. I exchanged your mother’s dowry for real estate in the port area, and it has appreciated quite a bit in the past twenty years.” As she spoke, Kosa’s eyes welled up with tears again. She lovingly smoothed Winters’s hair. “My eldest nephew is already a young man. Elizabeth [referring to Winters’s mother, who shares the same name as Winters’s cousin] will be very happy to see you grow up in God’s Kingdom. When I meet her in the future, I can proudly kiss her face.”

During the conversation, the carriage stopped, and the driver quietly reminded her, "Madam, we have arrived at the Meva residence."

Kosa wiped away her tears and resumed her matriarchal tone: "Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Barto."

Winters left the carriage first, then helped Kosa down from the carriage.

The carriage stopped at a quaint shop, which occupied about five meters in width among a row of stone houses.

The shop door was painted black, so clean you could almost smell the paint that hadn't quite dried. A pair of scissors and a needle and thread were painted on the door in gold paint, and below the design were the words "[Meiwa Brothers' House]" written in a flamboyant, cursive script.

The most eye-catching design is not the store entrance, but the walls.

Instead of brick walls, the store entrance is flanked by small, transparent glass panels framed by wooden frames. Behind these panels, wooden mannequins display elegant finished garments, primarily glamorous women's wear, with some refined men's attire.

These small, transparent flat glass panes are not cheap; most people only buy a few for windows, and most homes still use wooden blinds. Using such a fragile material for walls is a bold move by the designer, showcasing astonishing imagination.

Painting a sign with gold paint is equally extravagant, and instead of gold leaf, gold powder is used. Paint is an expensive consumable, and gold paint is even more so. Although Winters had no formal art training, he knew that gold could not be mixed without gold powder.

Winters was dumbfounded by the behavior of the Meva Brothers tailor shop. He couldn't help but ask the shopkeeper: Aren't you afraid that thieves will come and tear down your shop door at night?
"Isn't it great?"

"But in the end, the customer has to pay for all the glass and paint, right?"

“Let’s go.” Kosha took Winters’ left arm and pulled him into the store.

The bell on the doorframe rang, and several elegantly dressed ladies and young women were selecting fabrics inside. Compared to them, Winters no longer thought her aunt's outfit was exaggerated. This wasn't a tailor shop; it was a competition arena.

A handsome young man who looked like a tailor quickly came to greet us. He had a measuring tape draped over his shoulder and was wearing simple work clothes that were unusual for him in this sea of ​​flowers that were blooming in competition.

He walked up to Kosa with a warm smile, removed his hat and bowed, saying in a slightly reproachful tone, "Mrs. Serbiati, it's been far too long since you visited our shop. My inspiration has dried up without you."

If an ordinary person said those words, it would surely sound hypocritical and disgusting. But the handsome young man's expression, posture, and tone were so perfectly executed that even knowing he was just being polite, one couldn't feel any aversion. Kosha, however, remained unmoved, smiling as she countered, "Then you must have quite a few sources of inspiration. How many ladies have you said those words to?" She had developed a considerable resistance to this level of flattery.

“But you are the most beautiful one among them.” The tailor, who was not known to be one of the Meva brothers, began to attack from the side when he failed to impress Mrs. Serbiati. He praised the young man beside her: “Who is this handsome young man to you? He is a natural clothes hanger.”

Winters would blush just hearing such words, but the young tailor could say them with a sincere tone without batting an eye, which shows how difficult life is.

But the effect was excellent. Kosa beamed: "This is my nephew. He just graduated from the United Province Military Academy and is now working at Army Headquarters."

The young tailor showered Kosa with a string of clever compliments, making her beam with delight. Winters noticed several ladies in the shop secretly glancing at him, and felt even more embarrassed. He quickly said, "Aren't we here to have clothes made?"

"Okay, let's take your measurements first." The young tailor led Winters to a quiet little room at the back of the shop and began taking his measurements.

Winters was always observant; the shop was mostly filled with female customers, so the measurements must have been taken by another female tailor. However, there was only one male tailor at the front of the shop, and the rest were just a few child laborers, seemingly apprentices.

Winters heard the faint sound of fabric being cut coming from inside the shop. He thought to himself: Maybe the Meva brothers are actually the Meva siblings.

"What kind of garment do you want made for?" The male tailor grasped the key point and asked Kosha instead of Winters.

“Two sets of everyday clothes and one set of formal attire.” After considering for a moment, Kosha added, “And make another set of junior officer uniform.”

While at military academy, cadets' uniforms are custom-made by the school. However, after leaving military academy, officers have to pay for their own uniforms.

The Allied Army's officer class was inevitably influenced by the old aristocratic class. Just like the nobles of the old era who brought their own equipment and attendants, the officers of the new era also had to provide their own uniforms, horses, swords, and so on.

These unwritten rules formed an invisible barrier, and it was no exaggeration for Bud to say that he couldn't even afford military uniforms if he didn't go overseas.

"I can't wear a lieutenant's uniform yet," Winters hurriedly reminded his aunt.

Kosa disagreed: "You can wear it next year, right? It's better to have it made in advance so you don't have to make it again later."

Winters knew he had no say in matters of life, so he stopped objecting.

Kosa sat beside him, flipping through a folio, which appeared to be the design catalog of the Meva brothers, while the male tailor busied himself around Winters.

But Winters remembered the case at the docks, and on a whim, he casually asked, "Do you make cloaks here?"

"A cloak? Would you like a cloak made? We can make one for you if you need it," the tailor said as he measured Winters' waist.

"From this, it seems the Meva brothers don't usually wear cloaks?"

The male tailor replied with a smile, "Our shop usually makes more exquisite clothing, and we haven't made capes before."

Approximately how many tailors are there in Hailan City?

"Not many, less than a hundred people." The male tailor added, "Many families don't come to the tailor shop to have their clothes made by us; they mostly buy the fabric and make their own."

Hearing this, Winters realized that trying to find the Black-Robed Man through the tailor was unrealistic. The assassins' cloaks weren't necessarily custom-made by outside tailors; a maid who knew how to sew could have made them.

Even with the slightest clue, Winters was unwilling to give up. He politely asked the tailor, "Could you help me find out if any tailors in Blue City have recently received orders for custom-made black cloaks?"

"No problem," the tailor asked politely. "Who are you looking for?"

Winters replied with a faint smile, "I'd like to find a few friends who are wearing black cloaks."

"If you're looking for clothes, why don't you look for fabric?" the tailor said casually as he wrote down the measurements in his notebook.

Looking for fabric?

“There are more than forty sewing suppliers in this Blue Ocean City, and each supplier’s fabrics are slightly different. If you bring me the fabric, I can roughly tell which supplier it is. Then I can ask who that fabric merchant supplies, and it will be much easier to continue searching.”

This was indeed a good idea, but unfortunately Winters didn't have the fabric from those assassins. He thought about the situation at the time, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"What material is it? Linen? Cotton? Wool? Silk?" the tailor asked.

Winters tried to recall the feel of the cloak he wore when he grappled with the man in black: "I don't know, I only know it must have been good material, the fabric was very dense, but not as smooth as silk."

"Then it must be wool or cotton," the tailor concluded. "I'll try to find out for you, but there are many cloth merchants in the city that sell wool and cotton fabrics, so don't count on me too much."

"Thank you."

After taking the measurements, the next step was choosing the fabric. Winters became completely like a puppet during this process, under Kosha's direction, the tailor brought out one fabric after another for Kosha to choose from, repeatedly having Winters stand on a small platform to see the actual effect of the fabric draped over him. Once the fabric was chosen, the next step was to select the style.

Winters originally thought it was just a matter of taking measurements at a tailor shop, and that it would be over quickly.

But by the time an exhausted Winters and a triumphant Kosha returned home, it was almost dark.

Inside the mansion, Antonio had been waiting for a long time, passing the time by playing with the cat in the drawing room. Winters had barely entered the house when Antonio immediately stopped him, saying sternly, "Come with me, it's urgent."

In the 11th century, a method for making small flat glass emerged in the German region, which later spread to the Italian peninsula. The Venetians improved this process, and by at least the 14th century, they were able to produce transparent glass. However, at that time, colored glass was more valuable.

The method of making large sheets of transparent glass appeared relatively late, in 1674.

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(End of this chapter)