“Coming, sir,” the assistant called, sounding winded like he’d been running around. A moment later, the man sped into the front of the shop and nearly tripped on the fabrics and other items strewn across the floor. He held up a single yellow roll of measuring ribbon. “Here is, sir. I had to look everywhere for it, but I found it.”
“That was you looking everywhere?” Sophia questioned. “You turned up with it seconds after he requested it.”
Juergen bowed. “And I’m sorry to keep you waiting, sir. My deepest apologies.”
Sophia shook her head. Her life and the people in it were so bizarre. She wouldn’t change a thing about them or her life.
“That’s quite all right, Juergen.” Jeremy Bearimy took the measuring ribbon that he held up and handed it to Sophia. “You’ll need to take this and wrap it around the pointer finger of each of the riders you need armor for.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Sophia prompted, “Then what?”
“What do you mean, then what?” Jeremy Bearimy asked, confused.
“Where else do I take measurements?”
“That’s it,” the tarantula answered simply, like this should be obvious. “Wrap it around their finger, and all their measurements will be reported to me. For the dragons though, you’ll wrap it around their tails. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
Sophia smiled, impressed. “No, it shouldn’t be at all. That’s amazing.”
“Quite,” Jeremy Bearimy stated. “Now, I’ll make this a chief priority, but still, it will take some time. I’m guessing you don’t know exactly when you’ll need the armor?”
Sophia shook her head. “No, that wasn’t disclosed to me. I just have to be ready for battle at a moment’s notice.”
The seamster nodded, like that was perfectly acceptable. “Very well, then. I’ll work as diligently as I can and have the armor ready very soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Sophia said with relief. She didn’t know what type of battle would require armor for both the riders and the dragons, but as much as she tried to pretend, the foreboding quality of this mysterious battle definitely had the potential to keep her up at night.
“May I make a suggestion?” Jeremy Bearimy asked carefully.
“Of course,” Sophia said at once.
“Well, it seems to me that if you require special armor for you and your dragons for this upcoming battle, then you might also need a special weapon of sorts,” Jeremy Bearimy mused.
Sophia glanced down at Inexorabilis on her hip. It was a fine weapon, of the highest quality, but the seamster was probably right that they’d need something more. However, how was Sophia supposed to find a weapon to defeat a villain that she didn’t know anything about yet?
Although the whole thing was perplexing, she was grateful that she had an option. The only caveat was would the person who could help her, actually do so.
Chapter Forty
“All I’m saying is that smiling wouldn’t kill you,” Liv said dryly to Papa Creola when Sophia entered the Fantastical Armory.
The two glanced in her direction. Neither seemed surprised to see her.
“You’re late,” Papa Creola said flatly to Sophia with a punishing look on his face.
She sighed. “Didn’t know I was coming here, so for me, I feel like I’m early.”
“See, delivering that scolding remark with a smile would have made it all the better,” Liv commented to Father Time, which he ignored.
“So you know why I’m here then.” Sophia strode over to the counter and stood next to her sister. “That always makes things easier.”
Liv laughed. “It’s cute that you’d think that.”
“You’re not here to see me, I know that much.” Papa Creola put a strange monocle in his eye and studied a large orange gem in his hands.
“Although I want to believe you’re here to see me, I know better.” Liv leaned her head on Sophia’s shoulder. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” Sophia chirped. “Looking for a weapon to defeat an enemy that I know nothing about and don’t know when the Dragon Elite will face it.”
“Sounds about right.” Liv straightened.
“But you know you’re facing an enemy, and that should be enough.” Papa Creola continued to study the gem.
“Isn’t he so cute when he squints like that?” Liv asked her sister.
“I still contend it’s difficult to know what kind of weapon defeats an enemy or an army or whatever it is that I’ll be facing alongside the Dragon Elite,” Sophia argued.
Papa Creola sighed. “You two always want information. What am I facing? When? Where?” He shook his head. “For once, just go with the flow, would you?”
Liv grimaced. “When you talk like a hippie, I feel like you’re begging me to strangle you.”
He nodded. “I think in a way, I am. Put me out of my misery.”
“I know you can’t help it,” Liv stated. “But still, try and refrain from spouting Bob Marley quotes. That really is for the best.”
“I like Bob Marley,” Sophia replied.
“You’re going to regret saying that in a moment,” Liv imparted.
“Why?”
“Just you wait.” There was a foreboding quality to her tone.
“Subner will be out in a moment,” Papa Creola interrupted, and continued to squint as he studied the gem.
Liv sighed. “I’m sorry that he’s keeping you waiting, Soph. That’s very rude since he obviously knew you two had a meeting, although you didn’t.”
“He’s not late,” Papa Creola sputtered. “He’ll be here as soon as this repugnant conversation is over.”
“If that’s your way of dismissing me, then it totally worked.” Liv smiled. She pointed at her mouth and grinned wider. “See how this makes a big difference, Papa?”
“No,” he said at once. “It does nothing to improve your face.”
Undeterred, Liv shook her head. “If you weren’t the most powerful entity, I’d give you a piece of my mind.”
“Oh, has that been what’s been stopping you?” He sounded surprised.
“No, not really,” Liv stated. “It’s mostly because I’m a people pleaser.”
“Is that why I get so many complaints about you?” Papa Creola asked, quite seriously.
“Anyway Sophia, I hope that whatever you’ve got to fight goes down easily—”
“It won’t,” Papa Creola interrupted, his attention still on the gem.
“And I further hope that you escape unscathed,” Liv continued.
“She won’t,” Papa Creola stated dryly.
“Well, then I hope your scars make for good stories at dinner parties,” Liv offered.
Papa Creola lowered his chin and glared at the Warrior for the House of Fourteen. “Because nothing is more appetizing than yanking up your sleeve at a dinner table and showing your scars.”
“Is that why all the invites stopped?” Liv joked.
Papa Creola shook his head. “You are the epitome of class.”