To her surprise, though, by the time the greeting ceremony was over and she and Thrawn were ushered to a waiting ground car her nose and lungs were already starting to adapt. As they drove across the city toward the planetary security center the smells receded even more, and by the time the car stopped and Frangelic ushered them out onto the street the aroma had become neutral, even edging toward something pleasant.
Though it was possible that the mixture had simply changed along the way. Certainly the large circular courtyard stretched out before them, crowded with pedestrians, had many spots where wisps of smoke marked open-fire cooking, and she’d always liked such aromas.
“This can’t be the security center,” she commented as Frangelic closed the car door behind them.
“The center is there,” he said, pointing to a whitestone building on the far side of the courtyard. “But as you can see, vehicles would have difficulty maneuvering through the weekend Creators’ Market.”
“Could we not have flown?” Thrawn asked.
“We could have,” Frangelic agreed. “But the Creators’ Market is one of the finest representations of Garwian culture, and I’d hoped to share it with you.”
Thrawn looked at Ar’alani. “Commodore?”
Ar’alani shrugged, sniffing as a shift in the breeze brought another flavor of smoke. Holiday open-fire banquets had been one of her favorite family meals when she was growing up. “Why not?” she said. “Lead on, Security Chief.”
“Thank you. This way.”
Frangelic set off toward the edge of the courtyard. It was crowded with people, as Ar’alani had already noted, but those on the edges quickly spotted the alien faces and moved out of their path. Some of them bowed toward Frangelic as the newcomers approached, and Ar’alani’s first thought was that the gesture was one of subservience or even fear at the sight of his uniform. But Frangelic invariably bowed back, and she eventually concluded the gesture was simply a form of respect between citizens.
“You can see that the booths are laid out in concentric circles,” Frangelic said as they approached the outer group. “The ones on the outside are reserved for those who require more space for their wares and equipment, while the smaller ones toward the center are for those with more compact displays.”
“You said creators,” Thrawn said. “What do they create?”
“Anything you want,” Frangelic said. “There’s a man here who makes unique kitchen utensils for people whose passion is cooking. Over there is a woman who creates historical costumes for remembrance parties. You can smell the aromas of cooking fires for those who wish a particular food preparation or a unique layering of spice or sauce.”
“Seems rather inefficient,” Ar’alani said.
“Oh, we have the same mass-produced items as all other worlds for everyday use,” Frangelic assured her. “These are for those who want the unusual and unique. If you can define or describe what you want, someone here will make it for you. Here, or in thousands of other Creators’ Markets across the Unity.”
“You spoke of remembrance parties,” Thrawn said. “What are those?”
“Ah,” Frangelic said, shifting direction. “That is, I believe, a cultural aspect in which the Unity stands alone among all other peoples. Those who attend such parties wear elaborate outfits utilizing features from clothing throughout Garwian history, woven and melded together in subtle and unique ways. The goal of each participant is to create the most beautiful and most intricate melding, while at the same time detecting and identifying the features in the other attendees’ garb. Let me show you.”
He led the way to a long table and a woman working an old-looking sewing machine. On either side of her were neat stacks of cloth, thread, and sewing implements, while racks behind her held dozens of samples of cloth, leather, silk, and some materials Ar’alani couldn’t identify.
“This is Dame Mimott, one of our master designers,” Frangelic said, nodding a greeting to her. “Dame Mimott, our guests would like to hear about your work.”
The woman regarded Ar’alani and Thrawn in a way that Ar’alani couldn’t help but identify as suspicion. “You’re not by chance attending the Kimbples’ party next Mid Spring, are you?” she asked.
“Really, Mimott,” Frangelic said, a hint of scolding in his tone. “You’re not suggesting our honored guests would cheat, are you?”
For a moment, the woman just stared at him. Then her jaw cracked open in a smile. “Your honored guests, certainly not,” she said. “You, on the other hand…” She cocked her head to the side, her fingertips touching her cheek.
“I assure you, Mimott, if I should by chance be invited to the Kimbples’ party, I will graciously decline.” He pointed two fingers at the cloth she was working on. “Perhaps you will explain to us your artistry.”
“Gladly.” The woman spread out the cloth. “This cloth is of course modern, but is of the same design and texture as that used in the Twelfth Era. The stitching style is from the Fourteenth, the particular dye coloring was first used in the Seventeenth, and the edging style from the Eighteenth.” She touched the machine. “The machine itself is a refurbished antique from the Fifteenth.”
“All this for a single garment?” Ar’alani asked.
“All this for just the underlayer,” Mimott corrected with another smile. “There will also be two outer layers, plus a shoulder wrap, gloves, and a hat.”
“And all for a single party,” Frangelic said. “Though the clothing that’s most successful in puzzling the partygoers is put on display to be admired by the entire city.”
“If an outfit is designed properly, it can also be easily transformed into other formalwear,” Mimott added. “Sometimes even into everyday clothing. Have you other questions?”
“No,” Ar’alani said. “Thank you for showing us your work. It’s most impressive.”
“I am honored,” Mimott said. “May your day be warmed with sunshine.”
Frangelic gestured, and they moved off. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Beautiful work,” Ar’alani said. “My aunt enjoyed occasional sewing projects when I was growing up, but nothing this elaborate.”
“We pride ourselves on our craftsmanship,” Frangelic said. “But I see time is growing short. Perhaps later I can show you more of the artisans.” He picked up his pace, the crowd again opening to let them through.
Thrawn moved close to Ar’alani’s side. “Is there a problem?” he asked quietly.