“What a weird fella.” The soldier at the front of the cold metal bars leaned forward, stroking his bearded chin.

Klaus peered up at him from his seat at the floor. He was drawing on the dirt in the ground, his gloved finger was black with soot.

“You’re not from around here, eh?” He asked, Klaus ignored him.

He wasn’t being rude but he was sure that anything he said to this man would pass through his ears, anyone on this island.

The policeman behind the soldier pulled him back and leaned down to be at Klaus’s level. Although, he did not need to lean that much considering Klaus’s monstrous size.

“Ya deaf, boy?”

Klaus shook his head and stood, straightening his dark coat. He cleared his throat and spoke in a mild voice.

“I am not deaf, sir. And I do not have all the time in world. If you would please release me from this cell, I will be on my way.”

The policeman laughed and shook his head, as Klaus thought he would. The culture of the town was still new to him, as his current arrest illustrated.

He would not break out until nightfall then, he concluded.

He heard the ticking of his pocket watch and pulled it out of his coat. He opened it and read the time, his eyes fixated on the movement of the large hand. The policemen noticed the watch and reached for it, but too slowly for Klaus’s quick movements. He tucked it back in and folded his arms over his chest.

“You’ll have to hand that over to me.” The policeman alerted him.

Klaus stared at him blankly. “I am afraid not. I have no reason to.”

The two men exchanged looks and motioned to the guard at the other side of the cell. He reluctantly pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the cell door. Klaus watched as the soldier made his way inside and extended his hand towards Klaus.

“Hand it over.” He ordered.

The policeman’s eyes darted from the soldier to Klaus, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly.

Klaus sighed “I will not. It belongs to me, thank you very much.”

The soldier looked a little annoyed with his refusal to comply, he reached a hand behind his back, his fingers brushing against the tip of his batting stick.

The policeman found it wise to alert him, “Let’s just leave it. There’s somethin’ funny about this guy”

The soldier felt his power be threatened by such remarks from the policeman.

Klaus nodded towards him, “I would take his advice, sir.”

The soldier let out a grunt and pulled out his batting stick. Klaus, as though he had all his movements mapped in his head, quickly grabbed his forearm and pulled it behind him. Before the soldier could realize what Klaus had done, he lightly kicked him forwards, knocking him off his feet. He gave him a slight push and tossed him out of the cell with a loud thump. The soldier turned in a heat of anger while Klaus dusted himself off.

“I don’t take lightly to threats.” He said in a calm tone.

The soldier furiously lunged toward him, but was forcefully held back by the policeman at his side. The policeman gave him a look that asked for him to leave the situation as it was.

The soldier shook his arm free and let out an irritable huff. He thrusted his batting stick back into its holder on his hip. Klaus watched him from the darkness of his cell, and the two men felt a chill run down their spines. He had the likeness of a ravenous wolf, a stare that reflected under the dim rays of light; almost glowing. Klaus stepped forward and pulled the door closed.

“Careful now,” he sat back on the ground and continued to draw the symbols on the floor, “ you wouldn’t want me to get out, would you?”

The policeman whispered to the soldier and proceeded to lead him out of the cells, the faint ticking of Klaus’s pocket watch growing dimmer and dimmer in the darkness of the hall until there was nothing but the sounds of their footsteps to accompany them to the room above.

                                      . . . . . .

Fabric piled upon fabric stacked on ebony shelves. The windows were fogged with aged and wear. The quaint little tailory was saturated with fragments of a long and laboring day. Behind a  satin covered partition, wrinkly hands tended the royal blue suit of a frowning banker. His shaken hands were not one's of a scared man, but of an old one. A stick here, a prick there--

“Ah!” Franz flinched in pain as the needle missed the pin on his jacket and pierced his skin.

The tailor lifted the needle and started again.

His uniform was too big for him, as he thought it would be, so he had to get it shortened. His tailor, unfortunately was as blind as a bat.

“Ah ghastly needle,” He grumbled, “Many years of use this one. So much wear and tear.”

“Where’s your apprentice? The one with the steady hand?”

“Eh...who knows. I have the experience of twice the tailor he is.”

Franz sighed and attempted to relax his tense shoulders. A bell rang from the front of the Tailory, and another prick landed on Franz’s tired skin. He scrunched his face in dismay.

The old tailor stuck a pin on the button he had been currently sewing and rose to his feet, dropping the measuring tape from his shoulders. He raised a finger to Franz, so as to say ‘wait’, and made his way to the front desk, disappearing behind the partition.

Franz shifted himself carefully towards the mirror that stood behind him, a blue coat stared back at him. He frowned and looked down at his feet, covered almost completely by pants that were two sizes too long.

“Is it now?”

He perked up at the sound of the conversation from the front desk.

He heard the voice of the tailor sigh, “That’s terrible news.”

“We have men equipped for this, usually. But I am afraid we may have to call for assistance from the royal guards.” The other voice avowed.

“But the suit? It was brand new. What an animal he who cannot identify the craftsmanship behind my fabrics. Were he a true gentleman he would have a gentler hand.”

“Perhaps.”

Franz’s interest slowly deteriorated as he began to notice a small twitch in his knee begin to grow. He cursed under his breath. Carefully, he began to shift his weight to his other knee.

“Well, I am currently preparing the suit of a newer recruit. Tax collector. Poor fool is much too gaunty. I suppose I will have to fix the rip another time.”

Franz face felt hot. Although, as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he was not wrong. He ate well, but it did no difference to his smaller proportions. He hissed at his bony appearance and briskly returned his gaze to the floor.

A warm shadow grew crept behind him, and he believed it to be the tailor; done with his gossip.

“If you would like I can return tomorrow.” He assured, but a younger and steadier hand took the needle from his sleeve.

Franz turned and saw the rosy face of the apprentice, Jack Marner.

“No need, Mr. Schwarz. I can take over from here.”

Franz’s shoulders tensed again, much to his surprise. He nodded stiffly.

Jack Marner...

Franz admired Mr. Marner greatly. The young man was everything Franz wanted to be. Youthful, inventive, strong-willed. He was one to take control of his own path much like the thread in his needle. Jack was also a handsome man, Franz had noticed upon meeting him years ago. He was gleeful, charismatic. Not to mention those two emerald eyes free of stress or worry that wrinkled only for Mr. Marner's smiles.

Jack moved a hand towards the button on the coat pocket, a steady palm lining Franz’s waist. Franz watched as he moved swiftly and naturally with his needlework. He wanted to say something, a few words of gratitude at least, but he found himself at a loss for confidence.

“So, a tax collector.” Jack coaxed, breaking the stiffness in the air.

Franz’s face flushed, “Oh, the uniform. Well…”

“Forgive me for intruding, sir.”

Franz relaxed, “It’s no trouble. You see, I have received a promotion.”

Jack’s brows raised, “Gee, I’m envious sir. Tax collectors...what a life they live.”

“Hardly.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have never met someone who enjoyed the arrival of one of the blue-suits. But I suppose it isn’t any different from the reputation of a banker.”

“Does it matter who likes you or not?” Jack posed, “at the end of the day, it’s a home that you come to, not people.”

Franz paused a moment and pondered on Jack’s lamentable words.

“You’re not married yet, are you Mr. Marner?”

Jack smiled weakly and tied off the button with blue thread. His palm left Franz waist, and Franz’s tense muscles took a moment to themselves.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Schwarz. I do believe that married life is not one for me.”

Franz gave a small nod and looked towards the wall in front of them. A sand colored wallpaper that was garnished with images of feathers and birds caught his attention.

“Do you prefer to live freely, Mr. Marner? Unrestricted by the ties of marriage?” He inquired after a while.

Jack paused and pulled himself back in wonder, tapping the needle to his plump lips. Franz captivatingly watched him.

Tap, tap, tap.

“I suppose,” he mused, “I don’t fancy the idea of wives, Mr. Schwarz. Either way, it seems I prefer to fly towards the spring unhinged. Preferring to feel the tempest upon my wings without the guilt of the empty cage I have left behind.”

Franz watched him continue back to work. How admirable, he thought to himself. Such a craftsman and a wordsmith.

What a man, that Jack Marner.