Newsletter Archive | April 1st 2024

Fool of a Took!

Did you know there are only seven instances of the word 'fool' in Tolkien's "The Fellowship of the Ring"? Even the "Hobbit" only contained four of the famous word. Yet, the word has been a favorite of mine, no small thanks to Peter Jackson’s movies, and had appeared in the “Doppelganger Queen” about thrice as much. Whether you're feeling foolish or planning to fool around, I hope this email reaches out to you in good health and fun.

Speaking of Fools...

I want to share a fun story of a barber who foolishly set up his shop right next to the Salt n’ Battery. It was one of the many darlings I had to cut from the first draft because the tone of the book had shifted. It was a joy to blow the dust off and revise it for your reading pleasure. I hope it would be a joy to you as well.

Seville, Barber of Amaveriel

Seville’s barbershop was pristine from the top of the rafters to the lowest grout. And he wants to keep it that way. He spent most of this morning wiping the windows free of any sea salt and luncheon to hand painted the logo. Leaving him to do one final sweep of the floor underneath the desk where his shears and combs were stored.

“There and done,” Seville said as he sequestered the finicky offender into the dustpan.

The bell chimed a merry tune. A dwarven pirate walked in with a mighty cutlass strapped to his side. His surly disposition was equally matched with the accessorized animal bones. Even his hat, darkened with tanners smoke, enhances the menacing presence. Many shopkeepers would cower from such a sight, but not Seville. Pirates have been and always will be a welcome sight in Amaveriel.

He gave the pirate a deep bow. “The great Captain Oaken Smoken. How may I be of service?”

Oaken took two solemn steps before sizing him up. He knew trust was hard to come by for most captains. Mutiny from a scurvy-ridden crew or a contest of a hot-headed XO will do that to you. Thus, all Seville did was wait, with his hands draped on the end of the boom handle.

The pirate cluck his tongue. “A trim. Nothing fancy.”

“Certainly.”

He helped Oaken of his coat and cutlass before settling him into the cushioned chair. Then he snapped the bib open in the air and tucked it under his roving beard.

“Now, how would you like it done for today?” Seville asked.

“A little over the top and a smidge off the sides… Erm please,” the dreadful pirate said as an afterthought.

Not in most decent places, I see, thought Seville as he lifted the weevil-ridden hat.

He paused.

“A little over the top?” Seville repeated the order.

“And a smidge off the sides. Yes.”

Seville sniffed and twisted his mustache in thought. The top of the captain’s head was as bare as a newborn’s rump. Nary a follicle sprung from the shiny patch before it gave way to a lush circle of copper curls. Those curls merged into the pirate’s beard, which, to be frank, is beyond disheveled.

“As free of charge, I can throw in a trim for your beard,” Seville offered.

“Nope, nope, can’t touch the beard,” protested Oaken. “Tis bad luck to cut the beard at this time of year.”

“Are you sure? It’s—”

“—By my mother’s hairy tits, I’m sure. ‘Tis a black moon. A bad moon to cut any dwarven beard.”

Hogwash, thought Seville, for he had cut plenty of dwarven beards during such times with no ill effects. But he’ll humor his client. Pirates are a superstitious lot—and a hair trigger lot, to boot. Seville gave him a once over, trying to find a way to ease such a drastic transition to a suitable shape. There, he found it by the nape of his neck where the curls were clustered haphazardly.

“What of the back?” Seville asked, “It would enhance your side profile.”

“No. No. No.” Oaken said, as he waved his hand to and fro. “Can’t touch the nape. Not the nape.”

“The moon again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The dwarf turned in his seat and looked at him dead in the eyes. “One snip at the back and it’ll shrivel back.” Then he turned away with a mournful tone in his voice. “Happened to me once when I was a wee lad. One snip—gone. Nothing left but a husk of its former self.”

Seville blinked. With a single finger, he pulled back his client’s collar. The dwarf’s back was a rug of copper. Why, even he, a skillful barber, couldn’t tell where the back began and the hair ends. With a flick, he let the collar snap back into place and rubbed his slender fingers over his eyes.

I give up.

“Very well, good sir. Let us begin,” Seville said.

He reached for his comb but stopped himself short. The ivory instrument was scooting across the desk.

In what manner of…

In a blink, Seville found himself flung onto the floor. What was once a mirror is now a gaping hole. His roof was blown clear off and his pristine windows shattered. Miraculously, Oaken Smoken was still in his seat. His face is covered in dust, with his hair sticking straight back and the beard’s edges glowing with embers. Yet he sat there, twiddling his thumbs.

From the smoldering hole emerged three people. A muscular man with massive muttonchops, a diminutive lady satyr, and a man with silver eyes.

The muttonchop man spoke, “As ye can see here, a tiny dab on the wall will have an impact of abou’ twenty feet. Much more potent than yer average ‘candlestick’.” He slapped his hand down on Oaken’s shoulder and continued his sales pitch. “And the best part is the safety radius. Fifteen feet from the origin point to be safe from the blast. Well, not accounting fer flying debris, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated the silver-eyed man.

The salesman patted the pirate on the same shoulder before gesturing them back into the hole. “Tis only two hundred gold. But since yer a first-time customer, I’ll give ye a twenty percent discount.”

The man smirked. “I’ll take it.”

The two shook hands on it, and then the lady paid him. Then they disappeared back into the sulfur-rich fog of that gap. That was when the pirate captain raised his hand and snapped twice as if he was dining at a luxury restaurant. Defeated, Serville picked out a mirror that have the least amount of cracks in it.

I’m doomed. He thought as he held it before him.

The fearsome pirate nodded thoughtfully. Then exclaimed, “I love it!”

The barber was gobsmacked as Oaken Smoken hopped out of his chair and grabbed his belongings. Even humming to himself a little shanty while he strapped on his cutlass. He waddled towards the door, still standing despite the catastrophic damage.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” the captain said.

He produced a palm-sized pouch and dropped it on the debris ridden counter. It landed with a solid thunk.

“See you next year.” He waggled his fingers at him.

Then the pirate captain spun on his heels and exit out of the door. The bell chimed with a dull ding from the dent in its metal. He strutted down the boulevard with his head held high into the shopping crowd. The door slam back into the frame and the whole thing fell with a thud, creating a plume of smoke in its wake.

That stirred Seville in a coughing fit. Once the dust settled, he picked his way over to the bag and untied it. A fistful of doubloons shines in greeting. More than he ever makes in a year. Out of the rubble, he shook out the sign and hung it on a single nail. “CLOSED,” it reads to any passerby that bothered to care. Then, with the earnings in his pocket, Seville, formerly a barber of Amaveriel, took the next boat. Never to return.

Don't Forget!

Be sure to get your exclusive listen to the official playlist of the “Doppelganger Queen” only on Spotify. The code is only available for a few days, so click down below for it expires.

The Playlist

As always, thank you for reading,

K.N. Fitzwater