Castle of Wizardry

amusing?" she demanded.
    "You'd be like a turtle in something like that," he replied. "You wouldn't be able to move."
    "The drawings are only intended to give you a general idea," she told him, trying to keep a grip on her temper.
    "Why don't you be a good girl and take these to a dressmaker?" he suggested. "I work in steel, not brocade or satin. Armor like this would be useless, and so uncomfortable that you wouldn't be able to wear it."
    "Then modify it," she grated from between clenched teeth.
    He glanced at her design again, then deliberately crumpled her drawings in his fist and threw them into the corner. "Foolishness," he grunted.
    Ce'Nedra resisted the urge to scream. She retrieved the drawings. "What's the matter with them?" she persisted.
    "Too much here." He stabbed a thick finger at the shoulder represented on the drawing. "You wouldn't be able to lift your arm. And here." He pointed at the armhole on the breastplate she had drawn. "If I make it that tight, your arms would stick straight out. You wouldn't even be able to scratch your nose. As long as we're at it, where did you get the whole notion in the first place? Do you want a mail shirt or a breastplate? You can't have both."
    "Why not?"
    "The weight. You wouldn't be able to carry it."
    "Make it lighter then. Can't you do that?"
    "I can make it like cobwebs if you want, but what good would it be if I did? You could cut through it with a paring knife."
    Ce'Nedra drew in a deep breath. "Master armorer," she said to him in a level voice, "look at me. In all the world do you think there's a single warrior small enough for me to fight?"
    He considered her tiny form, scratching his bald head and looking down at her with pursed lips. "You are a bit undergrown," he admitted. "If you aren't going to fight, why do you need armor?"
    "It's not actually going to be armor," she explained to him rather impatiently, "but I need to look like I'm wearing armor. It's sort of in the nature of a costume." She saw instantly that her choice of words had been a mistake. Delban's face darkened, and he threw her drawings away again. It took another ten minutes to mollify him. Eventually, after much wheedling and outrageous flattery, she persuaded him to consider the whole notion as something in the nature of an artistic challenge.
    "All right," he surrendered finally with a sour look, "take off your clothes."
    "What?"
    "Take your dress off," he repeated. "I need exact measurements."
    "Do you realize what you're suggesting?"
    "Little girl," he said testily, "I'm a married man. I've got daughters older than you are. You are wearing underclothes, aren't you?"
    "Yes, but "
    "That will satisfy the demands of modesty. Take off the dress."
    With a flaming face, Ce'Nedra removed her dress. Durnik the smith, who had watched the entire exchange from the doorway with an open grin on his face, politely turned his back.
    "You ought to eat more," Delban told her. "You're as scrawny as a chicken."
    "I can do without the comments," she replied tartly. "Get on with this. I'm not going to stand around in my chemise all day."
    Delban picked up a piece of stout cord with knots tied in it at regular intervals. He took a great many measurements with the cord, meticulously recording them on a piece of flat board. "All right," he said finally. "That ought to do it. Go ahead and get dressed again."
    Ce'Nedra scrambled back into her dress. "How long will it take?" she asked.
    "Two or three weeks."
    "Impossible. I need it next week."
    "Two weeks," he repeated stubbornly.
    "Ten days," she countered.
    For the first time since she had entered his workshop, the blunt man smiled. "She's used to getting her own way, isn't she?" he observed to Durnik.
    "She's a princess," Durnik informed him. "She usually gets what she wants in the end."
    "All right, my scrawny little princess." Delban laughed. "Ten days."
    Ce'Nedra beamed at him. "I knew you'd see it my way."
    Precisely ten days later, the princess, with Durnik once again in tow, returned to Delban's workshop. The mail shirt the craftsman had fashioned was so light that it could almost have been described as delicate. The helmet, hammered from thin steel, was surmounted with a white plume and was encircled with a gold crown. The greaves, which were to protect the fronts of Ce'Nedra's legs, fit to perfection. There was even an embossed shield rimmed with brass and a light sword with an ornate hilt and scabbard.
    Ce'Nedra, however, was staring disapprovingly