Wintertide by Michael J. Sullivan

red, diagonal strip decorated each side. Depending on how he wore it, the stripe either started from his right or left shoulder, and he could not figure out which was correct.
    As he finally made a decision and placed it over his head, there was a quiet knock followed by the timid opening of his door. A man’s face, accentuated by a beaklike nose and topped by a foppish powdered wig, peered inside. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Sir Hadrian.”
    “Congratulations, you found him,” Hadrian replied.
    The man entered, followed closely by a boy who remained near the door. Thin and brittle-looking, the man was dressed in bright satin knee breeches and an elaborate, ruffled tunic. Even without the outlandish clothing, he would still be comical. Encased in buckled shoes, his feet seemed disproportionally large, and all his limbs were gangly. The teenage lad behind him wore the more conventional attire of a simple brown tunic and hose.
    “My name is Nimbus of Vernes, and I am Imperial Tutor to the Empress. Regent Saldur thought you might need some guidance on court protocol and instruction in knightly virtues, so he asked me to assist you.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” Hadrian said. He stood and offered his hand. At first Nimbus appeared confused, but then he reached out and shook.
    Motioning toward the tabard Hadrian wore, he nodded. “I can see why I was called upon.”
    Hadrian glanced down and shrugged. “Well, I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance.” Removing the garment, he turned the tunic around. “Is that better?”
    Nimbus struggled to suppress a laugh, holding a lace handkerchief to his lips. The boy was not so restrained and snorted, then laughed out loud. This made Nimbus lose his own battle, and finally Hadrian found himself laughing as well.
    “I’m sorry. That was most inappropriate of me,” Nimbus apologized, getting a hold of himself. “I beg your forgiveness.”
    “It’s no problem. Just tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
    “Well, to start with, that particular garment is used only for sparring, and no self-respecting knight would wear such a thing at court.”
    Hadrian shrugged. “Oh, okay, good to know. It was the only thing I saw. Any ideas?”
    Nimbus walked to a drape behind the bunk, and flung it aside, revealing an open wardrobe filled with tunics, jackets, coats, capes, jerkins, gambesons, vests, doublets, baldrics, belts, breeches, shirts, hose, boots, and shoes.
    Hadrian looked at the wardrobe and frowned. “So how was I supposed to know all that was there?”
    “Why don’t we begin by getting you properly dressed?” Nimbus suggested and motioned for Hadrian to pick something.
    He reached toward a pair of wool pants, but a cough from Nimbus stopped him.
    “No?” Hadrian asked.
    Nimbus shook his head.
    “Okay, what do you think I should be wearing?”
    Nimbus considered the wardrobe for several minutes, picking out various pieces, comparing them, putting one back, and then choosing another. He finally selected a white shirt, gold doublet, purple hose, and shiny black shoes with brass buckles. He laid them out on the bunk.
    “You’re joking,” Hadrian said, staring at the array. “That’s your best choice? I’m not sure gold and purple are for me. Besides, what’s wrong with the wool pants?”
    “Those are for hunting and, like the tabard, not appropriate for dress at court. Gold and purple complement each other. They announce you are a man that makes no excuses.”
    Hadrian held up the clothes with a grimace. “They’re loud. Disturbingly loud.”
    “They exude refinement and grace,” Nimbus corrected. “Qualities, if you don’t mind me saying, from which you could benefit. I know knights in the field dress in order to bully rabble-rousers and brigands, and under such circumstances, it’s appropriate to select garments based on certain utilitarian qualities.” He took an appraising look at Hadrian’s attire. “But you are at the palace now, competing with a higher