Montague snips away at Fassn’s hair until the bushy mass has something of a shaped and styled look to it. He even puts a few braids into Fassn’s beard, conditioning the dry, wiry hair until it has a sheen like the twinkle in Fassn’s eye.
He luxuriates in a tub while the others, one by one, move through the barbery chair. Cang is quickest, but he’s never felt his bald head so smooth and supple as now. Shyan has her mess of hair trimmed to clean lines, and Abia’s dreadlocks are renewed with sweet-smelling beeswax.
When all is complete, Monsier Montague says, “It is customary to tip, yes? But I know you are penniless, despite your noble appearance. Thus I eagerly anticipate your return!” And with that, he turns to sweeping as the sun crests its zenith outside.