Chapter Text
When he was fifteen, way back in 1972, Allen Goodman had been taken by his father to work. He’d been to the shop before. His grandfather and his father had both worked for Kingsman their entire lives. In fact, a Goodman had been hired just two years after the shop was established in the nineteenth century, and one had worked for the shop ever since.
His older brother hadn’t been interested in becoming a tailor. Like every kid growing up in the shadow of the British invasion, Derek wanted to be a singer or songwriter or something to do with music. Unlike most of them, he’d succeeded, in a way. His brother was a sound mixer working at the Abbey Road studios. He’d even met the Beatles once, just before the end. (John was rude; Paul was friendly in a distant sort of way. George was quiet, and Ringo had talked to him for nearly an hour about how to achieve a good balance in the mix for drummers.)
Allen loved the scraps of fabric his father had brought home for his sister’s Barbie dolls. Her Ken was probably the only one in history wearing a proper bespoke suit, too. He’d watched his father put it together, learned the basics of measurements and tiny stitches and how to place the patterns perfectly so they’d look seamless at a distance.
His father had shown him how to alter his own clothes so that they fit better, and some of his friends had asked them to do the same for their clothes. He also mended clothes and appliqued patches to make his friends jeans and shirts look like the pictures they were seeing from San Francisco and Woodstock.
Just after he’d sat his O levels, his father sat him down and asked him if he’d like to apprentice at the shop. One of the things Allen always admired about his father was that he insisted Allen take time to think about his answer -- even discuss it with friends -- before making a final answer.
It hadn’t taken long for him to decide. He’d done well on his O levels, better than he’d been expecting if he were frank, but he didn’t enjoy school. He liked the idea of tradition, of being the Goodman of his generation. He liked the idea of quality.
And the day his father had walked him into the shop to take his place in the long line of Kingsman tailors, in the long line of Goodmans who’d been Kingsman tailors, was one of the proudest of his life.
The first couple of weeks, he was shown the basics of every department. He was only allowed to touch the chalk and the measuring tapes, and even then, Allen wasn’t actually allowed to use them. Two years into his four year apprenticeship, a friend of his father’s -- a cutter, not a tailor -- offered him a chance to work in the cutting room. He spoke with his father, found out that cutters were paid more, he already knew they were considered the top dogs in the shop, and accepted the offer. It would mean three extra years of apprenticeship, but Allen was certain he was up for it.
A year later, his mentor and his father had taken him into one of the upstairs’ offices at the shop and introduced him to a very tall man with a very deep voice who said he was called Merlin. For the next hour he’d heard about the other history of Kingsman and at the end of it, he’d sat silent wondering where to begin with his questions.
His first one was, “What does this mean for me?”
Merlin said, “We’d like you to leave your apprenticeship for three or four years and go into the military. Once your service has been completed, you will finish your apprenticeship while learning some of the … tools the shop uses for defense.”
He looked among the men in the room. His mentor, Griggs, pulled his scissors apart and tossed the sections as throwing knives.
His father wrapped an arm around his chest and held a needle to his throat. “You’re safe, son, but this needle has a small plunger which can knock you out if it goes to its first notch and will kill you if it goes to the second notch.”
Allen glanced over his shoulder at his father and felt his hold loosen. “That’s amazing, Dad. Terrifying, but amazing.”
Merlin said, “You may have noticed that most of the tape measures are heavier at one end.”
Allen nodded. “Never made much sense.”
Merlin nodded at Griggs who said, “Of course, Merlin.” He took a few steps and Merlin tossed the tape measure entangling his legs.
“It also can be held at the unweighted end and, when tossed, wrap around someone’s throat to use as a garotte. The fabric is quite strong enough.”
“I see,” Allen said.
“Do you?” Merlin asked. “Most of the people who work for us in the shop have no idea of the deeper aspects of what we do, what Kingsman really is. It’s not too difficult to keep them separate as most of our sempsters and even some of the cutters stay in our workrooms in Jermyn Street. Your father and Griggs think you have potential to one day be chief cutter, and at Kingsman that means you’ll also be chief defender of the shop. Essentially, you’ll have two professions and be at the very top of both of them.”
Allen nodded. “Just one question -- well, one and a follow-up.”
“Go ahead,” Merlin managed to sound both ominous and amused.
“Why not have me complete my tailor’s apprenticeship entirely before sending me to the military?”
“Because this is the time in your life when you can train to peak fitness. It will be easier for you to maintain throughout the rest of your life if you establish it now. And your follow up question?”
“Which branch of service?”
Merlin grinned. “Since most commando functions have been moved to the Royal Marines, I think it would be the best fit, shall we say? There’ll be a small bonus when you get your beret -- a larger one if you get either of the badges. I know four years is a long time, but your job here is guaranteed.”
He glanced at his father and his mentor, both of whom had such faith in him. “I’ll enlist tomorrow, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.”
***
The four years went by faster than he’d thought possible. When he got back to the shop, his first three months were spent relearning and refreshing his tailoring skills. The new Merlin -- who was nowhere near as impressive -- showed him how to activate the lift in dressing room one to get to headquarters and scheduled him for regular time on the obstacle course and weapons ranges.
He was also trained on the shop specific weapons: the two types of throwing scissors, the poisoned needles, the red (incendiary if lit) and black (explosive) chalks, the measuring garrote, the knockout thimbles, and the french curve throwing star. There was a course on using the fabric bolts as shields, too.
And he met the agents. It wasn’t like Allen hadn’t already met the buyers and international sales people, but suddenly, they made more sense in the context of the shop. Knowing that the buyer of alpaca yarn from Peru was actually looking into the disappearances in Chile or Argentina explained why his business trips took so long.
He now had access to dressing room three and knew how to work all of the items housed there, though he’d probably never carry any of them. Merlin also told him that dressing room two was wired for sound, so certain less reputable clients might be sent there for the fittings and simultaneous evidence collection.
In the meantime, he was becoming a serious cutter.
***
The first agent whose suit he was allowed to cut -- under Griggs’ supervision, naturally -- was Tristan. He was in early middle age, but very fit, with red hair beginning to turn sandy as he went grey. Tristan needed a new dinner jacket and a suit which would let him pass as a banker in the city. The three of them debated the merits of navy, black with a slightly higher contrast pinstripe, and various shades of grey.
Finally, Tristan held his hand up to Griggs and turned to Allen, “You’re young. You see the current styles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your suggestion, then?”
“Navy isn’t serious enough for banking. The high contrast pinstripe would look good on you, but could, you’ll forgive me for saying so, come across a bit ‘mutton dressed as lamb.’ I think this shade of grey,” he pulled out the mid-tone shade, “would be best. You can go slightly more extravagant with your shirtings or ties if you need to look like a risk-taker, but it will also tone down for more high powered meetings.” Allen hoped the fluttering in his stomach under the man’s gaze didn’t show.
Tristan ran his fingertips over the fabric, feeling how fine the texture was. He smiled and turned to Griggs, “You’re training him well. This fabric will do nicely. Double breasted, please. And single breasted for the dinner jacket.” He nodded to Allen. “Excellent reasoning.”
Once he left, Griggs said, “Tristan is hard to please.”
“He’s the oldest agent I’ve seen,” Allen ventured.
“He’s been an agent over twenty years. Rumor had it that it was one of the most competitive training cohorts ever.”
“How old was the oldest knight you’ve known?”
“Other than Arthur? I believe the last Erec retired at sixty-five. Technically, any knight can retire after twenty years and any knight can be removed from duty if his scores drop below the minimum standard. In practice, they stay as long as they can and tend to keep themselves healthy.”
“And the others? The ones I see at headquarters?”
“You mean the young nurse in the hospital area? The one you manage to see for some reason every time you go out there?”
Allen blushed. “Sharon… I like her.”
Griggs clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell me something I don’t know. Now then, since this is a rush order, I’ll take the dinner jacket, you’ll cut and supervise the suit.”
Allen’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I’m ready?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we.”