Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time by Knight Blindness

“Come here.”
    Stephen reached out with one hand found Alex’s arm and said, “Come closer.” He held up
    a handful of the draperies. “Smell.”
    Alex sniffed the material. “You’re right. There’s a faint scent of tobacco. Ian must smoke
    his cigars in here occasionally. I hadn’t noticed when we walked through earlier.”
    “I don’t know what a cigar or tobacco is. This scent that clings to the furniture and
    window covers is not unpleasant and as you can tell mild.”
    “They say a blind person’s other senses are heightened by the loss of the one. I wondered
    if that was really true.”
    “I’d trade all the other improvements no matter how good to regain my sight.”
    “I can imagine how terrible the situation is for you.”
    “No, you can’t.” How could he, when by his own admission, he’d been given a new body,
    hale and robust?
    “You’re right. I’m trying to say, I’m sympathetic to what you’re going through.”
    Sympathy was pity’s demure sister. Stephen dropped the edge of the drapery and turned
    his face so Alex didn’t see the hatred being thought pitiful brought him.
    “I don’t seek sympathy, yours or anyone else’s. How simple you make my problem sound.
    It’s not merely a matter of adjusting to the impenetrable black of my world,” he said, facing Alex.
    “Along with my sight, I lost my place in the world. I have no history here, no touchstone or way to measure my worth.”
    “True, you have no history here. But you’re wrong about the rest. Your worth as a man is
    measured by the same standard as before. Everything that’s good and bad still remains within you and those qualities are how you’re judged.”
    “People judge by what they see first...a man who needs a cane to keep from walking into
    doors and trees and most anything.”
    Alex patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. We need to get going.”
    Stephen headed for the bedroom. He counted his strides to the far wall and felt along the
    surface to guide him to the room. An attachment to the wall that was longer than it was wide and made of material he didn’t recognize had a toggle. He stopped.
    “What is this?”
    “A light switch. It does the same as dozens of candles without using actual candles.”
    “Candlelight at the touch of your fingers? Incredible,” Stephen said and patted along the
    wall back to the bedroom. “By-the-by, you could have warned me the...the...what’s it called?” He tapped a tooth with his finger.
    “Toothpaste?”
    “Indeed, the toothpaste. It foamed in my mouth. I felt a mad dog. It’s bad enough the
    world believes me mad without my looking like a wild animal too.”
    “You’ll be happy to know toothpaste foams like that for everyone. Not to worry. Let me
    grab a shirt, trousers, shoes and socks for you.”
    “I tried on the undergarments Shakira provided. I chose the short braies,” he said and
    dropped the towel he’d wrapped around his waist when Alex knocked. “I like the small
    underwear. They’re soft and keep my bits grouped together well.”
    “Whoa, that’s way more than I needed to know.”
    A minute later, Alex said, “I picked jeans for you. They’re popular. Everyone wears them.
    I laid everything next to each other at the foot of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy and wait in the drawing room.”
    Everything went fine. The tiny buttons on the shirt cuffs he managed with ease. The ones
    for the collar tried his patience. If the lady tutor weren’t coming, he’d leave off getting the collar buttoned. Next he pulled the jeans on, but below the button top was a rip bordered with metal
    teeth. The gap made taking care of personal needs easy. Convenient, but it didn’t seem right
    showing his underwear to all and sundry.
    “Alex, these jeans are damaged, ripped in the front. I need another pair.” Stephen opened
    the closet and found the side where the trousers were as Miranda called them. He ran his fingers