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Her cart, her donkey, her food, her inventory of cloth and sewing notions, all gone.
"Bib!" she shrieked.
The satchel with the magic book was still sitting on the cart seat.
Her only friend in the entire cruel, unfair world—gone.
Merrigan let go of the magic box and fell over it with a wail. She cried her eyes swollen and sticky. Cried her voice hoarse. Cried until she could hardly breathe and the front of her dress was damp and she thought she might be sick. Cried until she thought she might just be losing her mind—because it was the strangest thing, she actually felt better, despite her aching head and sore throat and churning stomach.
"Oh, Bib, I'm sorry," she moaned, when she had caught her breath. "They likely don't know how to read, so they'll probably rip out your pages and use them for kindling. I failed you. I let them kidnap you."
"Is it really kidnapping when they didn't even know they had me, and they certainly couldn't keep me?" Bib said.
Merrigan tried to shriek, but her throat hurt too much and she didn't quite have enough breath. She settled for scrambling away from the dark lump that had appeared before her.
"Bib?" Her voice cracked in a most unbecoming way, but she didn't care. Cautiously, she reached out and rested a hand on the dark lump—it certainly felt like the leather of his satchel.
"Right here, Mi'Lady. How?" he said with a rippling chuckle. "It's all in the bond we've created. Do you really think my former master would leave me vulnerable so anyone who walked into his library could steal me?"
"Well, you have to consider they'd have to go through a dozen magical wards, at the very least," she mumbled, wiping her face.
"You bound me to you when you repaired me, and I have chosen to bind myself to you. We are friends."
"It just shows how low I have fallen in the world, that my only friend ..." Merrigan sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve and for once didn't care what it looked like. "I'm sorry, Bib. That was cruel. I truly am the selfish brat my brothers and sisters always called me. You are my dearest friend, in some ways the only real friend I have ever had, and I am glad you—well, you do like me, don't you?"
"Enormously, Mi'Lady. I see great and good things hidden within you."
"Your eyesight is much better than most. Such good things must be hidden very deep indeed. I certainly don't see them."
"They need excavating, so to speak, Mi'Lady. Well, now that we're back together, I suggest we make you as comfortable as we can for the night, then in the morning find the nearest village. There should be an official of some kind who can help us."
"Most likely, some of the brutes who robbed me are his sons or nephews. That seems the way of it, out here so far from civilized towns. Those with any kind of power and authority abuse it."
"You never know. Luck might be on our side this time."
Merrigan was pleased to discover that she had stored quite a few necessary things inside the magic box, taking advantage of its expanded interior. Her teapot and the tin of tea. Scissors, pin cushion and measuring tape. A paper packet of sweets the wife at the last farm had given her, in thanks for mending her husband's coat, along with three boiled eggs, half a loaf of bread and a block of cheese as big as her fist. All tossed into the magic box because it had been open at the time. Merrigan wished she had thought to put her little bag of gold and silver coins in there, along with her extra clothes and blankets. Fortunately, the cloak was warm and thick, coming between her and the rocks and branches and uneven ground. Merrigan made a decent dinner for herself. She discovered a little waterskin tucked into one corner of the box, just large enough for two mouthfuls. Then laughed a little harder than was reasonable when it spilled out a stream of water that didn't stop until she squeezed the neck and stuck the plug back in the mouth.
"Did you know it could do that?" she asked Bib, as she set the pot of water over the flames of her magical fire.
"No, Mi'Lady. I think we have been remiss in exploring all the wonderful things Chancellor Morton gifted us with."
"Remind me to do something wonderful for him, when I have regained my throne. Even considering all the help I was to him in resolving Seafoam's problems ..." Merrigan sighed and closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fists. "Bib, do you think, with all the wonderful little magic tools at his disposal, Chancellor Morton knew who I really was, and that's why he helped me? Not to be kind, but because it was his duty to a queen?"
"To be blunt," Bib replied after a short silence, "I think he has far too much on his plate to care about the trials of, if you will excuse me, Mi'Lady, the former queen of a kingdom far from Seafoam. I think he is first of all a kind man, and wise. One who knows how to repay invaluable help. If he had magic strong enough to discern your true identity, then he would have done more for you than he did. He was being kind and grateful to Mistress Mara, not to Princess Merrigan of Avylyn."
"You must be right," she whispered. She managed a weak little smile at the realization that it didn't bother her when he referred to her as a princess, rather than a queen. She was just too tired to fight over such details—or maybe it just didn't matter anymore.
~~~~~
A MERCHANT'S CARAVAN caught up with Merrigan when she stopped at a spring just past noon, to rest and have something to eat. The merchant's daughter was a sweet creature wearing far too many ribbons on her traveling dress. She squealed with delight when she heard Merrigan tell her father she was a seamstress. Before Merrigan quite knew it, she was ensconced in the largest of the wagons, plied with a warm meat pie and sweets while Gilda interrogated her about fashion and the latest designs. She nearly swooned when Merrigan admitted she had made the wedding gown for Princess Dulcibella of Seafoam, and had sewed in the royal courts of Avylyn and Carlion.
At the next village, Merrigan climbed out of the wagon with the assistance of Gilda and her father, Master Gilbrick, who both treated her as if she were quite fragile. A very nice change in circumstances. She barely heard them as they made plans for her to stay in the inn with them. Her attention caught firmly on the sight of three of the six bandits, on display on the village green. One sat in the stocks, the second stood in the pillory, and the third wore her donkey's magic harness, which attached him firmly to the shattered remains of her cart.
A fourth member of the band, she found out from the innkeeper, was in bad shape, having been kicked brutally in the face and ribs by her donkey. The big, friendly man brought them their dinner himself and delighted in telling the merchant and Gilda and Merrigan all the details of the ruckus just the night before. The six young men, known in the surrounding five villages as troublemakers, had arrived just after moonrise, arguing loudly. As far as anyone could tell, four of them were mocking the other two over how a little old woman had bested them, bloodying their knuckles and breaking their cudgels. The two were angry enough about the teasing that they turned on their partners. Then the donkey got into the fight. The noise of the brawl brought the constable running, along with a troop of guardsmen on their way to report to King Fredric. The sergeant of the troop recognized two of the bandits as deserters, and immediately took them into custody. When their friends tried to help them, they were easily subdued. The judge for the five villages was due to come to town in four more days, and the foursome were being held until then.
"What about the cloth and other items they stole?" Merrigan asked. "Were they lost?"
"How do you know the cart was full of cloth?" The innkeeper took a step back and looked her up and down. Before she could respond, his face lit up and he let out a bellow of laughter that gained the attention of nearly everyone in the main room of the inn. "Bless me if you aren't the little old woman who fought them off. Please tell me you are?"
"Excuse me, Mistress Mara," Merchant Gilbrick said, "but proving the contents of the cart are yours could be difficult. I don't want to cause trouble, but I've run afoul of local authorities while trying to take back my rightful property that was stolen."
"Hmm, true," the innkeeper said. "Constable Fitz is a decent enough man, but he's got a dozen women of reputable families clamoring for him to declare that cloth abandoned property, so they can claim it. They'll fight you all the way."
"Where is my donkey? She'll know me," Merrigan said.
The donkey had fled into the night as soon as she kicked the one man in the ribs for the third time. No one was sure where she had gone. Merrigan and Gilda went up to the room they were to share, while Gilbrick and the innkeeper went to speak with Constable Fitz. Merrigan wanted to confront the four remaining bandits. She hadn't exactly gotten a good look at four of them, but the faces of the two who had attacked her would stay strong in her memory for a good long time to come. She just hoped they weren't the two who had been hauled away as deserters, to face King Fredric's justice.
"What's more important is if they recognize you," Bib offered, when he and Merrigan were alone together for a few moments.
To her delight, the man in the stocks and the man in the harness did recognize her when she stalked up to them the next morning. The one in the harness shrieked and tried to flee while still on his hands and knees, while his friend in the stocks went stark white, then bright red, then let out a stream of curses. Constable Fitz, a rugged yet pious man, slapped the curser across the mouth with his meaty fist, knocking him backward off the log he was sitting on.
"Good enough identification for me, Mistress," he said, tipping his floppy cap to Merrigan.
The women of the village, who had hoped to get their hands on the cloth from her cart, were not happy. Merrigan listened to the advice of Merchant Gilbrick and Bib and offered to sell the cloth to them, with a sizeable discount if they commissioned her to design the clothes to be made from it. The local seamstress was happy, as she would have the sewing income. That seemed to please everyone. Merrigan let Gilbrick handle the sales, and he negotiated for one-third again as much as she would have charged. Gilda and her father insisted on taking Merrigan under their wing and making her part of their traveling party.
They made their home in Williburton, a decent-sized country north of Carlion, east of Avylyn. It was also west of Sylvanglade, though why Bib had to point it out to her, Merrigan didn't know. She was delighted to travel with them and get that much closer to home. Gilda treated every word that fell from her lips as if they were gold. At least, everything Merrigan had to say about fashion, which colors were best for Gilda's complexion, and what countries produced the best cloth.
After only a few days, Merrigan learned Gilbrick was even more a slave to fashion than his daughter. He nearly swooned over fine quality material and subtle designs in the weaving. Some merchants lived for the thrill of the bargain, while others hoarded gold with the ferocity of dragons. Gilbrick lived in the pursuit of the finest cloth and most exquisite dyes.
"Someone so single-minded," Bib remarked, "is setting himself up for trouble. He needs to find some other passions in life. He's giving off the magical equivalent of a beacon fire, just begging for someone to come cast a spell on him. Or worse, swindle him."
~~~~~
THE JOURNEY TO ALLIBURTON, the capitol of Williburton, Gilbrick and Gilda's home, should have taken a little more than a moon. The journey took three moons, because Gilbrick stopped at every city and town and tiny village along the road. He left Gilda to oversee his apprentices, who did the actual work of setting up the portable stalls, setting out their merchandise to display, and haggling with the customers. Gilbrick wandered through other sections of the market district, or in the rural areas, walked beyond the village. After the fifth such stop, Merrigan asked Gilda why.
"It's obvious your father is looking for something," she said, as the two of them settled down for the night in the opulent main wagon. Gilbrick's ventures into the last village had taken so long that they didn't leave until the first hint of sunset. The merchant caravan had traveled until dark and set up camp.
Quite frankly, Merrigan couldn't understand why they didn't camp along the road every night and save the coins that an innkeeper would charge. The wagons were sturdy and snug, the long couches served quite well as beds, they had plenty of food, and Gilbrick's cook was a sight better than many of the cooks in the inns they had frequented so far.
"What is he looking for? He never comes back with anything, though sometimes he seems quite pleased. Perhaps whoever he was talking to gave him clues in his quest?"
"Papa is seeking magical cloth," Gilda said in a whisper, her eyes shining. "Cloth too beautiful to behold. Fine enough that an entire bolt will pass through the eye of a needle, yet strong enough it can withstand arrows and swords."
"I should think clothes made from such cloth would be very uncomfortable. If it acts like armor, I imagine it would ventilate like armor, too." Merrigan's nose wrinkled up just at the thought of the stink. "Besides, how would you cut that kind of cloth to make clothes? All it would be good for is to use as a tent, and even then you couldn't stake it down against high winds because you couldn't pierce it to attach the stakes."
Gilda stared at her for several seconds. Then she burst into tears. Merrigan couldn't quite muffle her sigh as she put an arm around the girl and patted her back. Gilda was ordinarily a cheerful creature, yet when she did cry, she could go on for hours. It was best to comfort and distract her as soon as possible.
One of these days, she's either going to flood us out with her copious tears, Bib observed, or her howls will attract wolves or orcs or something much nastier.
Merrigan couldn't muffle her chuckle, but Gilda didn't hear over her sobs. Soon enough, though, she got the girl to wipe her eyes. There was something almost amusing about Gilda in tears. Her explanation for why she was crying usually turned out to be silly enough to make even Gilbrick laugh, and he took her far more seriously than anyone else.
"What did I say to hurt you?" Merrigan had learned early that taking some blame on herself made Gilda calm down more quickly, because the sweet, silly girl wouldn't let anyone say anything against Merrigan. Even herself.
"Oh, you didn't—I mean, you did—oh—"
She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes and dug through a low box tucked under the couch until she found an enormous handkerchief, which she used to blow her nose. Merrigan found some comfort that while Gilda's face didn't get swollen and red when she cried, she blew her nose loud enough to call dragons out of the sky.
"It's the cloth. If my father ever succeeds in finding the cloth of his dreams, well ... I know he'll spend everything he has to obtain it, and then what good will it do him if he can't use it for anything? Oh, Mistress Mara, you're so incredibly wise. You must help me protect my father. I adore him so, but sometimes he just lacks for common sense. It frightens me."
Now that's saying something, Bib said.
You—hush! Merrigan muffled her laughter into a cough, and set about comforting Gilda. She promised to try to think of something to help her keep Gilbrick out of trouble.
Unfortunately, she proved to be very little influence on Gilbrick on the long, wandering journey back to Williburton. She tried to convince him that if the cloth in the local market wasn't remarkable, then someone weaving in a tumbledown shack out in the forest likely couldn't produce anything worthwhile. The argument never seemed to work. Gilbrick insisted that obscure, remote locations were more likely to have the magical cloth of his quest. Sometimes he found cloth that changed color to reflect the mood of the wearer, but it wasn't durable or waterproof or didn't go through the eye of a needle. Once he found cloth fine enough to go through the needle, but when daylight touched it, it faded into mist, along with the hunchbacked man who wove it. Twice, Gilbrick learned of someone who was reported to spin thread to be woven into the hoped-for cloth. Each time he got there, a prince had arrived ahead of him, freed the spinner from an enchantment, and carried her away.
Merrigan wondered sometimes why she had agreed to help Gilda, other than to prevent more weeping. Perhaps she was falling ill, because no sensible person could actually be fond of such a silly girl, could they? Merrigan did find some satisfaction in convincing Gilda that less was more when it came to the ribbons, bows and flounces on her clothes. The simpler her gowns became, the more elegant and mature Gilda appeared and acted. By the time they came within sight of Williburton, Merrigan suspected a silliness spell had been put on the girl by some business rival of her father.
The caravan stopped for the noon meal in the high mountain pass looking down on Williburton. Merrigan, Gilbrick and Gilda were discussing arrangements to set up Merrigan in her own shop, when a messenger caught up with them. His horse was in a lather and he wore the emblem of Gilbrick's merchant network—a golden wagon wheel with a coin for the hub. The young man looked pale, yet ecstatic, and he trembled. Gilbrick shot him one question after another, never letting him get a word in for at least five minutes. Gilda finally resorted to hopping onto her father's back and slapping both hands over his mouth to make him shut up.
Maybe she's right, Bib said. She is the sensible one in the family.
Merrigan had to agree.
"Master, there's nothing wrong," the messenger finally said, after Gilbrick mumbled and struggled for a few moments but couldn't shake Gilda free. "I was sent to tell you some weavers have come to town—"
Gilda let out a squeak and released her father, who was struck silent. They held onto each other as the messenger went on. For a moon now, the weavers had been setting up shop at the far end of the merchant's district where Gilbrick had his warehouse. They set up their looms, but didn't buy any thread. No one thought anything odd about it, because the well-dressed couple kept busy selling dozens of bolts of cloth. Fine cloth of amazing colors.
The day the outriders from Gilbrick's merchant caravan returned to the warehouse, to say their master was returning, the two weavers made an announcement. They had been preparing for years for their crowning achievement. They had spent five years alone obtaining the wool from sheep that grazed in the famed Meadows of the Sun, then three years befriending mermaids, who gave them the shells of ancient oysters to create a magical dye that would change color to suit the temperament of whoever it touched. They had spent half their fortune obtaining a spinning wheel from the castle of a princess who still slept under a curse.
Merrigan flinched at that bit of news, immediately thinking of the creeping, growing curse on Sylvanglade.
Bib, you don't think that's the same spinning wheel?
No. Impossible. How could they have gotten into the palace without being overtaken by the spell? Taking away the spinning wheel should have violated the rules of the spell, and as far as I know, the curse is still on Sylvanglade and still growing.
Merrigan thought it highly amusing that princes down through the ages hadn't figured out that all they needed to do was move or destroy the spinning wheel to free the princess. She imagined quite a few royal marriages weren't as happy as they wanted people to believe, simply because once the boy kissed the girl, they had to get married. How much simpler things would be if the king could offer a wagon full of gold or a magic sword to the hero if he didn't care to marry the princess. And what if the princess had an older brother? Was the heir to the throne summarily disinherited so a stranger who kissed his sister could take over?
Focus, Mi'Lady, Bib said. This sounds like trouble.
Merrigan flinched, and mentally slapped herself for getting distracted. Fortunately, Gilbrick and Gilda were full of questions that let her piece together what she hadn't heard.
The two weavers claimed they had come to Alliburton on the advice of a seer. The magical currents in air and ground were favorable for creating thread produced on the spinning wheel, and then weaving the thread into the most beautiful, magical cloth the world had ever seen. Since they arrived, the weavers had been spinning the thread by moonlight. The day the messenger left, the two weavers had closed up their shop and shuttered the windows so no one could see them at work. They would weave for three days, then display the magical cloth for one day only before packing up and returning to their home far over the ocean.
Of course, the steward and the warehouse managers had sent Bigsley, the messenger, to find Gilbrick and bring him home immediately. They were in a panic at the thought that their master might not arrive home in time to see the magical cloth and persuade the weavers to sell it to him.
"All but for Aubrey." Bigsley's mouth pursed with distaste.
"Why not Aubrey?" Gilbrick blurted. He looked stunned.
"Who's Aubrey?" Merrigan wanted to know.
"One of Papa's apprentices. He's worked his way up from sweeper to messenger to clerk to inventory keeper in just five years," Gilda said, her lower lip trembling and her eyes glistening with impending tears. "He's brilliant—he's so talented—he's witty and—he's absolutely wonderful!" she ended on a wail.
I believe she's in love with this Aubrey, but he's committed the unpardonable error of doubting Gilbrick's quest for his amazing cloth, Bib observed.
Merrigan had to wait until the caravan returned to the highway, heading for Alliburton at all speed, before she could find out. Bib had got it on the first guess. The only thing more copious than Gilda's tears were her gushes of admiration and adoration for Aubrey. After the first half hour of listening to all the amazing, clever, kind things Aubrey had done, Merrigan stopped listening. She pondered what she had learned about the magical cloth.
Such cloth is feasibly possible, Bib said, after they conferred over the details together. Gilda had finally fallen asleep and the merchant caravan continued down the highway. What I can't understand is why someone would go to so much trouble to make cloth with so much inherent magic woven into it. The magic elements should conflict with each other. The dye alone would imbue ordinary thread with amazing abilities. I've never heard of anyone coming back from the Meadows of the Sun with a single blade of grass, much less enough fleece to spin thread. The sheep who graze there are meat-eaters and stand twenty feet tall. They don't sleep because it's never night in the Meadows of the Sun. Which explains why they're always in such foul moods.
That's understandable. Merrigan shuddered at the memory of several times she had been forced to go just two days without sleep, and how her vision and hearing seemed to warp. Living like that constantly most likely drove the sheep mad. Still, if someone did manage to get the fleece from just one sheep, would the thread be magical?
I expect it would be used to create light, or even start fires, rather than cloth. Something is very wrong with the weavers' story. I will have to see the cloth to analyze it before I can give you any answers.
~~~~~
MERRIGAN FELT AS IF she hadn't slept in several days, by the time Gilbrick's merchant caravan arrived in Alliburton. She had managed to doze throughout the night, but the swaying of the wagon as it turned corners and the jolts as it bumped over holes in the road made for uneasy sleeping. Then there was Gilbrick's increasingly louder fretting every time they had to stop to clear fallen trees out of the back roads that he insisted were a faster route to the capitol.
The caravan approached the city gates, just after the moon had set. A watchman on the wall let out a shout, soon taken up by other shouts, then trumpets. There were far too many people awake at that time of the morning. Why did momentous events always occur in that dim, cold period of the morning before night gave up and dawn sent its first silver splinters over the horizon? Gilbrick nattered to himself as the caravan neared the gates, never slowing. Merrigan opened up the sliding panel between the wagon and the driver's seat, positive that Gilbrick was talking in his sleep and didn't see the gates ahead of them. What else could explain why he didn't slow?
"Oh, dear, not this again," Gilda said, staggering up behind Merrigan.
"Again?" She seriously considered grabbing Bib and leaping off the back of the wagon before there was a collision. Merrigan didn't think the magical cloak that protected against swords and arrows and cudgels could protect her if the wagon rammed into the gates and its entire contents fell on her.
"It's very bad for his pride when this happens." She reached around Merrigan and caught hold of the sides of the panel, bracing both of them.
Merrigan appreciated the girl's consideration, but did she really want to be caught here if Gilbrick was about to ram into the city gates?
"His pride? What about his body?"
Gilda just rolled her eyes and shook her head.
The uproar from the people on the wall and more voices coming from beyond the city gates grew louder. Gilbrick's wagon drew closer. The horses slowed slightly, only because they pulled up an incline. A creaking-groaning sound pierced the clamor of voices. A glow of torchlight appeared down the middle of the gates. They were opening. The shouts turned to cheers.
"He'll be impossible to live with for at least a week." Gilda retreated to her couch, where she set about putting on her stockings and shoes and then brushed her hair into place.
Merrigan stayed at the opening behind the driver's seat, watching. Gilbrick stood up in the box, holding the reins with one hand, and waved his hat to the cheering crowds. He swept up the last hundred yards, then through the city gates, and onward without stopping for the guards. As far as she could tell, the guards who should have stopped to inspect or at least question them were cheering and waving just as fiercely as the common people.
"What does the king think of all this?" she asked Gilda as the wagon finally slowed and bumped down the main streets, heading toward Gilbrick's warehouse. Merrigan sat down. "It can't be good for one man to be so popular, so influential, that the rules don't apply to him."
She shuddered to think of the disasters that could have overcome Avylyn if nobles and merchants and scholars became so popular that their voices swayed the people to stand against her father. That was part of why Leffisand had worked so hard to foster suspicions and dissent among different groups, and even tried to turn countries against each other. People who were constantly sniping and suspecting each other never joined forces in rebellion.
It was a sad, lonely life for a king. Sometimes she wondered why anyone would want the responsibilities that seemed to outweigh the glory and power.
"Oh, no one is really sure what King Auberg thinks." Gilda paused to tie her shoe. "He's been so busy since the crown prince vanished."
"Vanished? Why?"
"The usual. Some minor wizard or enchanter or whatever got offended because he or she wasn't invited to the christening, showed up and pronounced a bizarre curse on the prince. When he reached twenty-one, he vanished." Gilda straightened, frowning thoughtfully.
Merrigan sighed and tried not to be disgusted that even when she frowned, Gilda looked adorable.
"It's all very hazy, which everyone says is part of the curse. No one remembers his name. The places where it's written down in official records are so blurry no one can read them. No one is quite sure what the curse entails, what tasks the prince has to perform. Some people say the curse is the delusion that we have a crown prince, and we're just living under some enchantment that needs to be broken and free us from a perpetual dream." She shrugged and stood up to gaze at the road ahead through the open panel. "We'll be there soon, maybe another ten, fifteen minutes."
"What do you say?"
"About the curse? Oh, well ... I remember going to the palace when I was little, when Mama was chief seamstress to the royal family. There was a boy ..." Her thoughtful frown grew deeper. "It's sad, but his face is just a blur now. I know I liked him very much, and he was kind to me and would give me sweets. He would show me all around the palace, and we would go riding on his horse. It was a white horse, with blue eyes and silver bells on his blue bridle and ..." She sighed. "He gave me this locket." She tugged aside the neck of her dress to reveal a golden oval on a thin chain. "Someday, when the curse is broken, both our portraits will go in it. He said as long as I wore the locket, as long as I remembered that he existed, he had a chance of coming home again."
Merrigan shuddered to think that a lost prince had to depend on such a flighty girl. Yes, Gilda was good-hearted and loyal and sweet, and as frustrating as she sometimes could be, staying angry with her was impossible. Still, what made her qualified to be the lifeline to pull a prince out of a vicious enchantment?
"There ought to be a law that no one with magical powers of any kind should be allowed near any christening taking place, on pain of death. More mischief happens at christenings than anywhere else, all the rest of the year," she muttered.
"All I can remember of the curse is that the prince can't come home until he helps to make the blind see at last." Gilda sighed and shrugged again. "For a few years after he vanished, King Auberg sent messengers to every healer hall throughout the world, on the chance that the prince was being forced to work with blind people. That doesn't make much sense, does it? I suppose that's what happens when you're desperate."
Merrigan could understand desperation.
The wagon slowed at last. Gilda brightened and gathered up her cloak and staggered toward the door at the back. Merrigan cautiously stood and stretched and finished straightening her clothes. Gilda's words got her thinking.
Maybe ... maybe the illusion that surrounded her, so everyone saw and heard a little, thin, bent, white-haired old woman ... was becoming real? Sinking into her bones, so to speak? She shuddered at the idea. Bib claimed that her hair seemed to be darkening in spots, and some of the sunken spots in her cheeks had plumped, but she couldn't see it no matter how hard she stared into mirrors and willed her own, true face to appear. That just proved what a good friend Bib was, to encourage her, even if he had to lie.
"And here we are," Gilbrick announced, jumping down from the front of the wagon as it finally creaked to a stop. He raced around to the back in time to help Gilda and Merrigan climb down. Like a triumphant warrior, he spread his arms wide, in welcome.
The warehouse facility belonging to Gilbrick was three massive buildings, three stories high. They faced a central area with plenty of room for wagons to come in and be loaded, several at a time from the massive doors at the front of the warehouses. Everything was clean and neat, and despite the evidence that horses constantly inhabited the cobblestoned yard, did not smell of horse droppings and other filth that came from heavy traffic.
Young men and women came running from all three buildings. They all wore dark gray trousers and skirts, with white blouses, and long, gray vests with Gilbrick's symbol of the wheel and coin blazoned on the right breast.
Merrigan was overwhelmed by the apparently genuine, joyous welcome of the apprentices and workers, the overseers and older men and women who managed the accounting books and inventory and processed orders that came from distant cities. Whatever his faults, Gilbrick's people loved him. She compared his homecoming to times she and Leffisand had returned from trips to other kingdoms or distant cities in Carlion. There had been plenty of pomp and pageantry when they departed and returned, but none of the joy she saw here.
"I'm simply tired." She gave herself a mental shake, to focus on the present moment and not grieve what would never be again.
Gilbrick introduced her to his people and assigned two girls to settle her in the guest quarters in his house. Then he beckoned for his senior managers and they stepped aside, out of the way of the laborers unloading the wagons. Gilda sighed and tried to smile at Merrigan. Clearly, the girl was increasingly concerned about her father. The latest news was that the weavers wouldn't open their doors or take the curtains off their windows to let the city see their miraculous cloth until noon. Gilda seemed to grow a little more cheerful after that. She persuaded her father to go home, wash, eat and rest, and try to attend to business.
"I wish they wouldn't ... encourage him," she confided to Merrigan, as Gilbrick stepped back once more to confer with the older men who oversaw his business. "It isn't that they're obsessed with the cloth, but they'd do anything to make him happy."
"It's a fine thing to be so greatly loved," a young man observed from behind them, in a melodious baritone voice.
"Aubrey." Gilda's face lit up as if she had swallowed a mouthful of sun. She turned, and for a moment Merrigan thought she would hug the overly tall, gangly, pockmarked young man. Instead, she hurried to introduce him to Merrigan, and announced Aubrey was one of the most talented, intelligent young men who had risen through the ranks of Gilbrick's little kingdom
That earned a deep blush as Aubrey bowed to her with an elegance entirely at odds with his awkward, overgrown appearance. While everyone else looked neatly turned out, pressed and tucked and wrinkle-free in their livery, his cuffs were wrinkled and frayed, his vest was a size too large and his trousers rode so high Merrigan could see the thin spots in his stockings. Still, there was no disguising or mistaking Gilda's feelings for the young man.
Merrigan envied her. Just for a moment.
"Ah. Aubrey." Gilbrick stepped over to join them, finished with his senior managers. "I hear you voted against sending for me, so I could be here to see the cloth that might satisfy my years of searching. What do you have to say for yourself, lad?"
"Sir." Aubrey gave him a grave, head-and-shoulders bow. "I couldn't wish any greater happiness for you than to have your desires fulfilled, but I find it hard to believe all the wonderful claims these weavers have been making about their cloth. Not the process of creating it, and certainly not the properties granted to whoever possesses the cloth. I don't want you disappointed, that's all."
"You're a good lad." He patted Aubrey's cheek and had to reach up to do so. "You're too young to be such a pessimist. What's the use of living if you always expect the worst of people, if you constantly expect to be disappointed?"
"I would say, sir, that if you expect the worst to happen, then when your expectations are disappointed you are better off."
"Ha!" Gilbrick nodded and looked back over his shoulder at the other managers who had gathered around. "Common sense and a sense of humor, and a bit of a philosopher thrown in for good measure. Mark my words, the lad is going somewhere amazing someday." His smile faded slightly as he turned and hooked his arm through Gilda's. "Keep in mind, lad, there's a fine line between a realist and a cynic. Now, give us an hour, then come to breakfast. All of you! We'll have a grand conference and make plans to act on all the amazing things I've seen and heard about on this latest trip."
With that, he offered his other bent elbow to Merrigan, and the three headed down a slate pathway between two warehouses. A fourth building in the cluster owned by Gilbrick turned out to be his house, slightly smaller than the warehouses, which just meant it was enormous. Merrigan estimated it could hold forty guests, along with the staff needed to keep it running smoothly.