"You, Mi'Lady, look like a respectable, clever woman who is still able to hold her head up high, despite how badly life and luck have treated you," Bib assured her, as they reached the outskirts of Wylder-by-the-Sea.
The five-day journey by foot had taken only a day-and-a-half because several farmers and merchants had stopped to offer her a ride until the next crossroads. There was something to be said for looking like a respectable person down on her luck, rather than a beggar, Merrigan realized. People were more willing to help those who hadn't been down very long. She didn't think that was quite fair. Didn't the people who were worse off need the help more?
"I hope you're right. No more sleeping under the stars for me, thank you very much," she said, lowering her tone as a coach with its windows open passed her. The young lady who leaned out the window of the coach got a scolding from an older-sounding woman, and withdrew into the shadows, but not before smiling and waving at Merrigan. Such a nice, polite girl.
"You are fashionable and well-dressed, and anyone who refuses to hire you as a seamstress is a fool," Bib responded, once they were semi-alone again.
They weren't alone enough for extended conversations for quite some time after that. There were always people around them. Bib resorted to talking into her thoughts. Merrigan could respond in her thoughts, but the effort gave her a headache, which made her cranky, which didn't bode well for convincing someone to give her a job and a place to sleep.
Once they entered Wylder-by-the-Sea, she had far more success finding a room in a boarding house—run by a cheerful, painfully neat old woman and her hulking, mentally weak son—than she did finding employment. Merrigan knew better than to admit she had enough coins to support herself in decent but frugal comfort for several moons. She paid by the week, and begged her kindly landlady for advice on finding a shop that would hire her and be patient when the rain made her fingers ache.
That's laying it on a little too thick, Bib had scolded her, laughing softly, as Merrigan set off to visit the first of six tailor shops Mistress Coppersmythe recommended.
Not thick enough, Merrigan retorted four hours later, when she had visited each shop and couldn't get anyone to hire her. From some of the glances the tailors or seamstresses gave her clothes, she suspected they were jealous. She was visibly more fashionable, even in her sedate colors and secondhand clothes.
Too thick, Bib insisted. We're heading into cold weather, and winter is always worse on the coast, with all the damp in the air. They don't want to take you on and then have to coddle you when your fingers stiffen up, and pay you a day's wages for half a day's work.
"What am I to do?" she said aloud. "Someone in this town has to hire me. I refuse to be a beggar," she added, stamping her foot.
"Good for you, Granny." A massive, black-bearded man hobbled up to her. An elaborately carved peg replaced one leg from the knee down. "What sort of work do you want?"
"I'm a seamstress."
"Don't suppose you know the proper seams for fixing sails or how to reweave nets, do you?" He grinned wide enough for her to see three gold teeth among the black forest of his beard. "Now, no need to look so stunned. I was just joking with you. Might be able to find you some honest work at that, if you don't mind sailors."
"I don't know. I've never really met any."
To her astonishment, he bowed—a little jerky and rough, but it was an actual bow—and then offered his bent elbow like any courtier. Granted, most courtiers she knew were only half this man's girth and only two-thirds his height, and only one-tenth as hairy. Bemused, Merrigan tucked her hand into his elbow and then they were off. For a man with a peg leg, he trotted along through the crowded streets of Wylder-by-the-Sea at a decent pace. She was somewhat breathless when they rounded a corner and came within sight of the sea, far at the end of a long row of docks bracketed by ships at anchor. To her right was a sprawling inn that looked like it had been added onto at least four different times through the decades, judging by the visibly different styles of construction and colors of paint. It sported a wide sign that arched over the double doors, proclaiming it the Bookish Mermaid.
Those who couldn't read could still identify the inn by the enormous carving of a mermaid on the roof of the entryway, surrounded by stacks of books, spectacles on the end of her nose, and holding an equally enormous book, open, strategically placed across her bosom.
"Gorgeous sight, ain't she?" the man said, as he guided Merrigan to the tall steps leading up to the door.
She had noticed that as they got closer to the water's edge, the buildings stood higher above the street and the stairs grew taller. Merrigan wondered if, at the water's edge, the stairs would rival the grand staircase in her father's palace.
"Astonishing," she said, tipping her head back to study the mermaid before they passed under the roof line.
"My great-granny posed as the model. My great-great-granddaddy made my great-granddaddy marry her about three days into the carving," he added with a wink. His chuckle shook Merrigan just enough she clutched at his arm to keep from falling off her feet. "People still talk about the ruckus that followed, when he
