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
