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
