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
