The seven girls accepted Belinda with cheerful good grace and set about helping her gather up blankets and pillow, washcloth and towel and other necessities from the storage shelves, to make her bed shelf-room comfortable.
Just before dinner, the boys on watch duty all around the weavers' shop were relieved by the next shift, and returned to report that the couple had stayed in their shop all day. Merrigan and Aubrey's relief was short-lived when the oldest of the group, Lars, added, "But there's some mean group of men what looks like they're made out o' stone—know what I mean? They been going in and out o' the back all day, hauling away sacks and crates and such. Just put somethin' on their shoulders and walk away, and they don't come back for hours. Don't know where they gone. Must 'av been a long walk."
"The city gates." Aubrey muttered several guttural words under his breath, and for a moment his angular face took on a stern, chiseled look that made Merrigan feel slightly queasy.
The same queasy feeling she got when Belinda's features had shifted back and forth.
There were times before her widowhood, when she had raged against what she considered the injustice of magic and declared herself allergic to magic. What if the repetition had made that true, and she was allergic to the spells cast on Belinda? Yet if that were true, was there a spell on Aubrey, too? Yet who would cast a spell on a mere apprentice?
That thought caught on something at the back of her mind. The problem was she had too much to worry over to pursue the hazy ah-hah feeling trying to strike a light in that dark, brooding tangle.
Before Merrigan could recover her breath, Aubrey gestured for the boys to follow him, and dashed out of the warehouse. Most of the other children and adults who might have noticed were busy setting the table or herding younger children to wash up for dinner. Nobody asked any questions, and that was another nice thing about living here in the orphanage warehouse: people helped and cared, but they didn't intrude.
Truth be told, despite their insistence on being too optimistic for common sense and taking up responsibilities no one had put on them, Merrigan somewhat admired the odd assortment of folk who ran the orphanage. Even more odd, despite their noise and smells and uncanny ability to get dirty ten seconds after putting on clean clothes, she even liked the children. Most of them, anyway. She was actually rather fond of her seven girls. They even giggled when she referred to them as her dwarves, because they were much too clever and mature to be merely little girls.
Aubrey came back just as Nasius and Robard were preparing to send someone to look for him and the boys. The boys were all excited and chattering and filthy-sweaty from running. Aubrey, on the other hand, looked exhausted and as stricken-pale as a man who had seen his own specter standing on a freshly dug grave. All but for two angry red spots in his bony cheeks and a growing fire in his eyes.
"What happened?" Merrigan asked him, when he returned from washing up and changing his shirt. The noise from all the children gathering around the tables gave them some privacy.
"The shop is empty. The weavers are at dinner in the Scepter Rose, where the entire city seems to be stopping by to congratulate them on a job well done." He snorted. Quite eloquent expression of his feelings. "I have boys posted at every door and window so they can't sneak out without us knowing."
"All those men carrying bags and crates—"
"Carrying away all the cloth and gold. Nobody noticed a man walk away from the shop, they'd only notice wagons. These people are entirely too clever. It's too well-planned."
"They've done this before." She shuddered, thinking about the gold and all that rare cloth, a lifetime of collecting, that Gilbrick had traded for nothing but embarrassment. His coffers would be greatly reduced, and he would have a brutal struggle to rebuild his reserves, with his reputation so thoroughly destroyed. The thought of Gilda suffering because of her father's stupidity infuriated her. Why did women have to suffer for the blindness and obsessions of their menfolk?
Ah, Leffisand. If I ever loved you, I have quite gotten over it. If only I had told Nanny Tulip to shut up, and had been wise enough to love Bryan.
"They'll do it again." Aubrey's voice cracked. "It isn't enough to try to stop Gilda and Master Gilbrick from shaming themselves tomorrow. We have to stop the weavers before they flee beyond the tales of what happened here. They might even cross the ocean, to a country that won't hear about what happened here for years, if ever." He sagged back against the wall. "What do we do?"
"I ... have some friends in Seafoam," Merrigan said. "I made the princess's wedding dress, and I know the captain of a ship. Maybe ..." She shrugged, unsure what she was about to propose. Maybe this was more of Clara's interfering magic, nudging her to get involved in things that were none of her business and certainly none of her responsibility?
A surge of heat that resolved into anger yanked the words from her tongue. Was this what had been happening all along? What had guided her steps? Some magic making her help people? Had it been fooling her into thinking she was looking out for her own interests when she took the side of people she had come to like? Had she been forced to become a champion for others?
If she could have, Merrigan thought she might pack up and flee this town tonight, just like the weavers. In fact, maybe she should look for them. How hard would it be to track them down at
