Only Edgar, the most senior of the warehouse managers remained, sitting in a corner with his head in his hands. Aubrey stood by a dressing screen, handing clothes over it to Gilbrick, who raged incoherently. Every once in a while, there would be a thud and his voice would break into heaving sobs, then quiet, then he would rage again.
"He's dismissed everyone," Edgar said. "Every single person who claimed they saw the cloth and then saw the clothes when they were being made. Only reason he didn't dismiss me is because I'm half-blind and he would have known I was lying if I said I saw them." He raised his head from his hands and managed a trembling, old-man smile. "You didn't see the clothes, did you, gal?"
Gilda shook her head. She hugged him, then turned to Aubrey, who watched her somberly. By this time, Gilbrick had taken all the clothes and his raging had slowed to mumbles. Merrigan suspected he was simply too furiously embarrassed to step out and face the few remaining in the room.
"Aubrey ..." Gilda finally dropped the cloak that had enfolded her. She wore the simplest, plainest gown Merrigan had ever seen on her. When she held out her hands, Aubrey caught hold of both of them and went to one knee in front of her. "You are a hero, my Aubrey. How can I ever express my gratitude—no, not gratitude. I adore you. I wish—well, we are ruined, our reputation is in tatters, but I wish I had an empire to give you, in thanks."
"If you are ruined, then you have nothing to be thankful for," Aubrey said, and pressed one of her hands against his cheek.
Merrigan thought she might be sick from the overwhelming sweetness filling the room.
Although, to be honest, she admitted a small part of her nausea might come from jealousy. When had anyone looked at her as Aubrey and Gilda looked at each other? When had anyone gone down on one knee to her like that, and risked everything he had, everything he was, to protect her?
"You alone were loyal enough to risk everything," Gilbrick said, coming out from behind the dressing screen with tottering steps. He looked gray, like old, cold porridge. "You spoke the truth, when everyone else was afraid to be honest. Including me. Aubrey, if I had an empire, I would offer it to you. By morning, news of my foolishness, my mortal shame, will have spread through the kingdom, and then through all the other kingdoms where I have done business, where I was admired, where I was considered wise ... and I will be ruined. All I can offer you is material wealth, and it is not enough to express my thanks."
Some people, Merrigan decided, came to nobility and a semblance of wisdom too late. Then they overdid it, to the point of foolishness again.
"Sir ..." Aubrey blushed slightly. He got up off his knee, but retained his hold on Gilda's hands. "Sir, I have little to offer your daughter other than a warehouse full of orphans I am trying to help raise, but we are rich in love."
"You are rich in the wisdom and honesty of children." Gilbrick tried to smile, but his mouth was so stiff it threatened to shatter. "I beg you, Aubrey, marry my daughter, and I pray your love will take care of her better than I have."
"Shouldn't someone ask Gilda if she wants to marry him?" Merrigan said, though she knew the answer. She had always hated the fables where the princess had no choice in accepting the prince.
"I have always loved Aubrey," Gilda declared. "Ever since we were children, and he gave me ..." Her face went white, and her eyes widened more than the eyes of the dogs serving Warden. She dug into the high neckline of her dress and pulled out the locket. "Aubrey?"
"Come with me, my love? If you remember—my father—" Aubrey barely waited for Gilda to nod. Retaining his grip on her hand, he fled the room, nearly pulling her off her feet.
"Where are they going?" Gilbrick murmured, tottering to the doorway. The clatter of their feet on the winding staircase revealed their progress, leaving the house.
"Sounds like out the front door," Edgar said.
"I imagine to see Aubrey's father, now that the curse has been broken," Merrigan said.
"The curse?" Gilbrick gasped and sagged against the doorframe. "The curse! But how?"
"Gilda told me there was something about making people see. I imagine that little ... debacle a while ago fit that requirement."
THE WEAVER AND HIS wife managed to escape during the uproar as the news of the clothes that weren't really there spread across the city. Hundreds of people who had loudly proclaimed the beauty of the cloth and the perfection of the design of the clothes were mocked, brutalized in public opinion for days afterward. Tales of fist fights and friendships irreparably destroyed, apprentices dismissed, businesses shattered, advocates fired, and even officials deposed from their positions ran rampant. Merrigan was heartily sick of the whole subject. For a while, she feared that anyone who made their living weaving cloth or making clothes would be gathered up like the worst criminals and ejected from the kingdom.
Still, it was easy to ignore the uproar in the rest of the city because the warehouse had turned into a wonderland, thanks to the generosity of Prince Aubrey.
The morning after the debacle of
