MIRTA’S WOVEN DREAMS
Inside the textile shop the air was cooler. Light streamed through windows high on the stone walls. Rows of racks held shuttles filled with yarn in warm browns, vibrant greens, and splashes of blue. Spools wound with bright spun thread sat on shelves in orderly lines, their colors merging in a hypnotic wave of dark and light.
Electrum found his steps matching the rhythmic thumping coming from two looms that clattered away independently. Their shuttles crawled under and over the strings and the bars snapped tight against the threads, but no one was running them.
One held an unassuming design of red and brown stripes. The other was a simple pattern of white daisies on a green background.
He wound his way around tables where bolts of dark cloth and piles of shimmering fabric lay jumbled together. A faint herbal fragrance hung in the air.
Near the back, a vertical loom was setup with a partially completed tapestry. His steps slowed as he gazed at the scene. The Silver Gate filled most of the picture. He recognized Ragnar’s ship in the distance leaving the dock while other ships were still being loaded by busy sprites. Always ahead of the crowd he thought.
With each pass of the shuttle, details were added to the gate. Trees were beginning to line the riverbanks, and morning sunlight cast streaks of light on the water.
His view was partially blocked by a stout sprite sitting on a high stool. Sparkles from her fingers were drawn into the pattern as she smoothed the fabric. She passed the shuttle through the warp and tamped down the beater bar. The noise covered his footsteps, but somehow she knew that a visitor had arrived.
Without turning she called, “Keep your wings folded. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She gave the beater bar a final thump and stretched. “What is it you’re looking for?” she said as she turned. Surprise spread across her face and the looms fell silent.
“Electrum! How nice of you to drop in.”
“You haven’t lost your touch, Mirta,” Electrum said. “You’re the only one I know who can keep three looms running at once, but I seem to have broken your concentration.”
She waved her hand. “Simple repetitive patterns. Won’t be hard to start them up again. What brings you to my humble abode?”
“I did come with a purpose, but I was hoping for a bite to eat first.”
“There’s herb stew on the fire.” She pushed wispy yellow hair away from her face leaving a steak of gold that merged the freckles in a line across her cheek.
She set off at a brisk pace and Electrum hurried to keep up. They passed cauldrons where yarn was soaking in dye. Pungent earthy smells rose from the mixtures. He wrinkled his nose and held his breath trying not to sneeze.
She stopped in front of a door tapestry. It also showed a merchant ship but this one was emerging from the mist-clouded gate into the Gold Realm. Glowstone chips dotted the outside of the gate. They had long ago burned out, but reflected light from the window glinted off their surfaces. The river led straight to the terraced mountain city. Tiny bells of various sizes were woven into the ship’s railing.
“This looks like one of the tapestries you made right after your pollywog days. I haven’t seen it in years.”
“You have a good memory. It was one of my first commissioned works. I made it right after my wings changed.”
“It’s a perfect match to the one you’re working on now.” When he touched it the miniature bells tinkled in soft musical harmony. He caught the faint smell of the river and felt cool mist on his face, but his skin was dry.
“The silver tapestry is an idealistic memory from my days as a pollywog,” she said. “Now I only go there in my thoughts.”
Electrum left his boots on the mat and followed her into the living quarters. His toes sank into a plush rug that made him think of soft grass in a meadow.
“Do you plan on keeping them as a set?”
“No, the Silver Gate is for Simon.”
“Oh yes, Simon. That’s why I’m here. He asked me to deliver a letter and inquire about your progress on a tapestry.” He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she studied it. One silver freckle showed for a second on the tip of her ear before the hair escaped and covered it. She placed the envelope into a pot sitting on the mantle.
“You might want to open that,” Electrum suggested. “Simon said it was payment.”
She smiled. “Thank you. It’ll be safe there.”
He tried another approach. “He did ask that I inquire about your progress.”
“You’ve seen it,” she said. “I’m waiting on some custom prepared materials. It can’t be rushed. I should be finished by the end of summer.”
“That long? I guess you were waiting for Simon’s letter. Did I mention he included special instructions in the envelope?”
“That’s good,” she said, “since I can’t finish it without them.”
“There’s more to it than just the picture then?”
“Simon has interests that extend beyond his library,” she said. “Some things need to remain hidden. I’m sure you understand the importance of discretion.”
Defeated, he sat down at the polished stone table. “Things are rapidly getting complicated,” he said.
“We all have roles to play.”
“That’s what I keep telling Silverthorn. I’m glad mine is almost over.”
A pot simmered over coals in the fireplace. She ladled stew into a bowl and sat down with him.
“How is the textile business?”
She laughed. “’Bout the same as usual. I’m holding my own. It’s the transportation costs that hold me back. That and the growing phobia of interworld trade.”
“Well, I for one think trade has made both worlds better. Reed pods from the Silver Realm make wonderful packing, but I do not want to go back to mats woven from the reeds. The textiles of your world are far superior, and your work is clearly the best.”
Her smile was smug. “That’s what I’m told. But as a sprite I can’t sail back and forth. Since the pookahs aren’t limited to one twilight, they can own and sail their own ships. Makes competition a bit one sided.”
“If Sterling has his way, there won’t be any trade. It would be a dark day in the silver world if they stopped importing glowstones. Sterling might not mind. Not sure he reads all that much. But it would be hard on Simon to have to read those old scrolls by oil light.”
“Better to read by oil light than not have the proper wood for a loom. The scrub wood that grows here doesn’t hold up.”
Silence fell over the room as he finished eating.
“How’s the silver prince doing?” she asked.
He pushed the bowl away. “Impetuous. Irresponsible. Passionate. Not a bit of sense between him and that girl of yours.”
She laughed. “You’re sounding old.”
“I’m feeling old.”
“Maybe a change of pace from the palace is what you need.”
“Just what I’ve been thinking. I have a small retirement tree picked out with a nice view of the Ship Growers Pond. I can string my hammock over a low hanging branch and sleep with the sound of the water lapping against the bank.” It was starting to sound a little dull even to himself.
Laugh lines crinkled around her eyes. “Just roll up in a hammock and sleep life away like an old pea pod?”
“I’m sure I’ll find other amusements,” he said with disgust. “I considered getting a small boat.”
“Get a big one and travel between. There’s money to be made in shipping.”
“I can’t cloak a ship.” He felt the familiar helplessness and disappointment that he lacked that ability.
“There’s ways to disguise a ship other than with pookah thoughts. Be inventive. Instead of cloaking the ship, how about physically making it look like a log all the time? It would limit how much and what kind of cargo you could carry, but I bet you could make a tidy profit with t
he right connections.”
A Sprinkling of Thought Dust Page 12