The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

“Good morning,” sang out a woman, her sweet, bubbly voice followed a moment later by the middle-aged woman herself, cutting quite a figure in her formfitting blue day suit.

  My clothes are no more prim than this, Annmar wanted to whisper and elbow Mary Clare. But she didn’t, because the unusual fabric shimmered as the dressmaker strolled across the carpet. Satin, a shiny material neither colored pencils nor watercolors could capture. Oils, though messy, would be best.

  “Good morning, Miss Lacey,” Mary Clare said. “May I introduce Wellspring’s new employee, Annmar Masterson?”

  The shopkeeper’s hand felt cool and smooth in Annmar’s, then a ripple passed over the woman’s skin, shifting the color from pinkish to pale lavender and back again.

  Annmar blinked. A play of subtle color and movement coursed over the woman’s face, neck and hands. Am I the only one seeing this? Mary Clare didn’t act surprised. Until she could ask, Annmar forced her gaze to the shelves of unmentionables, now a lesser danger.

  At her side, Mary Clare said, “Annmar needs the appropriate undergarments before we head to Davies’ to outfit her with trousers and boots for work on a farm.”

  Miss Lacey nodded and stood back to appraise Annmar head to toe. Loose strands from her elegant upswept sand-colored hair fluttered, though there was no breeze. “Ladies’ knickers and camisoles, one light and several heavier for winter, and wool stockings to wear with boots,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Mary Clare said.

  Annmar shook herself back to the conversation. “Only the knickers. And stockings.”

  Miss Lacey looked from one to the other and smiled. A brighter light flickered across her. “I’ll take some measurements and bring a selection of garments.” She ushered them to the changing room and indicated one of the screens partitioning off sections of the room. “Just down to your corset and under petticoat for now, dear. That’s a close enough measure that I can select something to fit before you finish undressing.”

  Annmar removed her outer garments and smoothed her middle, her fingers sliding to her stays. Her corset was confining, but kept her posture when seated on the backless drafting stools. Most important, it maintained her modesty. She’d try the camisole, but it’d be real cheek to think of going out in it. She stood for the measurements.

  After the dressmaker left, Mary Clare called from her seat on the other side of the screen, “I’ve always wanted to try a corset.”

  “You’ve never worn one?” Annmar expelled her breath and unfastened the first of the long line of hooks down the front of her corset, something she could do in the dark.

  “Ma is dead set against them. She thinks they’ll ruin your rib cage. But I should have one when I go Outside to visit my sister. Would it be too forward of me to ask to try yours sometime?”

  “Don’t you even think of it.” Miss Lacey breezed in with an armful of clothing. “You are an entirely different shape than this girl.”

  Annmar peered around the screen. “You do have to be measured to secure the proper fit.”

  “A service I can certainly provide,” Miss Lacey said, “as well as construct the correct corset for your nice bosom.”

  Mary Clare jumped up. “Now? I have some savings and can add tomorrow’s pay. I must have one before Mary Alice’s letter arrives saying I can visit.”

  Miss Lacey named a price, and Mary Clare scooted over to another screen, throwing a grin to Annmar. The dressmaker passed Annmar the clothing. “Try these, dear, so I can check the fit.” Her face flickered from lilac to greenish-blue.

  Miss Lacey left. Annmar leaned toward Mary Clare and whispered, “Is it just me, or do you also see something different about her complexion?”

  Mary Clare giggled, then covered her mouth. “After years of coming here, Mary Ellen, my thirteen-year-old sister who acts twenty, asked and got the whole story. Miss Lacey has a water Knack from both of her parents. They’re from some little stream in the mountains where the trees overhang the water and it runs in bubbly ripples over the rocks. Shopping is double fun watching her brighten and flip through her colors.”

  “I’m so relieved. I’ve seen”—she couldn’t bring up the feathers again—“Jac’s wolf teeth, Daeryn’s face growing dark.”

  “’Cambires do that when their instincts are up, some more than others. That’s just bits of their Knacks showing through.”

  Miss Lacey returned, her cheeks the green-blue now, and measured Mary Clare.

  Annmar slipped into the strangely cozy knickers and buttoned the camisole. The sleeveless blouse fit as tight as a corset. “I think I need a larger top.”

  Miss Lacey tilted her head. “The new style, my dear. I’d hazard a guess you haven’t shopped in a few years. Undergarments are only copying what goes over top. Everything is fitted. See?” She smoothed her hands along her sides to where the snug suit top met her skirt. “You want a flattering fit.” She mimicked the outline of Annmar’s slight curves in the air.

  Flattering? The cloth hugged her like a glove and showed everything. Everything she didn’t have. Daeryn, er, no suitor would look twice once he compared this figure to the well-rounded Jac or Maraquin. She turned to hide the heat of her face. The soft garments were comfortable…and she so wanted to do this right. “I’ll take one set for now and decide.”

  When they left, Mary Clare had ordered her corset and Annmar wore her new undergarments. She carried a paper-wrapped package containing her old clothes and one with a pair of thick woolen stockings to wear for fitting boots. The first touch of a fall breeze whisking down the street cut right through Annmar’s thinner upper layers with a cooling tingle. “Oh, my—”

  “What?”

  “Um, it’s chillier without my corset.”

  “You won’t feel it once you buy a heavier shirt.”

  “It’s strange,” Annmar muttered to Mary Clare. “I feel naked.”

  She laughed. “You’re definitely not.”

  “I have no shape.”

  “You do. Yours. Take Miss Lacey’s advice and buy a fitted blouse. You won’t need it for everyday, but on occasion Basin clients come to Wellspring and Miz Gere may want them to meet you. Not to mention, you may garner some work on the side. You’d want to dress for that.”

  Annmar already had proper clothing for selling her work, and despite Mistress Gere’s suggestion her portraits might attract buyers, she’d rather not disclose her ability to draw people until she had proper control of her Knack. To direct Mary Clare’s idea elsewhere, she said, “Country scenes have great appeal to town dwellers, that’s why Mistress Gere is depicting them on labels. Similar drawings would definitely sell in Derby. With my pay from Wellspring, I can open a shop stocked with images I do on my off time here.”

  Mary Clare frowned. “They’d sell here, too. You could stay and sell at Market Day.”

  Annmar sighed. “Mother and I always planned to open a shop. One amid Derby’s milliners, dressmakers and jewelers, where the wealthy spend their days strolling and picking up little items they fancy. Matrons, who don’t have to worry about the cost of a painting, because their hats cost three times as much. Gentlemen looking to divert their wives from how much they lost at the tables. Young suitors buying a memento for their girls on a whim and then coming back to sit for portraits because they have warm feelings of their courting days. That’s the location I need to be in, with steady visibility and return customers.”

  It was Mary Clare’s turn to sigh. “You have it all planned.”

  “We…I do.” And I can’t lose our dream because some beautiful boy who sleeps with a wolf girl makes my innards topsy-turvy. Even though she wasn’t a girl, really. And neither was he a boy. “Lord, this is confusing.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. Ask me.”

  Annmar looked at her in surprise.

  “You did say that out loud.” Mary Clare smiled hesitantly. “Even though I can feel you’re upset, I don’t know what it’s about. You could be thinking anything. I’ll be happy to help, especi
ally if it makes you consider staying with us. You’re the first human girl, besides my sisters, who I am sick of, to come work at the farm.”

  Annmar glanced up and down the quiet street, then pulled Mary Clare behind a large tree. “Are you sure you don’t read minds, because that’s exactly what I don’t understand. The girl thing.” Mary Clare laughed, and Annmar shook her head. “Not that girl thing. The species one. In England, what you call Outside, we only have people. Of the non-transforming-into-animals variety.”

  Mary Clare nodded. “Miz Gere said your mother never told you, so I’m sure this is hard to take in.”

  It was, but… “It’s becoming easier. What do you call the animacambires? Rivley told me the wolves are called, uh…” She couldn’t say the word.

  Mary Clare shook her head. “I know. That’s ’cambire talk and not for us. I stick with beasts.” She tucked her arm into Annmar’s and started walking toward the center of town. “Really, you needn’t worry about the Basin species. No one will notice if you use girl, boy, female, male. Even for the plantas.” At Annmar’s raised brow, she laughed. “You haven’t been here long enough to tell that many of Wellspring’s growers are plantas.”

  Pat, the peach tree, must be a planta. But in her vision, Annmar had seen both together. “Do the plantas change into plants?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard. They have some connection with the plants that lets them know the growing needs. I’ve heard it’s stronger than what the human growers have, which is just a Knack for plants or soils or ripeness, farm things like that. A grower Knack-bearer, like my sister Mary Beth, knows more about the difference.”

  Annmar leaned close to whisper, “These species are common throughout the Basin?”

  “No one knows for sure. In most parts of Blighted Basin, the species keep to themselves,” Mary Clare said. “My granny says some, like the fungals, died out because they did stay separate and lost their livelihood and lines. You’ve got to have some connection to others to make it, she says, like Market Day. Granny says the market trades have always been part of the old-time Creator worship and held at the stone chapels.”

  She pointed to the square stone tower rising above the houses.

  “Ours is the original one. It’s the oldest building in Chapel Hollow and Blighted Basin, and every Saturday gathers one of the largest Market Days. People flood in from the countryside. Everyone is civil, and they cooperate so they can trade, like the Creator said they should to live peacefully in this valley.”

  That explained the farmworkers saying Great Creator, rather than honoring God. Did they even recognize the Church of England here? “What religion was it?”

  Mary Clare shrugged. “Old. Like from the land. It doesn’t have a name, and when I say chapel, I mean it in the loosest way. More like a stone pavilion. There are preserved ones and ruins all over the Basin, each a little different, but all made of the same rock, a purplish-blue-and-yellow-striped one. Granny says when people came together, truces formed on those neutral chapel grounds. The faith made people fear being cursed for fighting. But that sure doesn’t stop them on other Basin land.”

  “Does that belief in curses have anything to do with the name Blighted Basin? It’s an odd sort of reference to disease and decay, yet this area ships the finest produce in Derbyshire.”

  “Because we supposedly have the most fertile soil in all of the Peaks,” Mary Clare said. “Soil is about the only blessing the Creator bestowed on us. Some feel Knacks are a curse. Staying hidden, the competition for resources, the controls the Elders impose on Outside travel and commerce. The rules are restricting, and everyone argues over them.”

  Annmar had never thought of the valley’s seclusion this way. Perhaps because she hadn’t spent her life here. “But the rules keep Basin residents safe so they can live freely and use their Knacks.”

  “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.” Mary Clare blew out a breath. “So, apparently the land wasn’t as productive when Granny’s ma was growing up. You’d have to ask her if she remembers talk of blights. When Granny was little, trading grew. They learned from each other, and their farming methods improved. People settled in and built shops, bringing the most congenial of the groups together to provide services and run businesses. Townspeople are open-minded, unlike the rest of the Basin. If you travel into the rural areas, associating with someone from a different group is forbidden.”

  “The constable would be called?”

  “No, it’s not Basin law.” Mary Clare shook her head. “Just the law of the land. Rural dwellers won’t put up with it. If you’re a planta and you tried courting a beast, the family would come after you. Both families would. You’d start a feud and leave half the beings dead before it was over. Same if either tried courting a human, Knack or no. It’s just not done.”

  Annmar’s heart sunk. Being interested in Daeryn, or anyone at the farm, wasn’t possible.

  Mary Clare patted her arm. “Are you thinking it’s pointless to court any of the boys you’re meeting?” Annmar nodded. “Don’t. If something serious develops”—she shrugged—“you just can’t live in some shires. The people who mix between species always find a place in a town. Mary Beth hasn’t had a problem with her different beaus, but of course she hasn’t really settled down.”

  “And your older sister?”

  “Mary Alice isn’t a Knack-bearer.” At Annmar’s questioning brow, Mary Clare smiled. “It doesn’t pass to everyone. But her beau has a Knack, and they’re off in Derby pretending to be normal while he apprentices to a clockmaker. They plan to bring the trade back. Like I said, I’m saving up to visit her before they return. Maybe try my hand at a position there. My Knack is easy enough to hide.” She waved to the storefront before them. “I simply need to dress and act the part of an Outsider, just as you’re about to adopt a farm appearance so at tomorrow’s Market Day no one will know any different.”

  Farm supplies filled Davies’ displays, including gentlemen’s clothing from suits to everyday clothes. And of course, bib-and-brace trousers and flannel shirts.

  “I think the blue one would be perfect for your eyes. Or perhaps the rose, but you’ll get a lot of teasing wearing a light color that readily shows the dirt. Although, with your skirts and fancy shoes, you’ve already been tagged prim.”

  Ugh. It figured people were talking about her. Annmar shook the thought away. She had Mary Clare, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, arms linked like they’d been bosom friends for ages. It was a comfort in all the newness.

  “Not necessarily a bad thing,” Mary Clare said quietly. “The others will look out for you.”

  “Really?” She didn’t dare ask if this included Jac.

  “Or they’ll have me to answer to.” She laughed. “Really. They will. You’re perfectly safe in Miz Gere’s fold.”

  True, she had her secure room, Mary Clare to teach her, Mrs. Betsy overseeing her work. And how could she forget her rescuer, Rivley? In only two days she’d learned enough about her Knack that by the end of the trial she might never have to worry about just being one of Mr. Shearing’s cogs.

  The shirts were nice pastel shades, yet Annmar’s gaze landed on another shirt and wouldn’t move off. Not even its location tucked within a folded stack hid the bright yellow. A maize. What a thing to choose. Annmar sighed.

  Mary Clare tugged her arm. “Which one?”

  “Oh, it’s much too forward.”

  “Honey, forward is good. Those mourning clothes aren’t doing a thing for you.”

  Annmar pulled her gaze from the inappropriately beautiful color and searched Mary Clare’s frank expression for any hint of teasing. There was none. Dressing in a bold shirt—a man’s shirt—was such an improper thing to do, and yet here she could. Just like with the selection of underclothes, in Blighted Basin the choice was hers. Annmar laughed. “What are we waiting for? Let’s shop.”

  Chapter twenty-five

  Daeryn swung his crutches through the doors of the workshop, h
is injured foot swaddled in a bandage and held aloft. Inside, Rivley glanced up from wrestling with the last leg on a spider machine.

  “Damn that Henry. I’d like to kick his tail feathers for ruining my spider.” Rivley dropped a wrench and yanked until the jointed leg came loose.

  “That’s why you aren’t in charge,” Daeryn said. “People make mistakes. You’ve got to be more tolerant.”

  Rivley sat back on his heels. “All it takes is a little observation. Anyone with even human eyesight could see this machine was struggling. Look at it. Worked to its last breath before the boy brought it in.”

  The legless body of the machine cradled on sawhorses didn’t look like much. “Most of us don’t think of these spiders as pets like you do. Henry is young. He’ll learn. Leave that to Master Brightwell, and do your part to salvage the equipment. It’s not dead.”

  “Nearly,” Rivley muttered. “Oil is like blood for them. No oil, no life.” He picked up one of the legs and sat with it on a nearby crate. “Guess you’ve answered any question about your healing.” He pulled a rubbish can between his feet and started wiping the leg’s joints with a rag. Dirt rained down into the metal bucket.

  Daeryn shrugged. “Maybe.” He shifted the crutches to one hand. When Rivley looked up, he rocked slightly as if it hurt, then walked across the room and pivoted with a grin. “Lying low until Annmar tells me she’s comfortable with her Knack.”

  Rivley whistled his approval. “That girl has some powerful Knack. But you’re an idiot. Someone could have seen you walk on it.”

  “Give me some credit. No one’s nearby.” Daeryn leaned against a post to watch Rivley work. “Why are you so grumpy? I’m the one who lost a girl this morning.”

  “You didn’t have her.”

  Ouch. “Lost my chance at a girl, then. Same thing.”

  Rivley ignored him. He dropped the rag, picked up a clean one and the oilcan. He dripped oil over each joint and watched it soak around the grime.

  The tedious cleaning of the machine was too much for Daeryn when more important matters had to be resolved. He dragged over another crate. “Look, I know I blew it, but do you think I have any hope?”