"Splendid idea," she said, and fought hard not to burst out laughing. She hoped her face wasn't bright red from her repressed mirth. So unbecoming.
"It is?" The poor tailor's voice cracked, and he went whiter than his starching powder.
"That will support our decision to be discrete. If I live in Judge Brimble's household, no one needs to know that I am actually in your employ. Everyone will believe that I have been hired by the judge. He can let my credentials be known—entirely by accident, of course, because a man of his stature has no need to brag about the talents of those in his employ. No one will know that you put the judge ahead of the mayor, or that the judge is paying you for my services. In fact, providing for my room and meals will cut down on the higher fees I usually charge for my services."
She fought more laughter when Judge Brimble's mouth and eyes twitched at mention of "higher fees." She had pegged the man accurately. A miser about paying decent wages, but lavish with his own comforts. If he thought he was saving money by having her under his roof, that was his error, and made willingly.
"I'll leave the two of you to work out the final arrangements. Dealing with money is so tedious," she said, dropping a curtsey to them both. Merrigan was certain both men held their breaths as she swept out of the room.
Mistress Twilby burst into tears and flung her arms around Merrigan, after she told her what had happened. She found it rather irritating and slightly discomfiting when the woman insisted that she must have been "sent." Stuff and nonsense—she had made the choice. No one had made her come to this town. She was inflicting a little justice on Judge Brimble for her own satisfaction, and for the sake of the miller's son—she still couldn't remember his name. Merrigan still needed to find the man who had stolen the mill from him. He had done it with the help of the judge, so she was one step closer to her goal.
While it was lovely to have the gratitude of the Twilby family, being in the judge's household would make it easier to find the man who had taken the mill. When she had dealt with that cheat, then she could leave Smilpotz. Perhaps when she got out onto the main road, that alarmingly handsome Fae would be waiting for her, ready to grant her some much-needed and highly deserved help.
Everything was working out perfectly.
JUDGE BRIMBLE'S SERVANTS were suitably cowed, for the most part, from the moment Merrigan walked through the door, early the next morning. She arrived before there was enough traffic on the streets of Smilpotz for anyone to see her leave the tailor shop and walk to the judge's house. The household staff consisted of two overweight, pock-marked serving girls who seemed to find the floor fascinating; a bald, swarthy-skinned cook with a peg leg and eyepatch, who had the audacity to wink at her; an elderly, stiff-backed seneschal who looked down his nose at Merrigan; a pasty-faced clerk who looked like he should still be in school and not studying for the law under the auspices of Brimble; and two boys who saw to the stables and drove the judge's carriage. The house sat on the far edge of town and was large enough to impress Merrigan. Four stories tall, built of stone, the narrow window slits gave the impression the manor house had originally been a fortress.
She decided the judge was indeed too big for his britches as soon as the seneschal took her on a tour of the premises to find the perfect room to set up her workshop. He had entirely too many rooms for a man who had yet to find a wife and, according to town gossip, preferred to entertain in the largest tavern in town, instead of his own home. Half the bedrooms didn't have any furniture. The windows were shuttered and then sealed with waxed sheets of linen. They all smelled musty. The servants lived in the back of the house on the second floor, with plenty of room between them and the judge's living area. He occupied the front of the house on the first two floors, occupying a massive bedroom, another room twice as large for his wardrobe, a sitting room, an office, and a dusty dining room. One other room was of note, but as Merrigan learned quickly, he never really used it. The library sat on the second floor, spanning the office and the dining room below it.
Merrigan lost her breath at the sight of the library. Between the floor-to-ceiling shelves jammed with books, the thick curdles of dust over everything, and the knowledge of just what a perfect location that was to listen in on everything transpiring in the office, she wasn't sure which detail impressed her most. Or maybe it was the delight of seeing the seneschal go white when she declared she would use the library for sewing, and he had to have it thoroughly cleaned. Immediately. After all, when she had chosen all the fine cloth for the judge's new clothes, the material had to be handled in spotlessly clean surroundings.
The seneschal couldn't argue with her, because it only made sense to use the library. No one else was using it, as attested to by the curdles of dust that turned all the thick leather book spines the same drab shade of gray. The windows between the bookshelves provided light from the south and east. The three long study tables in the middle of the room could be pushed together to form one long worktable to handle several pieces of clothing in various stages of assembly. The thick-cushioned chairs were a bonus. It was as if the library was made to order.
She decided to move into the library, once she saw the parsimonious bedroom allotted to her. The cushion on the deep window seat would make a much more comfortable bed than the thin pallet on a narrow frame waiting for her.
It wasn't as if the judge would be inconvenienced. From the thickness of the dust, he hadn't consulted his library in years. To carry out his duties properly, he would need to continually consult the volumes of law. Yet he obviously didn't. Her father prized men who kept learning, who weren't ashamed to admit they didn't know something, then sought to learn twice as much as they needed to carry out their duties. Despite his softer qualities, her father was a wise man and a good ruler, and Merrigan trusted most of his assessments of people's worth. The King of Avylyn would loathe Judge Brimble just as much as she did. Yes, such a dunderhead deserved the punishment she would levy on him and his co-conspirator.
The two stable boys came to fetch her shortly after the cleaning effort started. Merrigan left the two serving girls battling the thick layers of dust with damp rags. She followed the boys outside, to the back courtyard, where the judge's coach waited. He was pacing in front of its door, eyes bright and step amazingly light for such a big man. When he saw her, his arms spread wide and Merrigan cringed at the horrified thought that he might try to embrace her.
Of course, he didn't know a beautiful young queen hid behind the decrepit husk of Clara's curse. His emotions ruled him, not lust.
"Mistress Mara." He bowed to her, and straightening, pulled a leather pouch from his pocket. "I entrust you to obtain everything necessary for creating my new wardrobe. The lads have been instructed to take you as far as Carnpotz, if need be. Here is my letter of introduction with my seal, so no one will dare say no to you. In fact, dear lady ..." His eager-little-boy expression dimmed as he looked her over. He sighed. "I think perhaps your first stop should be to procure better clothing for yourself. It is a tragedy that the failings of others put you in such dire circumstances. How shall I put this delicately for a lady of your great talent?"
"I do not look the part. Some people might think I lied about having handled Queen Merrigan's clothes personally?" She kept her voice dry and light. She had found that softening her tone effectively made people with booming voices stop booming.
"Indeed. You do understand."
Merrigan understood very clearly that if the judge weren't in such a dreadful hurry to have his new clothes, he might have showed some common sense and investigated whether an old, white-haired woman named Mara had indeed been a seamstress for the courts of Avylyn and Carlion. That kind of investigation could take moons, and require crossing the ocean. She had been counting on the judge's impatience and vanity to keep him from investigating. Only a fool took a total stranger's word as fact. This was another proof of her theory: people assumed the elderly, frail, daft, and very young were trustworthy and truthful.
; "I do understand, Your Honor." She took the pouch of coins. It was satisfyingly heavy and didn't jangle as she slipped it into the bag still slung across her chest. "I do thank you for trying to be delicate about a woman's vanity." She fluttered her eyelashes for good effect, and nearly burst out laughing when the judge shifted backward half a step.
Did the self-obsessed fool think she flirted with him?
"I shall repair my outward appearance so that I will not embarrass you, if anyone should remember who bought the material for your splendid new wardrobe. I shall make sure every penny is devoted to my task. The outcome shall be most satisfactory for all involved."
There—let anyone take apart her words and prove she promised to spend all the money on him, rather than putting as much as she could into her own pocket. This further ensured that he paid for his part in cheating a decent-if-gullible young man out of his inheritance. That would satisfy the Fae who had presumed to lecture her. Just because he had magic in his blood, that didn't give him the right to criticize. If Merrigan hadn't learned the painful lesson of dealing very carefully with majjian folk, she might have told him a thing or two about the twisted, unreasonable expectations of the magical races in general.
Merrigan's estimation of the judge's foolishness increased when she found a basket packed with food for the journey, tucked into the carriage. The man was falling over himself to please her, without any proof of her skill.
She had plenty of time on the carriage ride to plan her actions for the next few days. Servants knew everything within a household. They became invisible to their employers and they saw and heard things that many people kept hidden from their own spouses and children. Their invisible, all-seeing position made servants rather valuable—once trained properly.
As the first step in gaining the confidence of the entire household, Merrigan rapped on the roof of the carriage, asking the boys driving it to stop. Much as she would have preferred to keep the provisions to herself, she shared the meat rolls, honey cakes, and the thick stone bottle of cold milk with the boys. It was amusing to see how their eyes lit up, and to observe the visible shift in their attitudes toward her. Such simple, malleable people, these peasants. She had to assume the judge was so cavalier about the treatment of his servants, any kindness earned their admiration. If she could simply remember to continue such treatment with the entire household staff, she would have them eating out of her hands. A somewhat disgusting thought, if taken literally. In short order, she would have their confidence and they would help her in taking down the judge. Destroy sweet young girls like Fern Twilby, or cheat the miller's son of his inheritance? Not while an intelligent, determined woman was anywhere in the neighborhood.
The first shop she visited was to provide herself with better clothes than the rusty black widow's weeds. While Merrigan would have loved to indulge in the deep jewel tones she saw on one rack of bolts of cloth, the material was too expensive and fragile. She had learned the value of having sturdy clothes while living on the road. Besides, the rich burgundy or the deep emerald green, while perfect for her coloring when she wore her own face, would look utterly ridiculous with her pale, sagging skin and white hair and washed-out eyes. Much as it galled her, Merrigan chose from the clothes the shopkeeper offered. She assumed the unfashionable clothes were discards from people who no longer wanted or needed them. Along with fresh new underpinnings and much better shoes, she chose two complete outfits in dark blue and a rich gray with hints of purple. Both were too large for her, but the shopkeeper gave her a box of pins for free. She used them to adjust the blue dress so she could wear it out of the shop and present a much better image to the other merchants she would have to deal with today. Once she altered her new clothes, she would be quite well-dressed, even if on plain and simple lines. She would prove her talent, even before the judge walked about in his new clothes.
Now, if only she could remember that spell Nanny Tulip had taught her, for making collars that choked their wearers days and moons after she had made them.
THE LIBRARY WAS SO utterly transformed when Merrigan returned to Judge Brimble's house that evening, it astonished her into a good mood. She did love the smell of fresh lemon wax and floor polish and the aroma of cleaned leather. The bindings of all those lovely books shone with quiet splendor as she walked around the library, inspecting the cleaning job the two serving girls had done. The library in her father's palace had been her favorite place, her retreat from an unkind, critical world, and her heart had ached a little when she saw the neglect inflicted on this place. The stable boys moved the tables into position in the center of the room, under the massive oil lamp chandelier, under her direction. Then they brought in the packages from four different shops, full of all the supplies Merrigan needed for her tailoring work.
The fresh, hot meal the girls hurried to bring her, before she could even ask, raised her spirits even more. Merrigan thanked them and, according to her long-term strategy, asked if they wanted to see all the lovely fabrics and thread and buttons and trimmings she had bought. When she offered to teach them fine sewing, to better their stations, the girls clasped hands and muffled little squeals of delight. Merrigan knew she had them in the palm of her hand. With some surprise, she decided they were actually pretty, under their dull clothes and an extra stone or two of weight.
Judge Brimble was entirely too jovially pleased with the choices in cloth and colors and patterns, when he came to inspect her purchases the next morning. Merrigan feared he might embrace her this time. Fortunately, she was already hard at work, using the sharp new scissors bought with his money. He never asked her how much everything cost, though he did care which merchants she patronized and who might have seen her in his carriage. He also complimented her on the improved image she presented in her new clothes. Merrigan almost felt a flicker of sympathy for him, when she thought of the tidy stack of silver coins tucked away at the bottom of her bag of buttons and trimmings. Between a mixture of respect for and fear of Judge Brimble and casually mentioning that she had been a seamstress to royalty, many shopkeepers and merchants offered Merrigan lower prices on her purchases. She knew they depended on her to come back, and likely planned on improving their reputations by boasting that they had sold to her. Whenever Judge Brimble came into Carnpotz, they could point to his clothes and say that the material came from their shops.
Master Twilby expressed his gratitude for Merrigan's intervention with a basket of fruity pastries, fresh from Fern's clever little hands, when he sent over Judge Brimble's measurements. That saved her the somewhat distasteful task of having to get close to the man and touch him. Now all she had to do was make patterns to suit the current fashions.
Judge Brimble was in such a jolly mood that his voice boomed through the house all morning. Merrigan sat in her library, measuring, marking, cutting, smiling, and listening. The pipe for the heating stove in Judge Brimble's office connected with the pipe for the library stove. It perfectly funneled sound up to Merrigan for her to hear every conversation he had there. She had plenty of paper and ink and ten fine quill pens that the serving girls had procured for her. Flora and Fauna. She made sure to remember their names, since it was important to her plan. Whenever something interesting came up in the judge's meetings, Merrigan made notes. She didn't learn any plots that first day, or even hints of plots to cheat other people, but she did learn quite a bit about the town of Smilpotz. The judge considered himself not only admired, but well-liked. He treated all his visitors with a jolliness that had Merrigan gritting her teeth several times. Even with a floor between her and them, the tones of the many voices, the hesitations, the broken sentences taught her the people coming before Brimble might respect him, but from fear and desperation, not admiration. Her father, by contrast, had ruled Avylyn with justice and honor, and the people had been intensely loyal by choice, not through intimidation. Bribes and threats didn't work well on people who were loyal to an admirable man.
What Merrigan heard solidified her resolve to ha
ve Brimble taken down a few notches, his benefactor mask torn away. He simply was not admirable. Not like her father. And not just because she owed the miller's son a good turn.
"Why can't I remember his name?" she muttered, nearly skewering her finger with the needle she had been trying to thread. "Oh, bother ..." She sighed, put down the needle and thread, and rubbed at her temples.
She had been sitting too long. After what felt like years of walking from village to town, she wasn't used to sitting for more than half an hour at a time. She felt restless. Oddly, she thought she might miss, just a tiny bit, being outdoors and on the move.
"That can be fixed easily enough," she muttered, looking around the massive library. Two or three circuits of the room, and then she could concentrate on the judge's conversation with the baker, who was upset over someone spreading false tales about finding ashes in his bread. Merrigan knew those were lies, because she had thoroughly enjoyed the light, tasty bread the baker had given her for free. A man who adulterated his flour and lowered the quality of his goods wouldn't give away free bread. Cheats didn't have that generosity of spirit. Anyone with a bit of common sense could figure that out in two seconds.
She circled the room twice, making a game of walking as silently and lightly as thistledown. The baker had been disturbed by the rumors enough to confront the people spreading them, to demand proof that the bread they had eaten was bad. Merrigan snorted at hearing that. If the bread was bad, they should have returned it and demanded their money back, instead of just complaining. Any fool knew that. Talk was no good without proof.
"Told you so," she muttered, when Judge Brimble echoed her thoughts, but in more formal, legal language. Then the baker said the people he confronted had only repeated what others said.
The Kindness Curse Page 5