I’m probably not doing this right. But this ought to be a story inside a story, and I’m not finding the story it’s supposed to be inside. Blame me for being a techie idiot.
So if anybody reading this can’t figure out what the heck it is, it’s a chapter (or part of a chapter) in a book I’m writing, entitled The Broken Sky, which is a sequel to a book I published on Amazon a couple of years ago entitled The Fugitive Princess. The whole book up to this point, in short segments, is to be found on DK on WriteOn, which appears on Thursday evenings. I have no idea how to tell you how to go back and see more of it, if anyone wants to, but I bet some of you know how to do it. So here goes:
THE BROKEN SKY
(The end of Part Two, “The Plan”)
Over the next several days, as Sillax frequented the Queen’s Court, she spent most of her time there with Hylara. Their old intimacy insidiously renewed itself. Hylara kept telling herself not to be fooled, but the remembered closeness kept insisting on obtruding. Gradually the old feeling reasserted itself, the feeling of being lucky to share closeness with such a sparkling personality. She found herself leaning in to hear Sillax’s comments on the other ladies, and somewhat guiltily sharing her own observations, some of which she knew very well she should have kept to herself.
One morning, before Sillax had arrived, Monna sat down next to Hylara on one of the side couches. “I see you’re spending a lot of time with the bard,” she observed. “I thought you said she’d betrayed you.”
“Well…she did,” Hylara admitted uncomfortably. “But I keep remembering…when I first got to the Bard Center…I was only 14. I hadn’t a clue about anything, and there were no other girls my age. Sillia was two years older than I was, and she seemed so knowledgeable about everything….and I was flattered that she’d make a friend of me. And then we were close, for years. She always helped me through difficulties, and we shared so much!”
“Until she stuck a knife in your back,” Monna reminded her. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust her again.”
“No…I suppose I shouldn’t. It’s just that…well, she’s that kind of person. I mean….”
“I can see that. But you’re not 14. You need to look at reality. Reality isn’t always as it seems.”
Hylara sighed. “Thank you. I expect you’re right. I’ll try to keep it in mind. It’s just that it’s hard when she---well, she sparkles! I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“And here she is.” Monna nodded toward the door. “Sparkling.”
Sillax headed straight for Hylara, and drew her toward the other side of the room, with a polite dip of the head for Monna. “Wait till I tell you what I saw in the hall!” Hylara sat down with her and listened, but felt herself keeping a sort of distance. Sillax noticed and spoke more animatedly, in a low tone that forced Hylara to lean in to hear.
Suddenly a messenger entered and announced loudly, “The king summons Lady Hylara to the Throne Room!”
Hylara gave a gasp of relief. Chondaleen’s friend must have finally arrived with the cloth. Now perhaps the plan could move along again. Thinking about that drove Sillax from her mind entirely, so that when she rose she heard with only part of her mind the bard’s excited, “How thrilling! What do you think it’s about?”
“This is none of your concern,” she replied curtly, as she headed for the door, not noticing either Sillax’s expression of offense or Monna’s look of satisfaction.
A few minutes later, Hylara found the usual group, minus Zispattoon, gathered in the side room. To her surprise, Bernok the portmaster was present again. The unfamiliar man sitting off to one side on some large bales was presumably Chondaleen’s weaver friend. He looked as if he’d prefer to be hiding behind his bales rather than sitting on them.
Haralorn greeted her from outside the door. “I need to take care of something, but I’ll pop in when Zispattoon gets here.” Hylara tried to make small talk while waiting, but none of the men responded with more than politeness.
A few minutes later Zispattoon hurried in breathlessly. “I’m sorry, I was up on the walls when I got the message.”
When Haralorn arrived, he wasted no time. “You must be the weaver we’ve heard of. Your name, Emmer?”
The man had of course risen with the others when Haralorn entered. Now he looked at the king rather wildly, noted the small crown, and bowed so low that he nearly toppled. “Frablet, my lord king, if it please you.”
Haralorn sighed. “I expect that’d be your name even if it didn’t please me! Look, this is an informal meeting. Pretend I’m your city magistrate or something. But I really don’t have much time, so let’s see this cloth.”
Frablet opened a bale, so nervously that his fingers fumbled. He drew out a length of the fabric within. Hylara gasped. Having only seen a tiny sample, she was not prepared for the magnificence. The loosely woven fabric glowed with color, and when released from the bale began to curl around Frablet’s arm almost as if it were alive.
All the men reached forward as if drawn. “It’s sort of….sticky,” commented Haralorn slowly.
“Yes, my lord,” agreed Frablet, “but not in the sense that it would leave a residue. Only in the sense that it clings to the wearer. A garment molds itself to the body, but yet retains an appearance of modesty. Therefore a dress need not be exactly fitted, only approximately the right size for the lady wearing it.” Now that Frablet was speaking of his own area of expertise he seemed to have lost his awe of the king.
“This would sell well almost anywhere,” observed Bernok, “though as a luxury fabric its price would have to be high. How much of it can you provide?”
“My lords,” Frablet was clearly nervous again. “I’ve been weaving this for four months, since I developed the process, and this is ALL I”ve made.” He waved at his bales. “It’s slow to make because of the…well, it’s hard to explain, but it rather resists being woven.” As if to concur, a loose thread wrapped itself around his finger.
“What price are you asking for it?” inquired Haralorn.
“I was thinking….” Frablet swallowed. “Two gold the standard bolt? I know that’s high, but---“
“Two gold?” burst out Bernok. “Man, are you demented? It’s worth twenty if it’s worth a silver! Or at least, it would fetch that, easily, in the Western Lands---and probably not much less than that well east of there, too.” Bernok turned to Haralorn. “My lord king, if you’re meaning to send the Lady of the East to the Western Lands, you couldn’t do better than to stock it with this---as much as you can get. It’s so different from shining-cloth that there’d be no competition. You’ll make a good profit on as much as you can fit in the hold.”
“I agree,” stated Zispattoon. “The noble ladies of the Western Lands will be fighting over this!”
“So will the nable ladies here, if they get the chance. Haralorn, Marilka will want a dress of this.” Hylara was too excited to notice her informality, and Haralorn didn’t seem bothered by it, but Credillion frowned, and Frablet and Bernok both looked shocked.
“How many bolts are here?” Haralorn asked Frablet.
“My lord, I have two bales: four bolts per bale.” Frablet was looking dazed.
“Credillion, what do you think? How much of this stuff can the kingdom afford to buy and send out?”
“Oh, we can buy these eight bolts now for ten gold each, and expect to double the money. I can give him cash, my lord.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll need my---“
“I’ll send him in.” Haralorn jumped up and disappeared out the door before the others could rise. A moment later Credillion’s assistant appeared, as usual burdened with ledgers and a sack.
Credillion waved at Frablet. “Give this man 80 gold, and take charge of these bales. We can store them in the treasury for now.” The assistant dumped out coins from the bag onto the table and began counting, watched by Frablet with an expression of shock. “If you can bring more before the Lady of the East sails from here—at least a month, probably longer—I’ll pay you the same. Yes, I know you said it’s slow to make. I’d advise you to use some of that---“ he waved a negligent hand at the table---“to hire another weaver or two, so you can produce faster.”
“But my lord, it’s my secret process!”
Credillion shrugged. “That’s up to you.” He swept out, followed by the assistant, clutching the ledgers. “I’ll send a servant for the bales.” And in a couple of minutes, one appeared and tugged them out the door.
Bernok rose. “I don’t expect to be back here any time soon---it’s a meggling long walk! But I’ll send word when the Lady of the East gets in. Come on, Frablet. Pick up your gold and stop looking like a yourgot that just got stepped on. You’re going to be rich, man! Get used to it.” The two men left.
Zispattoon took a deep breath. “Now at last it feels as though we may be on our way.”
Hylara pictured herself relaying this exciting news to Sillax. Then she pulled herself up short. What was the matter with her, anyway? Sillax was not going to hear a word of this.
I’ll be happy to answer comments or questions.