The Dragon's Tapestry

But Marwen didn’t want to think or talk about the ip, know­ing that, though the people often disbelieved the magic, they still feared sorcery.

“You make beautiful shoes,” she said. “I have come over the hills without shoes.”

“You want to buy shoes?”

“No,” Marwen said, stepping back. Somewhere, someone was baking sugar tarts, and she lifted her head to smell them.

“You are hungry. You have money?” the man asked.

“No.”

“You have something for trade?” Marwen did not answer.

The man looked at Maug. “Big boy, you can work?” The man’s eyes fell on Maug’s waist where his tapestry pouch should have been, and then his molehairs bristled. He turned back to his work with a quick shake of his head.

Marwen looked at Maug. He swallowed. There were likely few in such a large city who cared if a strange boy and girl starved before their eyes. The smell of hot buttersoaks struck her. The saliva in her mouth went thin as water.

“Please,” she said, “I have a gift, in spells and charms.” She remembered her vow that she would not sell her magic for shoes as Grondil had done. She could feel her cheeks flushing.

The man turned back to face her. He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, never taking his eyes from hers. “I believe yes,” he said softly. “You smell my water, it sings to you. You have this ip for a pet. I think you have the gift, you are one of them. My name is Crob. Come, help, and I will give you food and shoes.”

Curtly and without looking at them again, the man had Mar­wen and Maug help him empty his shelves into bags lined with slots into which the shoes fit. He gave Marwen the water bucket to carry. To Maug he gave the heaviest bags and gestured to them to follow him. She was afraid, following this odd-looking man into the heart of a city she did not know, and she glanced back often at Maug, taking a dark reassurance in his presence.

At one point he walked beside her. “Here, you take this,” he said shrugging off one of the bags of shoes onto her shoulder. “It wasn’t my idea to do this.”

“You should be grateful,” she hissed, watching the back of Crob’s head. “He’s right—you can’t work without a tapestry.”

“Shall I tell him what is in your tapestry pouch?” Maug asked quietly.

Marwen looked at him sideways and said nothing. Her back soon ached with the weight of the shoes and the water, but she clenched her jaw and did not complain. She was too engrossed in the city sights to complain.

Wealthy women shrouded in robes made from the wings of wingwands strolled the marketplace with easy haughty steps, their laughter rising like a slap to the impoverished who called their wares. Many of the poorest seemed to know Crob by name. One old woman who huddled before a neatly folded pile of blankets did not call but raised her empty hands to Crob as he passed, as though she held up her poverty as a thing of weight and substance.

“Blankets, good sir? Have need of fine woven blankets?” Her voice was tremulous, her fingers shook and Marwen recoiled, thinking of the Taker.

“No, Grandmother,” Crob said, “not today. But say a prayer for old Crob,” and he passed her a silver bit.

Marwen thought she saw the coin hover slightly above her palm before her fingers closed over it.

“You must be doing well with your beautiful shoes, Crob, to hire help,” the old woman said.

“Politha, for one so blind, you see much,” Crob said gruffly, but Marwen felt the gentle teasing in his voice.

Marwen saw that though her teeth were yellowed and her eyes blind, her smile was beautiful and full of wisdom. “Aye, I see your goodness,” the old woman said. “How is the lad?”

“Not much longer, I think,” Crob said, and he nodded at Marwen as if they shared some secret.

Marwen sensed something magical in the old woman and leaned down to pass her a ladleful of the cool water. She was reminded too well of the Taker to find her tongue and speak, but she managed to smile. The woman drank and passed the ladle back to Marwen.

“The Mother bless you, child,” she said.

Crob, Marwen, and Maug walked on. The streets were full of beggars. For some, Crob had a kind word or a joke, for others a little money and for one small child, a pair of shoes.

Soon Marwen was not afraid of this peculiar man. The man­ner of his walk was steady and sure. His head was bent like a man of hard work and sober duty, but he trod the road lightly.