The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

barely sanded, wooden bobbins with fat bulbs on the ends, as well as pillows covered in rough homespun and stuffed with straw. The factory tools, including the pins, were so clumsy that only thread heavy enough so it wouldn’t suffer damage from rolling bobbins and overtwisting could be used on them. The light in the factories was poor, restricting patterns to large, open, and symmetrical designs. Katrina pitied those women for a moment. Her family was wealthy. She would learn the art of lace and design at the palace, as well as how to finish the lace onto garments. She owned her own equipment and could work at home if she chose, once she’d finished her journeywoman’s work. She also had a treasure trove of exclusive patterns to keep her work unique. These wonderful tools would grant her special privileges at court, and if she managed to design a truly glorious pattern, she could be named a national treasure.
    M’ma was still working for that status. Granm’ma had achieved the prestigious title days before her death last winter.
    Deftly, Katrina worked a stitch, double twist right over left in both pairs, single cross, left over right between the pairs, and push a very slender pin into the proper hole in the pattern that encircled the bolster. Then, another double twist of right over left and a cross of left over right to enclose the pin in thread. Set aside one pair of bobbins, pick up the next in line.
    The ancient rhythm of the bobbin weaving settled into her hands as a work tune brushed her mind. She hummed the soft clicking rhythm of the song—the first lullaby she’d ever heard—in time with the movements of her hands. Double twist, cross, and pin.
    This third of the beginning patterns already seemed too simple and she longed for a more complex one. The first few finger-lengths of this lace, where she’d made two mistakes, had become the disputed doll’s shawl and cap. Katrina had started and restarted the pattern several times until the work was perfect. Two arm-lengths of lace from each of three patterns were the entry examination for apprenticeship. A few more days of concentrated work would finish the requirement.
    She had more than a few days to finish. She had until P’pa’s ship returned with its precious cargo.
    Double twist, cross.
    “When will you get to use Tambrin thread?” Hilza barely breathed her question.
    “Not for years yet. I’ve got too much to learn before I can use anything but short-spun cotton and thick linen,” Katrina replied. Double twist, cross, and pin. “Only lacemakers as smart as M’ma can use Tambrin. It’s too expensive to waste on beginners.”
    Double twist, cross.
    “Maybe by the time Queen Miranda’s baby is of an age to marry, I’ll be skilled enough to make the wedding veil out of Tambrin.” Provided P’pa found the money for her apprenticeship.
    Maaben and Hilza continued to watch, mouths slightly open, breathing shallow, and eyes fixed on the lace.
    Double twist, cross. Double twist, cross, and pin.
     
    Yaakke crept up the back stairs of the Bay Hag Inn to retrieve his staff and pack. Twilight had fallen early, along with a new onslaught of rain. He hadn’t been able to communicate with Jaylor by telepathy all day. News of the smuggler would have to wait a little while. He had to get out of town tonight if he wanted to meet the dragon’s deadline.
    He munched absently on a thin slice of purloined meat stuck between two slabs of coarse bread. Not nearly as tasty as the sausage rolls Margit had offered him when he’d questioned her about the smuggler masquerading as a Guild Pilot. She’d thanked him prettily for intervening on her behalf. Her clear blue-gray eyes had offered him more than a pasty. He didn’t have time or inclination to linger.
    His eyes and mind focused on the essence of each piece of wood in the steps, picking out stress points that would groan and betray his presence to anyone in adjacent rooms. Finding the creaks on the stairs with his magic was better than thinking about the half-cooked fat and gristle.
    But what else should he expect from the Bay Hag? Isolated on the mainland from the river delta islands that made up Coronnan City, this was the kind of place where a man could rent bed space well away from prying eyes and ears, without questions.
    The Bay Hag Inn seethed with life tonight. Mostly lowlifes who couldn’t afford shelter from the rain in the city proper. Patches of fresh thatch dotted the moldering roof.