The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

free leisure while the warehouse crew puzzled over the theft. The men who worked for Owner Brunix quaked inwardly in fear that they would lose their jobs. Work was hard to come by in SeLenicca. The only alternative to homelessness and starvation was the army. That life might provide a man with food and a tent over his head, but it provided nothing for his family unless they became camp followers. None of these men wanted their wives and daughters in so vulnerable a position that they could fall into the role of prostitute for an entire troop of battle-hardened men.
    “I sent word to our chieftain that I needed a night watchman. Someone special who can stop these thefts. That will be your job, Jack.” Owner Brunix closed his mouth as tightly as his mind. His eyes, too, searched the cavernous room for unseen thieves. Then his expression softened a little. “I had to fire the last night watchman. He drank and fell asleep once too often. I believe my rivals provided the whiskey.”
    “Whiskey has never crossed my lips, sir, and probably never will,” Jack affirmed. And it hadn’t. In Coronnan, the thick, sweet—and potent—beta’arack, distilled from treacle betas in Rossemeyer, was the preferred hard liquor. Grain had more profitable and practical uses in Coronnan—uses like bread and winter feed for cattle; it wasn’t wasted on whiskey. Since Queen Mikka from Rossemeyer had married King Darville and increased trade without tariff between the two countries, SeLenese whiskey was much more expensive than beta’arack.
    SeLenicca never traded with the desert homeland of Queen Rossemikka, so they wouldn’t have beta’arack. Indeed, Queen Mikka’s marriage to King Darville had precipitated the war between SeLenicca and Coronnan.
    “I have no uses for drunkards, Watchman Jack. Remember that and report to me if anyone offers you a bribe. You,” Brunix pointed to the warehouse foreman, “complete the order for that crate with the reserve reels of lace in my office. The rest of you, get back to work!” Brunix turned on his heel and marched out of the warehouse.
    Jack followed the owner’s rapid steps up a rickety wooden staircase to the first floor. Again he was met with a long narrow corridor running the length of the building. Two doorways on each side broke the bare walls.
    “Male employees sleep on the right. The far door is the bath.” Brunix gestured to the appropriate door. “Move your things into any empty bunk as soon as we finish this tour of the factory. Be ready to report to work at sunset.”
    “What are the doorways on the left, sir?” Jack hurried to keep up as they headed for yet another wooden staircase at the opposite end of the building. These steps were in better repair, painted and secured with a smooth railing.
    “The women’s dormitories.” Brunix paused halfway up the stairs. “Flogging and dismissal is the punishment for any man who enters those rooms. Even I must ask permission. Remember that if any of my women tempt you.”
    The possessiveness of the owner’s attitude grated on Jack. He wondered if Brunix owned the women like he owned the factory. Suddenly he disliked Brunix. Any sense of kinship he might have felt with his Rover heritage evaporated.
    “The workroom is above the dormitories on the second floor. You will patrol this area after the women retire for the night, as part of your rounds. Stay out at all other times. Touching the lace or the patterns is forbidden.”
    Jack stalled a moment to watch the two dozen women bent over their work stations. He’d seen loom weaving often enough, but this process of moving threads on slender spindles mystified him, defied all logic. Yet the delicate fabric spilling off the bolsters gleamed with life like gossamer strands of magic.
    A last ray of setting sun broke through the oiled parchment window coverings. Light set the strands of lace glimmering like moonlight on a dragon wing.
    Fraank was right. The patch must be of lace. This wonderful airy fabric seemed akin to Shayla’s iridescent membranes.
    “Is any of this lace made of Tambrin?” he asked casually. There was enough lace in this room to purchase a kingdom.
    “No.” Brunix squinted his eyes as if caught in a lie. “Only palace lacemakers are licensed to work with Tambrin. We make lace for export. It needs to be as inexpensive as possible, made with common threads. Palace lace is made for our own nobility and no one else.”
    If Tambrin added expense and value