Dragonskin Slippers (14 page)

As if reading my thoughts, Marta leaned in close and
said that she would share her tips, as she called them, with me. I tried to refuse, but she shrugged me off, saying that if it weren’t for my designs, she wouldn’t be getting the tips, and I subsided gratefully.

“Don’t your feet itch?” Larkin asked the question suddenly, making me fumble the reel of emerald-green ribbon I was carrying. It bounced on to the table and rolled past her. She reached out and stopped it, hard, with one hand.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your feet. Don’t they itch? If I wore those blue slippers all the time, my feet would always be itching.”

“Um, no, they’re fine,” I lied.

The truth was that they did itch all the time. But by now I was used to it. In fact, until she had mentioned it, I hadn’t thought about my feet all day. The itching grew stronger or weaker in surges and waves, and right now it was more like a subdued pulse that made me feel my heart beating in the soles of my feet.

“I thought I heard voices when I put them on,” Larkin continued, ignoring my discomfiture.

“How odd,” I said with a catch in my voice. “Perhaps you were overtired.”

Larkin merely looked at me until I grew uncomfortable and went back to sorting silks. A young countess with dark hair would be dressed daringly in shades of red on a pale rose background, with the leading stitched in gold. A crocus-yellow gown for an earl’s daughter would be ornamented with greens and blues, and the leading
done with a green so dark it was nearly black. I laid out each collection of silks with care, positioning them atop the bolt of fabric that the gown would be made from. The red-on-rose reminded me of Shardas’s
Lily Window
, blood-red lilies with green stems arching against a pale pink background. The yellow gown made me think of sunshine, and the blue-and-green embroidery would be eye-catching in patterns like ocean waves. I had never seen the ocean, but my memories of Shardas’s
Ocean Window
would provide the pattern, with the fabric of the bodice rising over it like the sun. Enticed by the colours and the challenge of the designs, I set to work.

I was the last person awake that night. I had somehow found myself agreeing to cut out all the fabric for the new gowns I would be supervising, and was hunched over the worktable with a heavy pair of shears long after the others had gone up to bed. By the time I finished cutting the last piece of yellow silk, my eyes were dry and burning and the itching of my feet had deadened them until I could no longer move my toes.

With a huge sigh that made tears start in my eyes, I flopped back in one of the hard chairs and dropped the shears on to the table. “Oh, Shardas, how I wish I were back in your cave,” I groaned, shaking out my sore hands. “How I wish I were sitting on a coil of your tail and talking … anything but cutting fabric!”

I was so tired that I couldn’t even bring myself to mount the narrow stairs to the sleeping quarters. Instead, I slumped forward and pillowed my head on my arms. I closed my eyes and dozed off at once.

I awoke with a start. It felt as though my feet were on fire. I reached under the table and ripped my blue slippers right off, rubbing my stockinged feet back and forth on the bare wooden floor to try to soothe them.

The itching stopped immediately, which made the noise all the more obvious. There was a scraping sound coming from somewhere outside the shop, accompanied by a weird rumble that reminded me of a dragon laughing.

With a jolt I realised that it
was
a dragon laughing, or sighing, or something.

I ran through the shop to fling open the front door, needing both hands to lift the heavy bar that secured the entrance at night. Running out into the street in my stocking feet, I nearly tripped over a coil of Shardas’s tail. The huge gold dragon was crouched uncomfortably in the street directly in front of Derda’s shop.

“Oh, Shardas! Dear Shardas, you’re here!” I was half-laughing, half-crying at the sight of my friend. “I was so longing to see you!” And I threw my arms around one of his forelegs, the only part of him I could get my arms around, other than his tail.

“Of course I’m here,” he said in his dry way. He huffed warm breath down the back of my neck. “How could I not come?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he began reluctantly, “you see, I –” He broke off. “Where are your shoes?”

“Oh, just inside there, they were making my feet itch, so I took them off. Why?”

“They make your feet itch?”

“Yes, and I don’t know why. I don’t have fleas or anything. It was so bad right before I heard you that I thought I was on fire.”

“I’m sorry.”

I brushed aside his apology. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Actually,” he said, “I – No. Never mind. I came to see how you were getting on.”

I realised that I was squinting, confused by his half-finished thought. “Er,” I said, blinking. “Not very well,” I confessed. Then I looked around. I thought I saw a movement in one of the second-storey windows, but when I looked closer I couldn’t see anyone. The shutter was ajar, however. “But someone might see you, you should go.”

“I know a place where we can be comfortable,” Shardas said. “If I may?”

He held out a claw to me. I stepped into it and he gently picked me up and leaped into the sky. A single flap of his wings and we had soared over the rooftops of the cloth-workers’ district. A building with three fat steeples at one end of the roof loomed before us, and Shardas landed on it neatly. He curled up on the flat roof in the shadow of the spires while I seated myself on a comfortable section of his tail. Thus hidden from prying eyes, I spilled out my story.

“I know I should be grateful,” I finished with a sigh. “But it’s just that, well, I dreamed of coming here and becoming a famous dressmaker or some such. But I didn’t
think that most of my earnings would go to my employer, or that she would keep me in the back room slaving away until my fingers bled!” I held up my reddened digits for his scrutiny.

“Come back with me, then,” he offered. “You are more than welcome at my cave.” He hesitated. “I must confess that I enjoyed having you there, and have found myself rather … lonely … since you left.”

I blushed, flattered. Then I wondered if some day in the distant future Shardas would be telling another human about a girl named Creel, who had been his friend when he was a mere seven hundred and seventy years old.

“I would love that,” I said. “But the truth is, I would feel like a failure if I gave up now and went with you. I came to the King’s Seat to make my fortune and by the Triunity, I’m going to do it!” I pounded on his scales with one clenched fist.

“Yes, well, that’s very noble of you,” Shardas said with a rumble of laughter that rattled the slate tiles beneath us. “But please call on me if you decide that you’ve had enough.” He raised his long neck and looked over the roofs. “It will be dawn soon, and I should go. But promise me one thing …”

“What’s that?”

“As soon as you have earned some money, please buy new shoes.”

“What? What is it about my slippers?” I hopped to my feet. “Wherever I go these shoes stir up trouble. It’s
becoming ridiculous. You must know something; I can hear it in your voice.” I remembered suddenly that I had forgotten to tell him about Larkin. “The other day one of the other girls put them on, and she fainted. Is that not strange?”

“She fainted?” Shardas sounded concerned.

“Yes, and she said she heard things, and that they made her feet itch, too.” I shook my head, puzzled. “Please, Shardas, if you know something about them, I think I have a right to hear it. They are my slippers, after all.”

Shardas leaned his long head in close to me. “They are not just any plain slippers. They are very old, and have a history to them.” He looked at the horizon, where there was a faint hint of dawn. “I thought before that it might be better if you didn’t know, but since they are making you itch and attracting attention, then perhaps it is time you knew. Those slippers come from –”

We both jerked as the sanctuary bells began to ring, heralding the first hour of the day. I gave him a panicked look.

“Derda’s an early riser,” I said.

Shardas spread one foreclaw and I jumped into it. He soared off the roof and back to the street where I lived now. He set me down gently, rumbled an apology, and took off again, unfurling his wings with a snap as soon as he cleared the rooftops. I whisked inside the shop and stood peeping out from between the curtains of the large front window, watching as a pair of King’s
Guards marched down the street, on their way home after a night spent enforcing the curfew. After they had passed I waited until the sun had risen fully for Shardas to return, but he never came back. In the end I gathered up my strange slippers and went upstairs.

“Why are we also weaving these sashes and embroidering silk scarves, on top of our other work?” I picked up one of the offending scarves and shook it in Marta’s face. Then I tossed it down on the table, or tried to, anyway. It wafted down in a less-than-satisfactory manner.

It was supposed to be our day off, but we had so much work that Derda had insisted we all stay in and sew until lunchtime. If I wasn’t worried about losing my job, Iwould have rebelled.

Marta just laughed. “It’s almost time for the Merchants’ Ball. Some of the baker’s girls from next door have saved up so that they can attend. They can’t afford new gowns, but they want new sashes to refurbish the ones they’ve got.”

“Is it really necessary for them to dress so fine? Don’t the investors know that they don’t have any money? That
is
why they’re at the ball.”

“Thus the cruel irony of the ball,” Marta said, holding up a finger. “One must have enough money to dress like a wealthy in order to successfully plead for more money.” She shook her head again. “That’s why I just want to save up enough to go home to my little village and open a nice country shop.” She lowered her voice. “Just don’t let Derda hear you say anything bad about the ball. That’s how she got her start, you know.”

“No! Really? Derda?”

“That’s right,” Marta whispered. “She saved for ten years and finally had enough to buy some pink silk and make herself a gown. That’s why we wear this colour in the shop; it’s her signature, she says.”

“If you had the right gown, wouldn’t you do the same?” Alle plopped herself down on my other side with a sigh, “I know I would.”

“Would you?” Larkin was looking across the table with intensity, but not at Alle. At me. “If you had a gown, would you go?”

“I – I suppose.” I glanced around quickly to make sure that Derda wasn’t within earshot. “It would be nice to have my own shop, and be able to pick and choose what I want to sew.”

“Wouldn’t it just?” Marta carefully folded the scarf she had finished embroidering and set it aside. She picked up another with an expression of distaste. “This is for that uppity little milliner’s apprentice down the street,” she said. “I can’t abide her.”

“You should admire her for having the initiative to strike out on her own,” Derda snapped, coming around
the shelves nearest the worktable with a bolt of ivory satin cradled in her arms like a baby. “That is why you will embroider that scarf as finely as you would for a duchess or a princess.”

“Yes, mistress.” Marta lowered her eyes to her work and busied herself with curved needle and silken thread.

“Well?” Derda tapped her foot.

I realised that she was looking at me. “I beg your pardon?” I looked up at Derda, confused.

“Larkin asked if you would try for a sponsor at the Merchants’ Ball, if you had a suitable gown.”

“Er.” I felt red crawling up my cheeks. How was I supposed to answer? If I said “yes”, would she think I was eager to get away from her and her shop? But if I said “no” … well, that would be a lie, and Derda was very good at spotting lies. “Well …”

“Yes?” Derda cocked an eyebrow, and the other girls were watching me carefully as well.

“Er. I suppose if I did have a proper ball gown, I might go.” I tried to make it sound as offhand as I could. “I mean, who wouldn’t take the chance to have her own shop?”

“Very true,” Derda said, and I thought that she sounded vaguely approving.

“It’s midday,” Alle announced, putting down the sash loom she had been using to weave a long green-and-blue sash. She gave Derda a hopeful look.

“Oh, go on, then, I shan’t get any more work out of the four of you!” Derda clucked her tongue in irritation as she laid out the ivory satin for cutting.

We didn’t need any further encouragement. Even Larkin was quick to put down her sewing, whip off her apron, and get out into the bright sunshine. Marta and Alle were going to take me to the market where they spent most of their hard-earned wages.

After we had gone a way down the street, I looked behind us, thinking that Larkin was following at her slower pace. She was nowhere in sight, however. “Where did Larkin go?”

“Who knows?” Alle shrugged. “She never comes with us. I think she’s afraid she might actually enjoy herself.”

“I’m sure she goes to chapel and prays for our souls because we talk badly about the wealthies,” Marta said. She paused in front of a shop that sold cookware and used the reflection in a large soup kettle to rearrange her curls.

“If we ever have a full day off, we should take Creel to the Boiling Sea,” Alle said.

“What’s that? A tavern?” I frowned at her.

Marta burst out laughing. “A
tavern
? Haven’t you heard of the Boiling Sea?”

I shook my head.

“You’ve heard people swear by the Boiling Sea, haven’t you?”

I started to shake my head again, but then I remembered. A few days ago I had overheard one of the serving maids telling Marta that her suitor had better propose soon, or “by the Boiling Sea, I will
make
him propose!”

“What’s the Boiling Sea?”

“You can’t tell from here, but the King’s Seat is built above a cliff,” Alle said. “The hill drops away behind the New Palace, and I’ve heard that from the southern windows you can look right out over the Boiling Sea and on to the Roulaini foothills.”