Part 2 (2/2)

”The colors radiate and s.h.i.+ne up and down the thread, do they not?” the merchant asked. ”As if a rainbow were running to keep up with the sun.”

”Yes, that's just how I would describe it!” the queen exclaimed. ”Like a rainbow! Or . . . or like autumn leaves, when the colors are changing!” She glanced up at the merchant hesitantly.

”Oh, Your Majesty, you are a poet! Yes, I couldn't have said it better myself!”

Jill stammered. ”It's like . . . like gold pieces, kissed with the colors of sunset,” she tried.

”Yes! Yes, it is!” the merchant cried, and his smile stretched across his smooth face.

”It is more like autumn leaves, Jill,” said her mother coldly. ”Wouldn't you say, Anderson?”

”Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, folding his smile away like an apparition of silk. ”But the princess has learned good taste from her mother.”

”Lord knows I try,” the queen sighed. Then she said, ”There is not enough silk to make a gown for me?”

”Alas, Your Majesty-” the merchant replied. Jill thought she saw his pale eyes flit to hers for a moment, and in that moment there was heat, danger. But then it was gone. ”Alas, no. I have just enough thread, I think, to weave a dress for the princess.”

The queen, having seen the silk, did not seem so angry as she had before about not receiving the gift herself. ”How long will it take?” she asked.

”If you were to give me use of a loom in the castle, and all the thread I needed, and food and drink and money for expenses, I think I could have the dress done in a month.”

”A month?” the queen exclaimed. She eyed the merchant skeptically. ”Make it three weeks.”

”Fine,” the merchant said. ”But I'll have to be up all night, every night.”

”Three weeks it is, then,” the queen announced. ”My little girl will wear the dress in the Royal Procession three weeks from today!”

Now, at this point, perhaps you think you know this story. And I'm sure you've heard some version of it, mangled and strangled and made almost sweet by years and years of telling it to little children.

But the way you know it is not the way it happened.

The real way is . . . different.

The very next morning, Jill climbed to the castle's highest turret. There, she found the old merchant already at work. He pumped the loom pedal with his feet as he wove the shuttle up and down, up and down. Jill stared at his hands picking nimbly at the s.p.a.ce where the shuttle wove. There was nothing there. Nothing at all on the loom. She was sure of it.

Just then, the merchant looked up. Their eyes met. Again, she felt that heat, that danger. But just for an instant. It pa.s.sed, and the merchant said, ”What do you think of my work, Princess?”

She walked slowly over to the loom. His feet stopped pumping. The shuttle hovered in the air above where the material should have been. She surveyed the nothing.

Do you see it, child? the queen had asked.

Jill looked up at the merchant. ”My mother was right,” she said. ”It is more like autumn leaves.”

The merchant smiled. ”Yes, my dear. Well, you can always hope to be as wise and beautiful as your mother one day. It's a worthy goal for any daughter.”

Jill looked at the floor, curtsied, and turned to leave. But she ran directly into the king, who was coming to inspect the merchant's gift. He was followed by his friend and confidant, Lord Boorly.

”And where is this wonderful silk?” Lord Boorly demanded as he crossed the threshold, his monocle fixed firmly between his left eyebrow and the top of his fleshy cheek.

Then his eyes fell on the loom. His eyebrows shot up his forehead. His monocle fell to the floor and shattered. At his side, the king stared wordlessly.

”Stunning, isn't it, Your Majesty?” the merchant said.

”Uh . . .” the king began.

”The princess was just telling me that she has come to the opinion that your wife was most apt in describing this silk as like autumn leaves. Weren't you, Princess?” And he smiled at her.

”Yes,” she said, studying the faces of Lord Boorly and the king curiously. ”I was.”

”Ah!” said Lord Boorly. ”Yes! I see it now! It's hard to catch at first! So subtle! So fine! But yes! It's magnificent!” He walked up to the loom to inspect more closely. ”Yes, autumn leaves-I see that. But what about peac.o.c.k feathers, eh? Wouldn't you say that hits a little closer to home, Anderson?”

The merchant considered this. ”It may . . .” he said at length. ”It just may . . .”

The king had, by this point, come up closer to the loom. He was still inspecting it when the merchant asked him, ”And you, Your Highness, what would you say it looked most like? Lord Boorly's peac.o.c.k feathers? Or your wife's leaves? Or,” he added, ”gold pieces kissed by the colors of sunset? That was the princess's description.”

”It was, was it?” The king squinted at her, and then turned back to the loom. After a moment, he straightened up. ”Well, I agree with my daughter! Gold pieces, absolutely!”

Lord Boorly looked crestfallen. ”You wouldn't say peac.o.c.k feathers, Your Highness?”

The king looked at Jill. She shrugged her small shoulders. He looked back at Boorly. ”I most certainly would not!” he said. ”Gold pieces at sunset, if anything. Leaves, maybe. But really, gold at sunset. In fact,” he said, raising his voice and pointing one finger at the ceiling, ”I don't think I've ever seen a color so like gold at sunset as this!” He reached out and shook the merchant's hand. ”My good sir, thank you for bringing us this magnificent specimen. I cannot wait to see my daughter arrayed in such a stunning gown!” He smiled at Jill and then turned and led Lord Boorly from the room.

Jill looked at the merchant. He was staring after the two men, wonderingly, smiling. She watched him for a moment and then slipped out the door.

Jill sat in her mother's room, watching the queen sample different shades of eye shadow that had been given to her for her half birthday. After a while, she said, ”Mother, can I tell you something?”

”Hmm?” replied her mother absently.

Jill studied the queen's beautiful features. ”Mother, sometimes I can't see the silk.”

The queen stopped dabbing at her makeup, and their eyes connected in the looking gla.s.s. Slowly, her mother said, ”Sometimes?”

Jill sucked in her breath. Her mother knew. She knew Jill couldn't see it. She would be so disappointed. ”Yes,” Jill said hurriedly. ”Sometimes I see it as if it were the brightest, most beautiful thing in the world.” And then, she added quietly, ”Except you.”

Her mother's eyes slid back to the mirror. She did look disappointed. Her voice was flat when she said, ”Well, perhaps one day you'll learn to see it all the time. It takes a truly refined eye.”

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