The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 53:

Learning the Power of Textiles

Correb left the House of Springs, to be gone for three days, and would not be back until the day before Moth was to leave – Moth felt relieved by his absence, worried he might try to dissuade her again with the weight of Hiren’s shortcomings.

    Having the greenhouse to herself, Moth set to work writing down care and upkeep instructions, and verbally explaining her process and methods to a very alarmed Vincent, who had been forced by Dueluck into care of the garden in Moth’s absence.

    “And what do I do about the roses?” Vincent asked, jerking his head back as thorny rose vines inched towards his neck.

    Moth had gotten used to the unruly creature and whacked it with a shovel. “There’s not much you can do, but if it gets too aggressive you chop off some tendrils and burn it, and it’ll leave you alone.”

In retribution, the roses knocked a stack of her journals off a table and recoiled up towards the roof.

The day progressed well. Vincent was educated in horticulture and quick to learn – more importantly, he had met Correb in his distorted form, something only a tenth of the guiles knew. Moth felt safe leaving the garden in his hands until she returned, confident he wouldn’t undo weeks of work.

She was in the middle of explaining the upkeep of the pool when Agate emerged from the plant life and waited with clasped hands for her to finish.

“What is it?” Moth asked.

“Part of choosing your wardrobe is choosing what suits you,” said Agate. “If you could try on some outfits so I can pick and choose from amongst them, it would help me finalize your wardrobe for the trip.”

Moth pressed her lips together, but gave a frustrated nod, leaving Vincent with the journals as she followed Agate.

They walked through the unused wing of the mansion, heading to a room Moth was familiar with – one of the rooms she’d entered when she first came to the House of Springs. It was the guest room repurposed to store offered clothing.

It had been a month since she’d seen it last. Half of the clothes had been packed up and moved out, and you could once again see portions of the wall and floor.

Moth asked, as politely as she could manage, “Miss Agate, how long do you think this should take? There’s still so much I need to teach Vincent.”

“Oh, not long, I hope,” said Agate, going to a wall of dresses, skirts, vests, and coats. “I only have about thirty outfits I want you to try.”

Moth gawked at the wall of garments. She hadn’t realized it was all clothes meant for her to try on.

Picking up an embroidered coat, Agate went over to Moth and held it next to her face and said with a sigh, “That’s what I thought. Bright gold simply doesn’t suit you in large swathes. A hint here or there, but silver is much better to bring out your complexion. A shame – gold gives such an instant impression.”

Moth was horribly relieved she’d wouldn’t be gilded to the teeth with gold, until she saw Agate pull out a cloak with silver trim.

“Agate,” pleaded Moth, while Agate procured matching silver heels. “Agate I…I’m just going to Hiren, to farmers, to my fam – to familiar faces. I wouldn’t feel suited to silver or jewels.”

Confused, Agate looked down at the pieces. “Lady Correb, you’re a beautiful young woman who represents the House of Springs – splendor of this nature suits you.”

Moth mutely let Agate dress her head to toe in silver and deep magpie blue, completed with a sapphire brooch. She stood on a stool and looked at herself in a mirror, embarrassed by her reflection, as Agate happily made notes in her journal and tried her with a different headdress and apron.

The headdress was something Moth felt her primordial ancestors must have worn after a successful bear hunt. It was beyond something Agate must have worn in her girlish youth – it was historical.

“Can I ask you,” began Moth, peering around a wide embroidered flap of the headdress, “why you’re choosing some of these clothes?”

Thrilled to be asked, Agate began a long lesson on the importance of historical references in an outfit for particular occasions, bearing in mind the stories and events of a geographical region, and then shared some anecdotes of her own life – visiting a mining community and so wearing semi-precious metals from the region in lieu of gold.

“A perfect outfit for a royal,” explained Agate happily, swapping out Moth’s slippers for some creamy leather boots, “is not for you, it’s for who is looking at you. It says ‘I thought long about you and your home before I even arrived to meet you.’ When done right, of course; otherwise it’s quite tacky, quite cloying.”

Agate’s knowledge of garments and their use reminded Moth of Ursula. “That’s rather kind,” Moth admitted.

“It can be quite romantic if you apply it correctly.”

Interested Moth said, “Really?”

“Well, it’s how I won my second husband. I’d had my eye on him for several seasons, and I knew I’d meet him at the Queen’s lake house for the somerlad games.

Well, in myths, his ancestors were the ones who trained the perlins for Old King Rasmus. So, knowing this, for the party my garment referenced perlins. He saw this invitation and came to speak with me.” Agate smiled at the memory, but it soon distorted into some bitter thought, and in silence she folded up the headdress from Moth.

Moth wondered if that was the husband who had given Agate a water burial, but she knew not to ask.

Recovering herself rapidly, Agate took down a woven apron. “Now these, you’ll notice at once milady, are Hiren – any weaver in the farm regions will recognize the patterns and colors. The koriyo palette of Hiren.”

Moth knew the traditional local colors of Hiren were called the koriyo, only because of Ursula. She squinted at Agate and asked, “How do you know that?”

“Goodness, what else was I supposed to do in all my history lessons but eventually learn. Besides, the history of textiles and dyes was always a favorite topic; though my mother despaired and hoped I’d be more math-minded, like her. The servants tried their best to help me with indulging my love of fashion, running secret errands for me to the ribbon shop, mother never found out how I was getting all these frills. She was part of the austerous movement, you see – though I doubt you’d come across that philosophy in your life, it was dying out even when I was a child.”

Agate was chatting happily, and Moth winced when she saw her pull down twenty aprons. They were all beautiful, though ancient, and Moth could not imagine a situation in which she’d be digging holes for sunstones while wearing them – all of them with separate panels tied with silk cord and dangling with tin medallions, like the apron she wore on her wedding day.

Moth resigned herself to that fact that her whole day would be spent standing on a stool in front of a mirror. “You really love clothes, Miss Agate, but I don’t think I’ve seen you have a chance to dress up.”

Agate looked down at her plain, practical work dress. “Perhaps as I’ve aged, I agree more with my mother – that one shouldn’t be so indulgent. Turn around, please.”

Moth turned and shrugged on a coat made entirely of wool sewn pieces of fabric, each one shaped like a feather. It looked like she was enveloped in a whirlwind of magpie wings.

“No!” exclaimed Moth, shocked by her own reflection. “Agate, please, I can’t wear this!”

“Lady Correb, with your figure?” said Agate approvingly, and then seeing Moth was on the verge of tears, exclaimed, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m going to see people I know! This isn’t who I am – I’m a tinner, that’s all, I need to be dressed for digging, not a lake party.”

Agate laughed at the idea. “You absolutely will not be digging. Forgive me, milady, but you are not the most athletic person. I doubt you could endure many minutes of digging – I saw how you struggled with the mud in the pool. You’re just not suited to laborious activities, it’s not your skillset. Digging a hole! Really!”

“I will not leave the job to Hiren.”

Taking on a more respectful tone, Agate said gently, “Lord Correb has sent you to convince people to bury, not to bury each gemstone yourself – and that is what I’m trying to equip you to do with this wardrobe. Your job is to rally Hiren to dig and bury, and for that you need to be dressed impressively, dressed to show you are the wife of the ferryman and bestowed with great authority. There are many fools who will look down on a sweet young woman as powerless, but an imposing wardrobe can silence mouths before they open. Do not make this harder on yourself than it already will be.”

Moth looked in despair at her reflection. She said gloomily, after a minute of thought, “Weak shamans, looking to make easy money, often dress in showy outfits

to persuade people that they’re powerful. I feel like a fraud wearing these outfits – like a con man trying to convince people of something that’s not true.”

“You’re trying to convince people of something that is true,” Agate said earnestly. “You are Lord Correb’s wife.”

Moth’s sad, wide-eyed look spoke volumes to Agate, though Moth quickly looked away to hide her face.

A soft breeze came in through the open window, and rustled the many rows of wool, cotton, and silk clothes against each other, in a sound like someone folding laundry – the only sound that filled the silent room.

Agate hesitated, but reached out and took Moth’s hand.

“A political marriage,” she said, solemnly, looking Moth in the eyes, “is hard, but it is not a fake marriage. Both you and Lord Correb consented to this. You are his wife. You must wear that title like one of these dresses and persuade all of Hiren, not so you can hold power over them, but so you can convince them of a very important and urgent truth – that there is hope, and the fog can be removed from the earth.”

Moth wiped her eyes and nodded.

Agate let go of Moth’s hand and said happily, “I’ll pack that coat then.”