The ready-made dresses were indeed much more drab and serviceable than the butterfly array of cloth, but I found two that I liked: one a sage green, and one a faded butter yellow.
“You have an eye for color,” said the dressmaker. She was endlessly flattering, as I suppose you had to be when you were selling such things. “Those will go very nicely with your hair.” As she wrapped them in brown paper, she eyed the designs I had stitched on my shabby cuffs. “That is beautiful work. Yours? Are you an embroiderer?”
“Thank you, but no,” I said a little shyly, tracing the pattern. “I just do it for myself.”
“Well, if you like embroidery, you must see our tapestry while you are here. It is the pride of Quell.”
“I haven’t heard of it. What is it?”
“It was sewn after the time of the Plague,” she said, “to commemorate the victory of the Temple mages. They house it in the East Temple for most of the year and only bring it out on Plaguenight. It’s well worth a visit.”
I needed to find someone who knew about books—even better, someone who had corresponded with Mother. And after that, I needed to find the Tin Quarter … that is, if I decided to trust Patrick’s introduction. But I could not resist the chance to see such a famous piece of embroidery.
“Could you tell me how to get there?” I asked her.
It turned out that finding the East Temple was easy enough, as I was already on the eastern side of the city and the Templebuilding was so large that I could simply look up above the crowded houses and shops, and follow its spire like a guiding star. As I made my way through the streets, I started to notice graffiti scrawled here and there on the walls—an eye (perhaps representing the One-Eyed God?) with a line through it, and crude caricatures of what I assumed to be Temple guards and Priests in their yellow robes. Clearly, despite it being such a pious city, Quell had some citizens who were discontent with the amount of power wielded by the Temple.
When I reached the East Temple building, I saw it was heavy and square, with little grace but an unmistakable gravitas. Rain-damp steps led all the way to the heavy double door—the height of two men and the width of half a dozen, ornately carved with a human ribcage and spine at the center. The spine ran the length of the door’s opening and divided the ribcage so that opening the door would crack it in half, which probably represented something holy and profound. This design divided the door into quarters, each quarter holding a different carved image—a lock of hair, knotted and tied; a tooth; an outspread hand; a skull.
An elderly couple twittered excitedly on their way up the steps, mentioning the Tapestry. They said it with such reverence that I could hear the capital letter.
“Excuse me,” I said, touching the old woman’s arm lightly. She turned with a smile already prepared and trembling on her lips, but it turned into more of a grimace when she saw the enormous black bird on my shoulder.
“Yes, my dear?” she managed, although her eyes remained fixed on Baldbeak.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear you mentioning the tapestry? Am I in the right place?”
Her eyes brightened. “The Tapestry! Oh yes, we have come all the way from Wex to see it.”
I nodded and tried to look like someone who had heard of Wex.
“Bertram.” She elbowed her husband. “Show her the offering.”
Bertram had the folded-in smile of someone missing all their teeth. He held out the basket that hung from one spindly arm so I could see its contents—pears, I thought, and some kind of stone fruit that I didn’t recognize.
“How lovely,” I said. “I’ve heard the fruit in … in Wex is wonderful.”
This was clearly the right thing to say. They beamed.
“Are you here alone, my dear?” said the old woman. “Besides your … pet?” She sounded uncertain.
“I am,” I said. “But I would very much like to see the tapestry, although I have no offering.”
“You could share ours,” said the old woman doubtfully. Bertram clutched his basket a little tighter, glaring at her. I rummaged in my pack and came out with a piece of embroidery I had started and not quite finished. It looked inadequate to me, but I thought it would be pretty enough to someone else.
“Would this do?” I said. “I don’t have any food …”
“Oh yes!” said the old woman merrily, relieved not to have to share the credit for the abundance of Wex with this stranger. She peered at Baldbeak again. “But I think your bird will have to wait outside.”
“Oh yes, of course.” I gave Baldbeak a meaningful look.
I want to come with, he said.She smells like cooking grease.I like it.
“Well, she doesn’t like you, and the Temple won’t either,” I hissed under my breath. “Please. Just find a perch. I won’t be long.”
He rattled his shoulder feathers, leaving them bristled upright like the fur of an angry cat.
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
