Chapter 18
Emmy shifted uncomfortably from side to side inside Miss Rubelia’s office. As the Craftsman's Guild director, she’d had many encounters with her, but she’d never been ushered into her office-turned-museum.
Tidy lines of shelves held and displayed Miss Rubelia’s metalwork projects, each a work of art. Most were small figurines, though the other side of the wall boasted many impressive weapons. Emmy felt shiver down her spine as she gazed at them. She could almost imagine Rubelia swinging a club at a member for breaking the guild’s rules.
“Thanks for waiting.” Rubelia entered and shut the door behind her, “I was dealing with another idiodic guildmember.”
Emmy whirled around with a plastered smile. I hate to think what she says about me to others. But, it’s a little too late to get on her good side.
Rubelia pushed back her glasses onto her nose and affixed her razor-sharp gaze at Emmy. Tall, slender, and toned, with unruly crimson hair, she had a magnetic appearance to her that intimidated many guild members, but Emmy was more concerned why she’d bothered to bring her into the belly of the building. Knowing Rubelia wasn’t one to waste time on trivialities, she withheld her many questions.
“Your order cannot be fulfilled.”
As the words resonated, she felt the weight of it upon her, weighing her down as if her blood was mixed with lead. She knew that something was amiss for weeks, but canceling a guild member’s order was unheard of. Emmy gripped the side of her dress with her hand while pretending she wasn’t nonplussed by the news.
First the gem prices soar, now gems are seemingly unattainable?
Falworth was famed for their rich and vast gem production; surely this was a farce. But a single glance at Rubelia was enough to jar her out of her delusions.
“Why?” Emmy said, arms crossed as though gearing up for a fight.
She didn’t like confrontation, but she would gosh darn get this woman to tell her what’s going on. Instead of rising to the challenge, Rubelia stared at Emmy for an uncomfortable amount of time before she opened her ruby lips to reply. Emmy was desperate to break their eye contact, but she felt as if it was some nonverbal test, as if she was determining how much to reveal.
Whether it was due to her dismal success with starting matches – or an entirely more realistic reason – Rubelia avoided her question.
Jumping biscuits, this woman’s mug is even less penetrable than Celia’s!
“Look, I’m sure you’re aware that all our gems at the guild come directly from the Astonsia mine, with occasional orders fulfilled at our other mines. We do not have any dealings with resale of gems, for that you’d need to find a dealer willing to bargain with you—though I doubt the price would be within your grasp.”
“Why whisk me away to the private quarters instead of telling me straight?”
“I wouldn’t like to incite a panic around town,” Rubelia said carefully as she examined her latest figurine, a miniature crown. “You’re one of the few craftsmen who are eligible for gems through the guild. The general populace needn’t be stirred while a solution may still arise.”
Emmy scoffed, “A solution? You haven’t divulged the problem yet.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this further with you.” She sighed deeply and said in a harsh tone, “Not that I’ve been greatly informed either from anyone of note.”
Smack! She slammed the miniature onto the table as if to vent her frustration, but her handiwork remained intact.
It was unlike her to admit lack in anything; rather, she was more tempted towards arrogance than humility. Something still felt significantly… off about their encounter. Her phrasing left ample room for misinterpretation.
Had she received information from other, perhaps, less refined sources?
“What of the miners?” Emmy demanded. “The ones contracted with the guild for the orders must have told you something.”
Business is business. Certainly the miners would be the primary source of intelligence as it was doubtful they’d want to lose their contract with the guild. Gems in Falworth were already highly regulated. For the guild to strike a deal for gems, they’d first have to go through the crown, then to crown-contracted miners. At the very least, they should be able to illuminate the core of their problems, because if it wasn’t resolved they too would be out of employment. Emmy felt a shiver as she mulled over the repercussions. She had many friends and family she could rely on if she couldn’t continue her role as Yarn Spinstress, but not every miner or artisan had the same good fortune.
“Miss Emaline, I’ve told you what I know. If you want to know more, dig for it elsewhere. I’m sure there’s a suitable shovel somewhere for someone as delicate as you.”
It sounded like a jab, but after brushing off its sting, Emmy reflected on the meaning. Dig for it elsewhere?
Whether she intended it as a challenge or not, Emmy was no weakling to be dismissed. While her brawn may be lacking, she had adequate wit to make up for such shortcomings. And even if she didn’t, she’d find someone who did. All she needed now was a lead.
“Tell me the names of the miners contracted with the guild.”
Rubelia eyes shot up and made a quarter-roll to the left before she said, “It’s a private contract. I’m sure—”
“Miss Rubelia, the guild is a charitable organization. Meaning, all records are available to the public.”
Rubelia’s caramel eyes flickered for a second before returning to their normal state. Was that, surprise?
“If it is available to the public, then I suggest you look it up. But best of luck locating it.” She opened the door to shoo Emmy out but whispered, “I trust you will be discreet with this intelligence.”
Neither of them wanted to incite a panic or a ruckus in the town, that was at least one area of common ground between them. But neither of them knew how long they had before the news reached the ears of every baker, businessman, and child in Falworth.
“Perhaps if you do find that shovel, Miss Emaline, you could be of use to the guild.” Rubelia shook Emmy’s hand in a business-like fashion.
In the palm of her hand sat the miniature crown, but Miss Rubelia was already gone.
* * *
“Ah, here we are,” Albert flipped through the pages of a large tome near the back of the palace library—the one for functionality, not show.
“Ha!” Emmy remembered Miss Rubelia's challenge to “dig for it elsewhere.” She didn’t know Emmy had a secret weapon in her arsenal, Sir Albert—the living wealth of knowledge, from gossip to palace records, he had it all. She could almost imagine bursting into the Craftsman Guild with all the information Miss Rubelia had hid from her. Just the thought of the sweet victory made her grin like a fool.
“You’ll need to go through this whole thing.” Albert paged through a colossal collection of papers, squinting at the ill-kept records. “I’m afraid the scribe was far from thorough or adept at organization. And my eyes are far too old to make heads or tails of it.”
Emmy felt her ill-contrived imagination burst to pieces. Perhaps her little celebration was a tad premature—but she wasn’t afraid of a little work. “Thank you, Albert. I’m up to the task!”
Albert led them toward the front of the library and dropped the book on one of the aged tables by the fireplace. Emmy was right behind him, like a dog nipping on his heels.
“I admire your tenacity, my dear. Feel free to stay as long as you like.” He glanced quickly around the quiet library, running his finger along the bookshelves and clucking at the dust. The library’s rustic features spoke of an age gone-by and were far from Albert’s extravagant tastes, but it suited Emmy just fine. “I doubt you’ll be disturbed here and you're guaranteed to have your pick of the seats,” Albert continued offering a pained smile, as if desperate to find a bright side for his dearest adopted grandchild.
He let her know to summon him if she needed anything at all and swiftly disappeared, back to the palace’s main building. With him gone, the real task lay before her as she dug into the records. She paged through the records, seeking an order, dating system, or anything remotely logical to aid her search.
Nothing! Emmy moaned quietly to herself.
An hour, maybe two passed as her eyes began to glaze and her head began an incessant ache, weary from squinting at line after line of poor penmanship. Her extended sewing and embroidery often had the same effect when she stubbornly stitched herself silly without breaks. But at least there would be something to show for it! Removing her gloves she lightly ran her finger over the scribbled ink, as if attempting to become one with the words before her.
Before long she succumbed to her weariness and laid her head gently on the table, lulled into a stupor by the warmth of the flickering fire. She struggled to open her eyes to resume her mission, but her muscles failed to comply.
“Here,” a rough voice spoke from behind. Emmy turned to her right as a hand delicately slid past her, nearly placing a cup of tea by her side. “I thought you could use this.”
“Thanks Alber—” Emmy turned around to see not Sir Albert, but Theo, dressed in a knitted sweater and holding a steaming hot cup of tea.
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