Threads of Silver: Chapter 10 ©

Nearly six weeks had passed since the king’s announcement and Gitano found himself feeling discouraged. His plan had seemed so simple at first. He had decided to present his buyers with a small gift of silver thread under the guise of thanking them for their patronage, feeling certain that if one of his customers knew the magic weaver they would not be able to resist passing on such a unique gift. Gitano knew the common weakness among all his patrons was a love of storytelling and juicy gossip so he planned to use this to his advantage by inquiring about the gift upon his return. In doing so he felt quite sure that information about the weaver would be revealed. However, so far his plan had gotten him nowhere. All the shop owners he had visited so far kept the thread for themselves and used it on the most ridiculous projects; such as embroidery on their handkerchiefs or trimming on their Sunday hats. One shop owner had even used the silver thread to hang wind chimes off the eves of his roof which made Gitano just shake his head in despair and regret. You see Gitano was a man who loved only a two things in life; his horse, Tango, whom he considered to be his best friend and his wealth. It pained him to give away the spools of fine silver thread in the first place and then to see them so basely used with no reward of information was almost more than the poor merchant could bear. However, as he trudged up the road to Danshire, the last village on his route, he tried to dismiss the feeling that all was lost and focus on finding out what he could. When he finally reached the door of the first thread shop, he straightened himself to his full height, smoothed his thick black beard and swept into the room with a charming smile on his face. The little brass bell above the door chimed and out came an elderly woman with hair as silver as the moon on a cold night. “Grenada, my dear!” said Gitano with a low bow “How are you on this fine afternoon?” “Right as rain, right as rain!” said the old woman warmly. “Have ye gots anything good for me this time?” “Always!” replied Gitano as he set his basket of threads on the worn wooden counter top. Grenada shuffled her way over to the basket and began to slowly browse through the spools of thread; picking up one and putting it back then picking up another and setting it aside for further thought. As she was occupied with the thread Gitano began to ask his questions. “I don’t see that you’ve used that special gift I gave you when I was here last… did you not like it?” “Oh of course I did! But with somethin’ so fine, I thought I would give it to someone who could put it to better use than I. Although it didn’t quite turn out like I thought… but then I shouldn’t say nothin’” Gitano’s eyes began to sparkle with the hope that maybe he’d found what he was looking for. “Oh Grenada!” he said in a pathetic tone “Please don’t tell me you’ve given it to one of those gypsy women! They probably sold it for ten times what it was worth to some poor soul who doesn’t know any better!” “Oh come now! I would never do nothin’ so senseless! I gave it to a dear friend of mine who works for a real special weaver, but turned out she couldn’t use it because its power was too great and – well, never mind… I didn’t give it to no gypsy woman anyways!” Gitano smiled. His plan was finally working but now he had to figure out how to obtain the friend’s name. “Well, I am glad to hear that you gave it to a friend of great skill” he said pretending not to hear about the thread having power “Is there somewhere I could see a sample of her work? I am always looking for new fabrics to sell in the other villages.” “Of course, dearie! Old Macintosh in the market sells her fabrics… I think Jinx is bringing him a new delivery of blankets to sell tomorrow.” “Who’s Jinx?” asked Gitano. “Oh that’s the friend who works for the weaver.” said Grenada absentmindedly. “Now, I will take these blue threads and these gold ones but I want them half price!” Gitano had gotten all that he came for and quickly agreed to Grenada’s terms. As he mounted his horse to go he knew exactly what he must do and began to head in the direction of the market place.

(All content on this page is copyrighted by Angela R. Sexton 2013, All Rights Reserved)


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