Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [120]
“I have some cloth to be dyed,” said Raistlin, and he brought forth the red robes.
He kept his hood over his face, but he could not very well hide his hands. Fortunately the building was shadowy and Raistlin hoped the man would not notice his odd-colored complexion.
The dyer examined the color, ran his hands over the cloth. “A nice wool,” he pronounced. “Not fine, mind you, but good and serviceable. It should take the dye well. What color would you like, Revered Sir?”
Raistlin was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a fit of coughing so severe that he was forced to lean against the doorframe. He missed his brother’s strong arm, which always been there to support him …
The dyer eyed Raistlin, who was wiping his lips, and backed up slightly in alarm. “Not catching, is it, sir?”
“Black,” Raistlin said, ignoring the question.
“I am sorry, what did you say?” asked the dyer. He gestured to the compound behind him where women dunking the cloth in the kettles were yelling back and forth or exchanging barbed comments with the men stoking the fires.
“Black,” Raistlin said, raising his voice. He generally spoke softly. Talking irritated his throat.
The dyer quirked an eyebrow. Aesthetics who served Astinus in the Great Library wore robes of gray.
“It is not for me,” Raistlin added, exasperated. “I am acting for a friend.”
“I see,” said the dyer. He cast Raistlin a quizzical glance, which Raistlin, overtaken by another fit of coughing, did not notice.
“We have three types of black dye,” stated the dyer. The first uses chromium, alum, and red argol, logwood and barwood. This produces a good black, though not very durable. It will fade with washing. The next dye utilizes camwood and copperas and logwood. This is better than the first, though the black can turn slightly green over a long period. The best is done with indigo and camwood. This provides a deep, rich black that will not fade no matter how many times the cloth is washed. The latter is, of course, the more expensive.”
“How much?” Raistlin asked.
The dyer named the price. Raistlin winced. This would considerably diminish the number of coins in the small leather pouch he had hidden beneath his pillow in the monk’s cell he occupied in the Great Library. He should settle for the less costly dye, but then he thought of appearing before the wealthy, powerful Black Robes of Neraka and he cringed at the thought of walking among them in black robes that were not black, but “slightly green”.
“The indigo,” he stated, and he handed over his red robes.
“Very good, Revered Sir,” said the dyer. “May I have your name?”
“Bertrem,” Raistlin replied with a smile that he kept hidden in the shadow of the cowl. Bertrem was the name of Astinus’s harried and slow-witted assistant.
The dyer made a note.
“When may I return for these?” Raistlin asked. “I am … That is, my friend is in a hurry.”
“Tomorrow evening,” said the dyer.
“Not sooner?” Raistlin asked, disappointed.
“Not unless your friend wants to walk the streets in wet robes dripping black dye,” the dyer replied.
Raistlin gave a curt nod and took his leave. If he had looked over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen the dyer watching him, then hurrying out of the building when Raistlin’s back was turned. Exhausted from the long walk and half-suffocated by the choking fumes, Raistlin left the neighborhood as fast as possible and did not look back.
The return trip back to the Great Library through the crowded streets taxed Raistlin’s strength to such an extent that he had to pause frequently to rest. When he finally came in sight of the Library’s marble columns and imposing portico, he was so weak that he feared he could not make it across the street without collapsing. He had been found last night lying in a pitiful heap on the Library’s marble stairs