Dreaming in strands
Eilian nodded along. His attention appeared fixed on the old engineer, but he couldn't prevent his eyes occasionally sliding sideways, stealing quick glances at the beautiful framed blueprints on the walls of the airy, cluttered office. Margueritte's slightly interminable story - about the health of either her dogs, one of her cousins, or the Professor for Comparative Mythology, Ellian couldn't quite track which - was finally over. The engineer delicated picked up a coconut-dusted sponge-and-jam confection from the silver tray and began to tear pieces off, alternatively popping them into her own mouth and feeding them to the fat little pug dog on the cushion next to her chair.
"You like the decorations, I see," she said with a glint in her eye. Ellian blushed slightly. He had not been as discreet as he might have hoped.
"Yes, very much. May I...?" He gestured, and Margueritte di Sarvos inclined her head slightly to grant permission. She studied him as he ran a finger along the glass, as if worried he might start grabbing them off the wall and shoving them into a sack.
"Originals," she said. "Beautiful and elegant, and elegant because they are beautiful. Or vice versa, depending who you ask. They've hung on those walls for seventy years or more. My grandfather got them from an antiques dealer who had no idea what he had, bless him. The only time they came down was when those damn'd Grendel were here, and I had to hide them up the chimney."
"They're very detailed," said Ellian out loud. Internally, he was giving a little cheer and punching the air, metaphorically.
"Oh yes, Carmen i Dehasa i Erigo was an artist and a visionary, as well as a first-rate engineer. It's a shame she didn't leave more designs like these. Or if she did, I've never seen hide nor hair of them. And I've been looking! Believe me I've been looking. This is also the only complete collection of this particular set that exists. There was another in the Brass Coast but it seems they were sold to an Asavean over a hundred years ago for some reason. Irreplaceable, they are. Priceless."
Eilian swallowed and wet his lips.
"I was wondering if we could maybe... borrow them for a little bit? Just to get copies made?"
The old woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but did not seem particularly surprised. The room was silent save for the muted ticking of the clocks and the slobbering noises coming from the little pug.
"I wrote a book, you know," said Margueritte calmly. "About Carmen and her grand design. Couldn't get it published. No interest, you see, in the history of a bridge. Even a bridge like the Spider's Dream."
"We aren't a printing house, obviously, but the Department has some resources..." said Ellian cautiously, and then paused, frowning slightly as his ears caught up. "Wait, you've written a history of the Spider's Dream?"
"Six hundred pages," said the engineer proudly. "It took me two years of visiting half the archives in the southern Empire. Senate motions, synod judgements, journals in Highguard, the shambles they call a library in DIodora... fascinating stuff. If you like the history of bridges."
Her half-smile spread across her face then, because the shrewd old woman knew she had him, hook, line, and sinker. He knew she knew, and he didn't even mind. His palms itched at the chance to get hold of this manuscript, and if a little vanity publishing was the cost of getting that and the blueprints he had originally come for... why he was even prepared to eat another one of those awful sweetcakes she kept trying to force on him. He sat down. The little fat dog snuffled at his shoe.
"Fortunately, Mistress Margueritte, I do like the history of bridges. Let's talk about how we can make your book a reality - and how you can contribute a whole new chapter to it."