She had some guesses. All the new cloth was plain, single-colored; good quality construction, but no patterns, not even the simple kinds you'd see with a blend of threads. It would be hard to make a quilt with whatever he was doing, she thought, and certainly not a fine rug. But she could, actually, ask; there was a Countess who kept her seat just outside the town, so she asked the Guildmaster for a letter of introduction (he was her aunt's brother-in-law, this wasn't that hard), and went to ask.

Her letter was inspected and she was let in politely and waited for a long while, which was alright, this was a Countess. She was brought into the audience chamber eventually.

"Miss Rossell," the intimidating woman said, "For what reason are you petitioning me?"

"I'm sure you know, your excellency, that the weavers of Roda de Ter are struggling to compete with the archmage's goods. So I've come to ask for information, if you're willing to give it."

"Information?", the countess said, intrigued.

"Surely you've noticed, my lady, that the cloth coming from downriver is plain. Excellent construction, but with no patterns and in large bolts of fabric of the same kind. Much of the cloth we've supplied you in past years was very similar, but that was our best work, and now, well, well-to-do burghers in town all have dresses nearly as good."

The countess's eyes narrowed, but Mar forced down a gulp and barreled on.

"I imagine, your excellency, that you would prefer something extraordinary, that can't easily be made from spell-made cloth. And we are still the best weavers in the duchy, ma'am. We would be happy to make it for you, for prices befitting our liege-lady, and let you set the new fashion. So my question is, your excellency: What shall we make for you?"

The countess stared at her, and then smiled, and Mar knew her family was saved.

Intricate plaids were the chief order of the day. The kind of detailed patterns made in Casmar rugs, the Countess thought, were desirable, but more difficult to work into dresses and suits, and Mar admitted she expected they would not be able to supply them this year, though of course when some were produced they would gift one of the earliest examples in her family colors to her. Multiple layers with garments cut to reveal the layers beneath, which they couldn't make directly but suggested lighter fabrics. Some other things. She thank the countess profusely and promised gifts for her and her dressmakers soon, and went home to her family.

And then, in a quiet moment in a few weeks, she realized she had a conundrum. The countess's favor was assured, and they had a head start, but they weren't the only weavers, and they weren't going to be able to supply enough fancy fabric for all the nobility of the duchy. Probably she wasn't the only one with this idea in Cheliax, let alone Taldor. And they could hardly fail to notice what they were doing when the Rossells began to deliver. They'd already noticed that the Rossells were busier and less despairing.

She didn't want the other weavers dead, but her family had to come first. How could she manage this?

Oh. Of course.

We, the undersigned, and our families, agree

- To pay to the Rossell family of Roda de Ter the sum of ten percent of our profits on finished cloth which is of superior quality to the variety produced by the archmage's fabricate, for the period of three years.

- To not sell directly to the Countess de Osona for the same period of three years.

- Not to disclose the information hereby given to us to other families for a period of one year.

In exchange, the Rossells will divulge to us the strategy that they have pursued to secure the Countess de Osona and other nobles as buyers of their cloth.

Disputes will be settled fairly by the judgment of the Countess de Osona.

It was a simple contract. No confusing penalty clauses, which was just as well since all the lawyers had fled. The countess would probably be biased in the Rossell's favor, but it's not like they'd miss that when signing it. This was probably how you were supposed to do contracts now that Hell wasn't in charge. She brought it to grandfather, and he called a meeting of the other family heads.

"My cousins and fellow masters of the guild. As you have noticed, my family's weavers have devised a new strategy to survive in the world after that damned spell. We cannot keep the secret forever, nor can we produce enough to sell to the entire market, so my granddaughter, who first had the idea, proposes that we teach it to you now. There will, of course, be conditions."

She read the conditions. Promised them on her life that no obstacle would prevent them from following it, especially since they'd already observed that the Rossells were buying up more and rarer types of dye from downriver and started imitating it themselves.

They signed. One cursed her as a deceptive witch for calling something so simple a secret or 'strategy', and another laughed and offered her a marriage with his grandson on the spot, but after their first reaction they agreed that, yes, anyone could have come up with that, but none of them did, did they, and the relief that their families would eat that winter won out.

She was a little distracted for following the details, because there was a new presence in her head.

A spring being dug and flowing through gated pools.

A town growing from a village, and another from ruins.

A river flowing with goods up and down, stopping to trade at many piers.

And now one of those piers is her.

She sits next to her grandfather. "May I borrow a very soft coin," she whispers, "And... a key, I think?"

She is not chosen by Mammon, which she wasn't that worried about, but apparently it was her second worry, which was Abadar.

She's not really sure why. He's the trading god, isn't he? Big cities, insurance, gold and silver, never charging higher than the real value of things. What did she do that He liked? She protected her family, and then made sure that they'd be protected most when the rest of the guild was let in on it.

Still, she can recognize a good deal when she gets offered one. And that if she's working for Abadar - she's pretty sure she heard He doesn't call it serving, though she's not really sure how much difference that's supposed to make - she ought to know a lot more about Him. So a second cousin who's second officer on a riverboat gets her a ride down the river. The city has a temple of Abadar, but they've gotten an announcement - native-born priests of Abadar are requested in the capital for a convention to write the Queen's new law.

That's terrifying, but she understands that this is something she can do and they - Osirians, and almost all men - can't, so Abadar's will is clear. She departs with a copy of the Order of Numbers and important excerpts from the Manual of City-Building, and soon enough she's in Westcrown.