Free Grizelda by Margaret Taylor Page A

bent over, catching her
breath. Crome looked at her askance. She looked away. This was not
a good way to start her first day of work.
    In a dozen places around the room, the
workers took up their salt dishes and started laying rings of salt
around their work areas. She was the only one among them not at her
station yet. She picked her way through them to get to her sewing
machine, feeling conspicuous.
    She picked up her saltcellar and looked at
it. Well, here went nothing. She laid the salt thickly in a double
ring around the sewing machine. She’d let the ratriders try and get
through that one.
    Then she surveyed the sewing machine. She had
not been very confident about it to begin with, and this morning it
seemed more intimidating than ever. There was a panel of controls
where the foot pedal was supposed to be! Maybe it was powered by
electricity or something, she didn’t know. When she crouched down
to get a closer look at it she couldn’t make any sense out of the
goblin symbols on the panel. She tried pushing some buttons at
random to see what would happen.
    That had an effect, anyway. The machine
started. Then a little while later it stopped, then it started
again. It seemed to be starting and stopping whenever it felt like
it, regardless of what buttons she pushed. Meanwhile the laundry
workers brought their torn clothes to her and set them in a basket
by her side. She started running them under the machine’s needle.
The clothes were coming awfully fast, faster than she could keep up
with. All the while a cloud of steam built up in the room, making
everything she touched tacky. She sewed as fast as she could, but
the pile of waiting clothes was getting larger by the minute.
    “Hey, Grizzy!”
    She stiffened. She didn’t even want to look,
but she forced herself to lift her eyes to the top of the machine.
Sure enough, there was the one called Kricker sitting cross-legged
on a lever.
    She looked behind her. There were some
workers in a direct line of sight who might notice if she caused
any sort of disturbance, so she lowered her head and pretended to
keep on working.
    “How did you get here?” she said in a furious
whisper.
    “See for yourself.” Kricker pointed behind
her.
    She turned around. There was her salt ring,
scuffed into oblivion by her own clumsy heels, making all those
trips back and forth to the basket.
    She snatched a shirt from the pile and
threaded it under the needle.
    “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”
    “Look, we weren’t tricking you, honest. There
really is a secret exit. We can break you out of here tonight.”
    “I don’t want to hear it!” She grabbed the
saltcellar and raised it like a weapon. She wasn’t quite sure what
she was going to do with it. Then something else happened that made
the decision moot.
    There was a loud blam! blam! from the
direction of the sewing machine. Unattended, the shirt had gotten
gummed up in it. The needle chewed hopelessly at this tangle of
fabric and buttons, laboring to rise and fall. It made a final
choking sound, then fell still, hissing softly.
    All at once Crome was vaulting over baskets
of clothes to get to her end of the room.
    “What the hell happened here?”
    “Laundryman, it wasn’t me, it was the–”
Grizelda started to point. Then she sagged. The ratrider had
vanished on her again.
    Crome marched up to her and the machine.
Bracing his foot against the side, he tugged on the shirt with his
good arm. A piece of it tore off in his hand. She winced. “Goddamn
it!” he said, flinging the piece away, “I can’t entrust you with
the simplest job–”
    The other workers were beginning to stare. He
turned around and gave them a malevolent look. When nobody moved,
he said, “Well, go on! Somebody get the mechanic.”
    One goblin politely detached himself from the
group and jogged out the door. The other goblins shook themselves
and pretended to go back to work, but, Grizelda noticed, most of
the time they were sneaking