Free The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance by Laurel Wanrow Page A

weeks’ compensation.” Mistress Gere took four gold coins from an envelope and passed them across the desk. “Beyond that, I pay out wages each Saturday evening, after we return from Market Day.”
    Market Day sounded normal enough. Trying not to appear too eager to pick up the money, Annmar blew across the steaming tea before sipping it.
    Mistress Gere sat back. “I request a two-week trial of all employees. Give our collective the full two weeks before making a decision if we are suited to each other—your art for our advertising needs and our ways to your lifestyle.”
    “I believe that sounds fair.”
    “Fair is exactly the term I like to use,” Mistress Gere said. “In fact, equitable, unbiased treatment of my workers is a maxim I practice. My operation has attracted a diversity of… peoples from throughout the valley. Blighted Basin is home to several distinct cultural groups that may not appear different, but their talents are unique, and I dare say, I’ve needed them all for the successful operation of a large farm. Yet, as a consequence, our atypical customs may not meet the conventions others wish to accept.”
    Annmar took a sip of tea while sorting the information. What unusual customs might these valley dwellers have? It didn’t matter. Any country ways would be foreign to her. She could accept a fair amount of oddness to earn these wages.
    “I ask that you keep an open mind,” Mistress Gere said. “Following the trial, we will discuss the autumn weeks and perhaps an obligation for the winter months, when the weather makes leaving Blighted Basin more difficult.”
    So much was at stake. Annmar had to hope Mistress Gere would decide on offering her the full position, or not, by the end of the trial, because much beyond that and Mrs. Rennet likely would have found another machinery illustrator, even with the current high demand. She had to try. “I will.”
    “Tomorrow, try some of our products,” Mistress Gere said. “Explore how you would depict them. We’ll meet in the evening to review your thoughts and sketches. It may take us a few days to come to an agreement on a style, but by next Wednesday, I’d like to see ten to a dozen label mock-ups of a variety of fruits and vegetables.”
    The expectations sounded reasonable. While Wellspring’s owner read the work agreement aloud, Annmar took another, deeper sip of tea. Hints of herbs danced about her mouth, so subtly mixed she couldn’t discern them. The sandwich was a tasty blend of minced vegetables in a creamed cheese, but what were they? How in the world would she contrive labels for Wellspring’s products if she had no idea what these ingredients were?
    Annmar shifted in her seat. It was a trial she was agreeing to, after all. If she couldn’t do the work, they’d know soon enough and dismiss her.
    They signed the contracts, and after Annmar tucked her copy and the coins in her satchel, Mistress Gere rose. “Come, let me give you a proper tour of our whitewashed fortress.”
    “Sorry about that.” Annmar grimaced, but to her relief, Mistress Gere smiled.
    Outside, they walked toward the bunkhouse building, now a center of activity. Several wagons pulled by steam tractors had arrived. Two boys and a woman—all dressed similarly to Mary Clare, or in trousers and their shirtsleeves, with only waistcoats topping their homespun shirts—unloaded bushel baskets onto a dumbwaiter platform. It hung by chains from a dormer extension where several more farmworkers waited beside a barrel-like engine.
    Annmar’s gaze shot to the gears on one end. Chains wrapped around a sprocket led up to a cogged pulley at the peak of the dormer roof. Beside the machine, an older, dark-skinned man called down and everyone backed away. He threw a lever. The engine chugged to life and the chains jerked stiff. They crept over the grinding gears and the platform rose.
    “Oh, my,” Annmar exhaled. “The mechanized windlass in use.”
    Mistress Gere raised a