The Pattern That Came Undone

The Thornwick Weavers' Guild loft sits above the dye-house, warm and humming with the smell of lanolin and indigo. The guild's centenary banner — seven years in the making — has shed its golden border overnight: a whole spool of prize twine was left too close to the west window, swelled in the morning rain, and snapped every fastening at once. Master Isolde is due to present the banner to the town council at noon. You are Pip, the most junior apprentice, and you arrived first. You are also, as of this moment, alone.