TWENTY-SEVEN
Molina woke up on the floor, surrounded by gold-filled spindles. The strange man was gone, but he'd done his work well. True to his word, he'd turned all the thread into gold. The king would have to be satisfied now.
She rose stiffly and made her way to the door and banged her fist on it. "Captain, I am done," she shouted.
"I will fetch the captain, mistress," came a voice through the door. There was a pause, then a muffled, "It may take some time to find him."
Molina settled down to wait.
By the time she could hear someone unbarring the door, the sun had reached the arrow slits that passed for windows and it streamed down on the artfully piled up spindles, setting the whole room aglow.
The men in the doorway had to shield their eyes against the brightness, so it too
