The next day, Carlo felt like he was a new man as he walked to the guild hall. They'd spent the rest of the day after Noemi's miracle going around the city while he indulged her every whim. They had explored the bustling market. In which, he had to note, the vendors of his own Silk Weaver's Guild were the most busy, the most prosperous, and had the most sumptuous merchandise. He'd bought a bolt of finely wrought brocade, with twists of gold giving it a subtle sheen. Noemi would craft a dress for her trousseau with it.
His brother had created it. He'd had to suppress a jolt of jealousy when his hand caressed it. The fine raised lines pressed against him, each one deliberately placed. He'd never had the touch for it. His hand fumbled the shuttle. The warp and weft of the loom turned against him, ensnaring him. What he did create was clumsy and gaudy, full of knots and ill-chosen colors. Nothing like the wine rich reds, lemon yellows, and subtle greens <probably not those colors> that graced this bolt. His grandmother had ordered them burned and declared that he would serve the family in other ways when they'd finally realized that he could not be taught. But he'd sneaked one bolt away. It sat on the floor of his wardrobe. Sometimes he opened the door and thought about other paths not taken. If he'd been able to create his masterpiece and become a full guildman instead of the accounting and management he had taken onto his shoulders.
He'd arrived at his destination. The Guild of the Silk Weavers. Stone statues flanked the doors, each one bearing the crest of their guild, enameled in red and blue. The building towered above him, a building almost as large as a cathedral. It was necessary to host the master artisans and the many who supported them. The dyers, the merchants, the accountants, the apprentices. It was almost a village of its own. And Carlo, who ensured that the raw silk that had been bought was delivered, that the new crop of apprentices weren't shirking their duties, that everything was priced so that it could be sold in a way that left everyone pleased.
Soon, he'd have an additional responsibility. That was why he was coming in, although he'd rather spend another day of Noemi's new life with her. He'd watched her most of the night, afraid that she'd disappear and he'd be alone. His eyes were red and ached with tiredness. It was worth it to see her face, normally animated and vibrant, relaxed in the soft focus of sleep. The soft rise and fall of her breath filled their little apartment.
He wrenched his thoughts back to the task at hand. Noemi would have to wait. He had to be present for the rest of his family. They were depending on him.
“I'm here grandmother,” he announced, pushing open carved wooden door that led to her office. “Do I have the votes?”