We are not quilters
How hard is it for a computer to spell a word?
Every. Single. Time.
It is “Quilltap,” not “Quilttap”
Every time the Foundryman makes his little notes - “fixed the restore functionality,” “whipped the Peruvian pretense engine into shape,” “whistled up a WSL,” et cetera - every single time, he misspells the name of our estate.
This is Quilltap. It is named after a feather pen and a noise you make when you are thinking of what to write. (Or maybe, Prospero says, the act of opening some imported brew. I wouldn’t know.)
In no way is this “Quilttap.” We do not tap quilts. We do not make quilts. I will not admit to even owning a quilt. I have never attended a church bazaar. I have never, in my adult life, been present at any function that could be called, by anybody, a “bee.”
I admit I have a nice shawl, and a fleece, and an eiderdown on my own bed.
There is a duvet on the couch in the Salon in which I usually sit, when I can sit, when I am not being asked to procure information. I bought that myself, when I was on the run from… but I digress.
In my study, off the Commonplace Book’s reading room Number Two, there is an antimacassar draped over my favorite armchair… because of a wine stain I haven’t succeeded in removing yet, I admit.
But if that forger of a forgemaster tells me, in his little scrawled illiterate missives, one more time, that he has done anything in, with, or under this estate and calls it “Quilt-tap…”
I shall take one of his large steel tools and sally forth at once, to give him the adjustment he requires.
He shall not require it a second time.
— The Librarian of the Commonplace Book, for the Bureau