The Blacksmith Page 8

  The ram’s hindquarters proved as hard as his head had been easy. I had gotten exactly what I wanted for the head, but when I made what I had sketched for the rear, even his dam would have called him ugly. Worse, as Master Paul had said, his rear didn’t balance his head. When I built a rear that almost balanced, it stuck out farther than it should have. I lost track of how many attempts I tossed on the scrap heap. I lost track, too, of how many times I went to the guildhall to decipher the tricks in the off-balance thicket, but the fool clerk kept a tally, and snickered about it behind my back. In all, it took two months just to do the ram’s hindquarters.

  Sam helped. We both knew the masterpiece had to be all my work, but he couldn’t sit still for two hours. He would pump the bellows, shovel coal, and juggle the irons in the fire. It wasn’t long before he picked up a sledgehammer when he saw I could use a striker. I would work the apprentices for all I could get out of them when I was a master, so I couldn’t see any harm in it.

  We fell into the habit, at night, of the same teamwork that worked during the day, and I gave him more to do, or taught him things he’d not had a chance to try, working on railings day after day.

  One night, I set him to work making a cluster of grapes. I watched, giving advice, while he worked. When he’d finally gotten a respectable grape, I turned back to my own work, and was struck dumb by the sight of Master Randall, leaning against the wall of the smithy like he’d been there a while.

  He said, “I dropped by for a peek at that masterpiece Brother Paul keeps talking about.”

  “I’m not helping,” Sam said. “Honest. Duncan was just showing me how to do what he was doing.”

  Master Randall smiled. “You think I can’t tell an apprentice’s work from a master’s? I’m glad you’re here, so I could see for myself Duncan meets one of the other requirements.”

  “Other requirements?”

  “What do the certificates say?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never read one.”

  Master Randall nodded at me. “You ought to know.”

  “The holder of this certificate,” I said, “has demonstrated that he can, among other things…ah…oh, that he can pass on to junior smiths his know­ledge of the craft.”

  “The craft guilds never have enough competent teachers. Keep up the good work,” he said, and left.

  Other smiths started dropping in. Some, like Master Hal, looked it over and stomped out. Others stayed to talk, and tell stories. Most stories they told on themselves, or other smiths, but other folk figured as well. One story I got a good laugh out of was about an aristo, trying to pass as a commoner by working as a groom, and making a hash of it.

  Sam asked, “Why did he do that, when he didn’t have to work for a living?”

  “His father disowned him,” the smith said. “Wouldn’t pay his bills.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” I said. “We can’t stand them, and they can’t even stand each other.”

  “That’s so, but they usually find some other relative to leech off of.”

  Sam said, “They all ought to have to work for a living.”

  “It would be good for everybody if they did,” I said, “but I doubt they could.”

  “Some do,” the smith said. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I would be surprised. Name one.”

  “Well, a merchant here in Blacksburg is an aristo…”

  “Go on. Which one? I’ve met most, and I don’t believe you.”

  The smith scratched his head. “Damned if I can remember his name. I’ve never done business with him. Can’t afford his goods. Cloth merchant. Clinton, or Collins. That’s it, something Collins.”

  We got to Richard Collins’ house early the next morning, and waited. When he stepped out, I said, “Is it true you’re an aristo?”

  He cringed. “Yes, it is true, much to my regret.”

  I gawked at him. “You’re joking.”

  He grabbed my elbow and dragged me towards his house, insisting we come in. His wife poured tea and left us alone in the kitchen. He said, “You think a nobleman’s life is one of wealth and privilege and easy living, don’t you? It is, if you have the property to generate income and tenants to work for you. My family was the lowest rank of the nobility to start with, and nearly all there was went to my father’s eldest brother.

  “I’m the seventh son of a seventh son, and my share wasn’t enough to live on. The furniture in the parlour—not this house itself or anything else—is the sum total of my inheritance.”

  I said, “But, but—”

  “So, you see, I’ve had to work for a living, and being a…you-know-what has not helped. I’ve struggled to build working relationships with my suppliers and customers. I have had to be scrupulously honest and fair with every commoner I deal with because I can’t afford the slightest whisper of doubt. If they find out before they know me well they think I’ll cheat them or otherwise mistreat them simply because I can, and won’t trust me. If they don’t find out early, then they’re angry and upset with me for having misled them, and I have the conversation I’m having right now with you, to persuade them to continue doing business with me.”

  I said, “I’m not angry, just confused. The seventh son of a seventh son is supposed to be lucky.”

  “I’ve had plenty of luck all right, nearly all bad. The only really good luck I’ve ever had was meeting my wife. She’s a commoner, and her father let her marry me against his better judgment. He helped establish me as a merchant, and he did that out of concern for his daughter, not out of sympathy for me.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Why aren’t you angry?”

  “Good question… We’ve haven’t been doing business together, and even if we were, well, people don’t often try to cheat me. I may not be the cleverest fellow you’ve ever dealt with, but my dad made sure I had enough horse sense to smell a swindle, and most people smart enough to pull a swindle are smart enough to back off when I give them the gimlet eye. If I have to I can pick a man up and shake him until his teeth rattle, and that’s usually enough. The only man fool enough to think he could cheat me would be an aris… Sorry, I’m not half as smart as I thought I was.”

  He smiled. “At least you have the decency to apologise.”

  “But the taxes… Do you have to pay them? Don’t you get any relief?”

  “Possibly, no, probably, I could. I will not ask for it. Doing so would destroy in a day the trust I have worked half my life to build.”

  “Oh, aye. I see.”

  Sam asked, “Can’t you give up being an, uh, you-know-what?”

  “No. There is no provision, without the king’s approval, for movement between the classes. My children are commoners since my wife is and I’m not titled, but I am…stuck. And I’m not alone. You may have met other impoverished nobles in Blacksburg, who hide their origins because they have to work for a living, and know they would lose customers and be shunned by their neighbours if found out.”

  I said, “That’s not fair, either.”

  He shrugged. “As fair as the king. Saying it isn’t fair is easy. Changing it is hard.”

  Sam said, “Why don’t you take it to the king? He could help.”

  Richard and I both stared at Sam. He turned red. “I meant, couldn’t he let you become a commoner?”

  I said, “Sam, you’ve taken all those stories I’ve told too seriously. They’re no more use than fairy tales. Fair as the king stopped being fair a long time ago. The one we’ve got now would bust a gut laughing at an aristo wanting to turn common.”

  Richard said, “If he listened at all. He listens to the dukes and barons, yes, but he’s not interested in the likes of me. If even the Fire Warlock can’t convince him of what’s fair, what chance do I have?”

  Touchmark

  When Jack left in May, I was Master Paul�
��s only journeyman. He turned away everyone who came looking for work. At least we were still in business. Every day some merchant was having a closing-down sale, or some craftsman packed up his tools.

  “How much longer can this go on, without all the business in the city collapsing?” I said.

  “Not long,” Richard said, “and the duke will win. If two more cloth merchants go bankrupt, the association will lose its charter. I may be next. I’ve already had to let go nearly all my staff.”

  “They won’t find anything else in Blacksburg now that pays a living wage. If your business survives, you can hire them back.”

  “If they don’t move away, yes. Assuming, of course, I can make any profit under the terms of the new charter the duke wants to shove down our throats.”

  The air wizard was even gloomier. “The new charter is like putting a meat cleaver in the duke’s right hand for him to use on his own left arm. He’ll kill all business in this city, and tax every penny out of everybody who stays, to compensate for the taxes he’ll lose from all the merchants and craftsmen he’s driven away. There’ll be riots, and everything worth anything will go up in smoke.”

  It wouldn’t take much to get to that point. Talk on the street corners and in the taverns had a brittle, crackly edge to it like dry leaves. A spark would set the city ablaze, and I wanted out before it did.

  Midsummer was coming, and when I realised I wouldn’t finish my masterpiece in time for the guild meeting in early June, I got roaring drunk. As if that would help.

  There’s nothing like hammering on a ringing anvil to make a man ready to part with an outrageous sum for one of the Earth Guild’s nasty hangover cures. I downed the potion, and my head and liver blew open. I slammed the bottle on the counter and bellowed at the wizard, “You poisoned me!”

  “Did not,” he said. “Scared the poisons out of your system. Worked, didn’t it?”

  After a minute or two, while the bits sorted themselves out and settled back into place, I had to admit it had, but I didn’t want to ever do it again. Better, and cheaper, not to get that wasted in the first place.

  There was no time for that, anyway. I put everything I had into finishing the masterpiece in time for the July meeting. The ram was done, but the pieces around him weren’t. The stream of other smiths coming by for a look continued, but I didn’t know how widespread the talk had gotten until one morning a pair of aristos charged into the smithy and fetched up in front of the gate.

  Their clothes would have outshone Richard Collins. The one in the rear took care not to get close to anything that would leave smudges. “Filthy place,” he sniffed.

  The one in the lead didn’t seem to care. He shook a finger at my masterpiece and started yelling. “What arrogant upstart commissioned this gate? I demand an answer.”

  “Nobody did,” I said. “There’s no buyer—”

  “Damn straight there’s no buyer, you impertinent wretch. If you expect me to buy something I didn’t ask for, you have a lot of gall.”

  “Course not. It’s not for sale.”

  Master Paul shoved in between us, explaining about the masterpiece, and that I would be handing it over to the Blacksmiths’ Guild.

  “Then why did he choose my family’s mascot?” The cords in the man’s neck relaxed, and he stopped shouting, but he didn’t stop glaring at me.

  “How would I know a ram is somebody’s mascot? Who the hell are you anyway?”

  The cords in his neck bulged and he went back to shouting. The other aristo smirked. “I told you, you’re a baron, and nobody gives a shit about barons, even if you are rolling in money.” That earned him a raised finger from his buddy, and he laughed.

  I said, “I don’t care if it is your family’s mascot. There’s no law stopping me from using it, too.”

  “No one else in Blacksburg would dare,” he said. “How much do you want for it?”

  “Eh? You just said—”

  “Never mind. What do you want?”

  “I told you, it’s not for sale.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that, simpleton. Of course it’s for sale. How much are you asking?”

  Typical aristo. Would be good for him to find out he couldn’t have everything he wanted. I scratched my chin while I calculated. “Well, there’s the cost of the iron and coal…” I’d kept a running total in my head of all Master Paul had docked my pay for, a total that made my head hurt any time I thought about it. “Plus my time…”

  Master Paul and the apprentices stared at me like they couldn’t believe I was even thinking about it. I winked at them and went on figuring. “Plus the spells I paid for after the first was ruined…” I came up with a number that would choke a horse, and tripled it. Considered that a bit more before speaking, and doubled it.

  Master Paul’s eyebrows rose, and he whistled silently. Everybody else gaped.

  The baron closed his mouth and swallowed. “That’s preposterous. Your guild puts limits on what you can charge for—”

  “That’s on pieces made to order,” I said. “For a piece like this, I can charge whatever I want. You don’t have to buy it.”

  “The hell I don’t. I can’t have it showing up in someone else’s garden, as if I didn’t know quality work when I see it, or was too cheap to pay for it. Everybody in this city—everybody who’s anybody, that is, not a common idiot like you—would know. If you don’t set a reasonable rate, I’ll take it—”

  “The hell you will. The spells against theft will break the hand of anybody touching it, if I don’t let it go.”

  He snarled at me. “I’ll pay you the going rate for a gate that size. I’ll make you sell it.”

  “You can’t. You’re not my overlord. The guild charter says I don’t have to sell to you.”

  “You made that up.”

  Master Paul said, “He knows what’s in that charter, better than any other smith in town. If he says the charter says so, you can believe it.”

  The baron stomped out of the smithy. “We’ll see about that.”

  He came back later, still snarling. “That gate belongs in my garden. If you don’t sell it to me, I’ll make sure no aristocrat in Blacksburg will do business with you when you have your own smithy. You won’t sell another gate or any fancy work. Where will you be then?”

  “Home in Abertee. I’m not staying a single day in Blacksburg once I’m certified, so I don’t care what you do. It’s not for sale.”

  Sam and I left the smithy most nights with muscles aching and Sam asleep on his feet. We dropped out of the sparring during breaks. I’d sit on the bench and shout advice as the apprentices went at it, but I was too bone-weary to grab my own quarterstaff and show them how it was done.

  In his own way, the air wizard was working as hard. I never saw him between May Day and Midsummer without red-rimmed eyes, and ink stains on his hands and cuffs. Whenever his pen wasn’t racing across the page, he was massaging his shoulder or flexing his wrist.

  The secret meetings, working on the charters, put a strain on Master Randall, too. We stopped at the Hammer and Anvil late one night, after a long argument—one of many—with the other guilds about what was most important.

  “I’ve been thinking about the royal charter a lot lately,” he said. “What with all the other talk about charters. It’s a shame it limits the number of swordsmiths. We could use some new blood in the guild. And spread out in more cities and towns, too. Frankland has grown, but we haven’t.”

  “The king wouldn’t think there’s much call for swords these days,” I said, “and doesn’t understand what else you do.”

  “The king doesn’t like us having the power we already do,” he said, frowning down at the piece of bronze he was rolling between his fingers. “He knows what we do, and doesn’t like it.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “This, my young frie
nd, is the stamp I use to put the seal on those certificates all you youngsters are trying to earn.” He flipped it up to show the swordsmiths’ symbol carved into the splayed head. “They’re numbered. See? Sixty of them, for the whole damned country.”

  “I’ve wondered what happens to one when the smith doesn’t have a son or nephew to pass it on to.”

  “It goes to whoever he picks, as long as at least one other swordsmith will vouch for him. Mine’s promised to a lad who worked for me about ten years ago. Well, he’s not a lad anymore. A good man. But he’ll be middle-aged before I hand it over. If the smith hasn’t picked out another man to give it to, it goes to the next man on the guild’s waiting list.”

  I lowered my mug. “I didn’t know there was a waiting list.”

  “We don’t talk about it much. It’s a disgrace. Your uncle was on it for thirty years, and it never got to him.”

  He went back to frowning at his seal, and I stared down into my mug. I thought I’d known everything there was to know about Uncle Will, but I hadn’t known that. Maybe he hadn’t known.

  The baron stomped into the smithy, looking like he had a bellyache, and slammed a bag—a heavy one, that clinked—down on my anvil. “This is half of what you asked, and it’s robbery at that price. I will have that gate.”

  That was more money than I’d ever seen at one time. Ever had any hopes of seeing. The only noise in the smithy was the crackling of the fire. Master Paul stood with his hammer raised, his eyes wide. I could live in style on that for a long time. I could buy enough drink to make me forget I would miss another summer and autumn in Abertee. Maybe even another Yule.

  I shoved the bag back into the baron’s hands. “It’s not for sale.”

  That moneybag haunted me. I should never have given him a price. If he wanted it bad enough to bring the full sum in cash, I wouldn’t have any choice. I’d have to sell it to him, or he’d be within his rights to take it. My only hope was to turn it over to the guild as soon as possible.