‘Just watch what folk leave with, food, leather goods, clothing, and remember where you saw it.’ He shrugged as if this were an inconsequential issue.
The teamster made two quick stops to unload his modest cargo before they arrived in front of a large inn displaying a sign with three stars of white painted on a black square. Ratigan negotiated a sharp corner and drove the wagon safely into a small stabling yard behind the inn.
Jusan was again given the task of protecting the wagon; Declan was pleased to see he was now fully recovered from his injuries and thought that a few days of good food and hard work would strengthen him.
Declan followed Ratigan into the dark inn and they stood inside the door for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. The room had only one entrance and one large window on the north wall; candles flickered on the bar and tables. Customers ate or drank quietly, but the inn was not crowded. Declan expected that would change as the afternoon wore on and people stopped in after work.
Ratigan and Declan moved to the bar, where a large man with an improbably thick thatch of greying black hair stood watching them. When they reached the bar, he said, ‘What will it be?’
Ratigan said, ‘You Leon?’
‘I am.’
‘Kalanora in Marquenet said you’d be the man to see about a forge; you hold the widow’s rights to it?’
‘You a smith?’ asked the barman.
Ratigan indicated Declan, who nodded, saying nothing.
‘I am and I do,’ said the barman. ‘If Kalanora sent you, you’re not here to waste my time. But it’s a very prosperous and big forge for a newly minted journeyman.’
Declan said, ‘I became a master this month and am seeking a good place to make a home.’
The innkeeper took out three large cups and a black bottle from behind the bar. ‘Can’t discuss business properly without a drink or two,’ he observed. ‘First round is mine. After that, you pay.’
He poured a small shot of amber liquid into each cup, then said, ‘Good health and fair dealings!’ Then he tossed the drink back.
Declan had never seen this type of spirit. He wasn’t much of a one for getting drunk, though like most young men, he had learned that lesson the hard way. Now he had one or two ales at most; he had tried some wine but wasn’t entirely sure he cared for it. He sniffed once and was greeted with an aroma that reminded him of the solvent he used to clean grease from tools after packing an axle. Declan saw Ratigan toss back his drink and followed suit.
An unexpected hot sensation greeted his tongue and he tried to swallow. The liquid burned his throat, bringing tears to his eyes; he gasped, inhaling a tiny bit of the burning liquid, and started coughing.
Leon tried not to laugh as Ratigan slapped Declan on the back.
‘Never had a whisky before, eh, lad?’ asked Leon.
Red-faced and trying to breathe, Declan shook his head and finished coughing. ‘What did you call that?’ he asked.
‘Whisky. It’s made in the north by the Kes’tun; savages without a doubt, but in the barbaric tongue that passes for their language, it means “the water of life”.’
Declan’s eyes stopped tearing. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do, and they do,’ said Leon, pouring another round. ‘This time, sip until you get used to the sting; you’ll find it grows on you.’
Not wishing to offend a man he was about to negotiate with, Declan sipped the drink. It still burned, but now that he expected it, he didn’t inhale and send himself into another fit of coughing. The taste was acidic and made him want to spit it out, but instead he swallowed. His eyes continued to water.
‘As I said,’ continued Leon, ‘it’ll grow on you.’
Declan thought that unlikely, though a warm glow seemed to be spreading through his stomach. He nodded.
‘Now, before we commence with business, you should have a look at the place, I expect.’ He turned and shouted at a door to the rear. ‘Gwen!’
A few moments later a girl came through the door wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What, Da?’
‘Take this lad down to the Widow Smith’s place and let him poke around for a bit. He’s thinking of buying it.’ To Declan he said, ‘This is my daughter, Gwendolyn. Gwen, this is Declan.’
She gave him a quick, appraising look, then smiled. ‘Declan,’ she repeated, as if to cement his name in her mind. ‘Come on, then, Declan.’ She stretched out his name as ‘Dec … lan’, as if liking the sound. She smiled, nodded, and with an inclination of her head indicated that he should follow her out of the door. He did, assessing her as he followed.
She was pretty, and like her father she had thick, dark hair, which shone like a raven’s wing in the sun when she loosened the grey head scarf she had worn while in the kitchen. Her figure was somewhat masked by her dress; it was big across the bodice and swept along the ground, an old garment often mended, but tidy. He wondered if it had originally belonged to another.
She glanced over her shoulder and said, ‘Smith, is it?’
He nodded, beginning to feel the effects of the whisky, and said, ‘Yes. Looking to set up a forge.’
‘This one will need some work. Not sure how much. I know nothing of forges.’
Declan was feeling a little off balance, because of the whisky, but also because he found the girl surprisingly attractive. There was something about her that put him in mind of Rozalee. He had no idea what, as they looked nothing alike; she was young and full-figured while Roz was past her youth and slender to the point of being skinny. But it was an attitude; the way Gwen carried herself, perhaps? Or maybe he simply wanted to be reminded of how he had felt with Rozalee.
He pushed the notion aside and turned his attention to the moment. As they wended their way through the busy town, Declan was forced to dodge people in the streets to avoid running into them. He asked, ‘Is it always this crowded?’
She laughed. ‘Worse. When a big caravan arrives, every inn can be full.’ She glanced up at him and said, ‘If you’re not lax, you’ll do well here.’
‘Who’s been fixing things since the old smith died?’
‘My da’s chased away a few squatters. There are a couple of tinkers in town who can fix things well enough to get someone on the road again, but if you make an offer, you’ll soon have more work than you know what to do with.’ She turned a corner and said, ‘Here we are.’
Declan took one glance at the smithy and knew it would do. As he approached he began assessing what needed to be fixed, and before he opened the forge doors, he knew he could turn it into the equal of Edvalt’s place. There was already a small rear door, and he calculated it would be relatively simple to fashion a heavy shade to block out light. He would need to close the massive forge doors, blocking out the outside light when working on steel, but that could wait; he doubted he’d be getting many weapons orders as the Baron of Marquensas had Gildy and a host of other smiths closer to hand, so very fine weapons were unlikely to be in demand. He knew how to make a very serviceable weapon without having to smelt jewel steel.
The smithy had a large yard, which was good, for he might need to repair multiple wagons if they arrived in caravans. The main doors were large and would admit plenty of daylight when needed. He opened the right side. ‘How are the nights here?’ he asked Gwen.
‘Meaning?’ she asked.
‘I mean the weather, especially in winter.’
‘We’re a bit off the coast, but it’s all downhill from here to the sea. Keeps things a bit more even, I’ve been told. So, nights in winter get cold, but not bitter. Go cast for a day or two and you’ll find foothills that occasionally get dusted with snow, but I’ve only seen snow on the ground twice here.’ She paused and considered, then added, ‘But it can get wet. We’ve had seasons rainy enough to drown a duck.’
He laughed at that and she smiled.
‘I think I’ll cut a smaller door into this big one. On cold days and colder nights the last thing I want to be doing is standing in an open doorw
ay if I don’t need to. Beran’s Hill’s further north than where I’m from, so I didn’t think the nights would be any more gentle, likely far less so.’
‘Work a lot at night, do you?’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes, to finish a job on time, it’s what you have to do.’
Declan swung the door aside and entered. The forge was old but had been well tended; the stone had endured many fires so Declan didn’t have to worry. Edvalt had cautioned him about using new stone for repairing a forge; moisture often became trapped inside the porous rocks and heating them could produce enough steam to make them explode. He saw a pile of aged stones in the corner and nodded his approval. The old smith had kept replacements near the heat, so they’d be dry if he needed them.
‘What was this smith’s name? Walter?’
‘Walter,’ answered Gwen with a nod. ‘Walter the Smith.’
‘He kept an orderly forge.’ Declan inspected the large bellows hanging on chains linked to iron rings that travelled on iron rods so they could be moved into position over the fire as needed. ‘Nice,’ he said, looking closely at the bellows. ‘This leather is going to have to be replaced sooner rather than later,’ Declan muttered to himself.
‘Is that a problem?’
He looked at her and smiled. ‘Using leather around a forge is always a problem. The heat dries it very quickly. I might change this for cured canvas if I can find some.’ He looked at Gwen. ‘How far to the coast?’
‘Three days’ travel by cart. Half that on a horse.’
‘Good. I can get what I need from a sail maker.’ He moved away from the bellows. ‘Until then I’ll get some neat’s-foot oil to condition and protect the leather.’ He took another look around and nodded. ‘This will be a fine smithy when I’m done.’ That made Gwen smile, and Declan found himself returning the smile without thought.
‘Come see the house,’ she said.
‘House?’
‘Out back.’ She took his hand, leading him through the rear door. He had expected to see a small home, like Edvalt’s, with perhaps two rooms, but the house in front of him was large by Oncon standards. It stood two floors high; the high roof of the smithy – so the massive bellows could be hoisted – blocked the sight of the home from the road. Gwen led him inside and said, ‘It needs a proper clean. The widow went down to a village on the other side of Marquenet to live with her sister. It’s why my da is selling it for her.’ She continued to hold Declan’s hand, a fact he was acutely conscious of.
The house was tidy, like the forge; well kept and had a big table in the kitchen. There was a small room in the back where Jusan could sleep, a big improvement over his usual sleeping mat by the forge. Upstairs were two bedrooms; the bigger one had a compact sun porch. A door allowed Declan to stand on it and look down on what appeared to be a garden.
Gwen said, ‘That will take a little work, pulling weeds and planting vegetables. But Widow Smith always had fresh carrots, cabbage, and turnips for stew; she thought it worth the effort.’
Declan took a deep breath. This was much more than he had expected. The forge he could manage, but with this house, too … He said, ‘Did your father tell you what the widow wants for the forge and house?’
‘No, but it shouldn’t be a problem,’ she answered with a smile.
He looked around a bit more, then said, ‘Let’s go talk to your father.’
She nodded and echoed, ‘Let’s.’
They walked back towards the inn and Gwen asked, ‘So it’s just you?’
‘What?’ He glanced down at her and saw her studying him. ‘I … Oh, my apprentice is in the wagon, watching our baggage. He’ll be living there, too.’
‘I mean no family?’
‘No, just me. I’m an orphan, I guess. Never knew my parents. My master raised me. Can’t remember living anywhere before that. Edvalt said he took me in because I was large for my age and he thought he could turn me into a good smith. Gave him fifteen years of service and a bit.’
‘That’s a long time.’
Softly, Declan replied, ‘I guess; now it seems but a moment.’
The pedestrian traffic was beginning to increase as the business day was winding down and shoppers were anxious to finish up before hurrying home. The two young people dodged around a crowd carrying all manner of items and Declan said, ‘Most smiths work as much as twenty-five years before becoming a master. Edvalt said I have the gift.’ He cut himself off. He wasn’t overly given to talking, but he found himself almost prattling to the girl for no reason he could think of. ‘I guess I do, else he wouldn’t have given me a master’s rank.’ Realising he was now boasting, he quickly added, ‘Maybe not that gifted, but a lot of hard work.’ He decided to stop talking about himself.
She smiled.
‘So, you’ve always lived here?’ Declan asked.
‘Born,’ she said with an emphatic nod. ‘My da was working crops and driving stock up and down from the meadows, doing all manner of things, when he met my ma. She made him settle down. They saved and built the inn themselves. I was tiny then, so it’s the only home I’ve known.’
‘Your ma? She work the inn?’
‘She passed,’ said Gwen, her voice softening. ‘Fever took her five years back.’ Glancing sideways at Declan, she smiled again. ‘I think Ma would have liked you.’
Declan was momentarily at a loss for words. He recognised flirting, but this was something else. He realised that despite knowing Roz and village girls in Oncon, he really had no idea what to expect from this innkeeper’s daughter. It felt like nothing more than an appraisal, and it made him feel both flattered and a little intimidated. She was absolutely the most attractive woman he had met.
They reached the inn and entered. Declan saw that Ratigan had switched to ale as he spoke with Leon. The innkeeper looked up as Declan reached the bar and asked, ‘You like it?’
‘Looks all right,’ said Declan, trying not to appear too eager, and still a little flustered by Gwen’s apparent interest. It was a far finer smithy than he had hoped for. ‘What is the widow’s price?’
‘One full weight of gold,’ said Leon.
Declan’s face remained impassive, hut it was three times the gold he carried. With the vast number of kingdoms, holdfasts, and city-states across the continents and islands, coins were universally accounted by quality and weight. Declan carried a third of a weight, roughly sixty coins of not-quite-uniform size, which was the equivalent of two months’ or more earnings for a master smith. A full weight would equal half a year’s work, with nothing left over for food, iron, coal, or any other necessity.
Finally Declan said, ‘That’s a lot.’
‘It’s a nice smithy,’ replied Leon. ‘Walter put a lot of years into it, built up a tidy little home behind it. Good location.’
Declan realised that despite any affection Leon might have held for the Widow Smith, he was also getting a commission. He said, ‘If I agree to that price, what are the terms?’
Leon looked surprised. ‘Terms?’
‘You didn’t expect a master smith to wander in carrying a full weight of gold, did you?’
Leon stroked his chin. ‘Now that you mention it, I guess I did.’ He looked at Declan and said, ‘What do you propose?’
‘I can give the widow thirty gold coins, a sixth of a weight, and … four coins a month until the full weight is paid.’
Leon glanced at his daughter, who was staring at him intensely, her eyes narrowing as if daring him to say no to the offer. She nodded her head slightly.
He looked at Declan and said, ‘I think the widow will agree to that.’ He reached out and they shook hands. ‘Move your gear in, and I’ll send word and your gold to the widow.’
Ratigan said, ‘I’m returning to Marquenet as soon as I pick up a load. I’ll carry them for you.’
Leon glanced at Declan, who nodded his assent that Ratigan could be trusted. Declan said to the teamster, ‘If you’ve finished your drink, let’s take Jusan down to the s
mithy and unload the wagon.’ Ratigan nodded and took a final pull from his flagon.
Declan bade goodbye to Leon and Gwen, who took his hand and held it slightly longer than he expected her to before letting it go.
Outside, they mounted the wagon and Declan said to Jusan, ‘We have a smithy.’
Jusan grinned and asked, ‘A good one?’
‘A very good one,’ replied Declan.
Ratigan laughed. ‘From the way that girl looked at you, you’re buying more than just a smithy, Declan. You’ll be a family man in no time, I’ll wager.’
Declan glanced at Ratigan and then at Jusan, who with a laugh asked, ‘What girl?’
Declan shrugged slightly and quietly to himself said, ‘That might not be a bad thing.’
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN •
A short Respite and Revelations
Hatu sipped a bitter coffee, a small pot purchased for an even smaller copper coin at a dockside inn in Halazane. He’d left the Isabela the afternoon before and had portered the captain’s chest himself, unwilling to let anyone else handle it. Costa had given him the name of the ship on which they were to meet, the Sasa Muti. It was an odd name, meaning ‘holy tree’ in the language of the Kes’tun people. What made it doubly odd was that the Sinyowai were horsemen from the grassy plains of South Tembria. There must have been a story behind its christening, and perhaps he’d remember to ask someone on the voyage home.
The Sasa Muti sailed on the evening tide, so Hatu had the day to rest, eat, and recover a bit. He was young and healthy, but the travails of the last month had taken their toll and he probably needed a few more days. No doubt he’d be questioned once he boarded the ship, and after that, he’d almost certainly be put to work.
He’d taken the little coin he’d saved and spent some of it on a bath with clean hot water, and on having his filthy clothes washed while he soaked. Hatu spent most of his days dirty, for the urchin or peasant-boy roles he usually played often required filth. It didn’t mean that he enjoyed the constant stench and having itchy skin. He couldn’t help but doze as he bathed and had to be roused when it was time to leave. The attendant who scrubbed his head and shoulders seemed disappointed when he chose not to pay her for sex, too. He would have enjoyed it, but he didn’t have enough coin to be pleasured and find an affordable inn.