Smith

by Wade Adrian

  Miles showed up when Smith was waiting on the second limb to cool. “Hear I missed the demonstration.”

  Stevens followed behind around the corner. “Oh, it was a thing to see.”

  Smith scoffed. “My pathetic archery skills? There will be more in the future, I’m sure.”

  “If you can do it at all you’ve got most of us beat.”

  “Baron is looking to train people. Sure you can get on the list.”

  “Ugh. That guy. Prefer not.”

  “Eh?” Smith glanced up from his work. “Seems like an okay sort to me.”

  “That’s because you’re from outside. That’s his world and he respects it. Those of us inside? He tolerates us, but that’s about it.”

  “You said you’ve only been here a year.”

  “I have. But I came with a trader from a smaller place. I didn’t go all Grizzly Adams and live off the land.”

  “Huh.” Smith pulled the form open. The limb had twisted a bit, but he could fix it when he did the handle later. He moved back to start the first siyah. “Well, get good at the bow. He’s bound to respect that.”

  Miles limbed a few steps before leaning against the jamb to the big open doors. “You think? Worth a try, I guess.”

  Smith had to raise his voice over the generator as he heated the material. “You guys spying on me today?”

  Stevens shook his head. “Nah. You’re boring.”

  “Good to know.” Smith clamped the siyah into the rig and moved the limb as before. A solid perpendicular flattening and bent to a thirty degree angle. The things ended up looking a bit like double sided hockey sticks.

  Miles watched, but he didn’t ask any silly questions or comment. Stevens had seen it, and didn’t seem to keen on helping when he wasn’t asked. They had their own jobs, after all.

  The final handle shaping allowed him to fix the minor issues, tweaking the limbs back and forth until the siyahs lined up.

  “That one mine?” Miles’ eyebrows crept up.

  “No arguments from me. I just make ‘em. Though Bishop and Baron might have a thing or two to say.”

  “We can’t get good if we don’t practice. Can’t practice if we don’t have the means.”

  “Very true.” Smith pulled out the file and started cutting the notches for the string.

  Miles seemed to pick up on it. He pointed at the other bow. “Want me to fetch that?”

  “Nah. Every string is unique. It’s damn near impossible to make two bows exactly the same length or curvature this way. Too much of it is free handed and eyeballed. It will need its own.”

  “Kay. Just trying to help.”

  “Appreciated.” Smith spent a few minutes shifting the bow around and nearly dropped the file. He sighed. “You ever see a vice in here?”

  Stevens shrugged. “No. Place has been locked up since I got here.”

  “Shame. This is murder on the hands, but I can’t really explain how to do it right, either.”

  “Well that sucks. But you’ll have to come up with some way, won’t you? To teach more people do to that? Keep the craft carrying on?”

  Smith considered the point, but ended up shaking his head. “Nobody is making more PVC pipes, and what’s lying around is already getting old. This method will probably die with me regardless.”

  “Well that’s kind of dire.”

  “The truth can suck sometimes.”

  “Can’t you make them out of wood?” Miles tilted his head a bit.

  “Never have. I know the basic idea, tillering and minor adjustments, but move of what I’ve heard is it’s a pain and very easy to screw up.”

  “See, I’d say that about what you’re doing right now, but you seem to have it down.”

  Smith smiled a bit. “Good point. Maybe someone else out there knows.”

  “Yeah. We could ship you around to learn stuff. Work release program.”

  “Not sure I care for the terminology… sounds like prison somehow.”

  “Feh. Still say you’ll need to teach this stuff eventually. I know metal working hasn’t changed.”

  “Mmm. Yes and no. I’ve always worked with available metal. Never really had to go digging, you know? But you’re right. Once it’s available I assume it’s pretty similar.”

  Stevens shrugged. “Metal will be around for awhile. No worries there. Besides, you can just melt broken stuff and start over, right?”

  “Eh…” Smith shrugged. “Forge is one thing. Foundry is another. We might get there some day, but that’s also something I haven’t done.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible anymore.”

  “Worrywart.” Miles shook his head.

  14

  The second string went together faster than the first. It had been years since he had done any of this, but none of it was terribly complicated and it was coming back quickly.

  Smith pulled the new bow back, watching how the limbs bent. He gently moved the string back to its original position and wandered over to Miles. He held the bow out. “Do what I just did.”

  “Kay.” He held the bow up and pulled on it.

  “For reference in your future lessons, use three fingers. Maybe someday you can use two, but three is better to learn with.” He moved Miles’ left hand up so it was about even with his eyes. “When you have an arrow, you’ll sight along it. We’ll discuss the archer’s paradox some other time. Your right hand should rest beside your face. You can touch your jaw with your thumb if you like to help you get used to it. Elbow up high…” He moved Miles’ right elbow up, too. “Don’t release it though. Let it back gently. Never dry fire.”

  “That’s a rule I try to live by.”

  “If that was supposed to be a dirty joke, it makes no sense.”

  “You make no sense.” Miles did as he was told, then drew the bow again, moving back to the same form. Smith still had to correct him a bit, but it was a hell of a lot closer.

  Stevens was trying to mimic the pose. He was closer despite not holding a bow.

  A knock on the outside of the door, which was standing open, preceded Bishop rounding the corner. “Oh, am I missing a seminar? I should have signed up.” He held out a roll of white tape. “Rawlins says this might work, and he’s got more.”

  “Cool.” Smith looked it over. Decent. He nodded to Bishop. “Thanks.”

  “Two bows in a day.” Bishop examined the second one while Miles worked on his form. “That’s just crazy.”

  “I can probably do more, but I like to take my time. Helps avoid problems.”

  “I think you misunderstand. Two is amazing.”

  Smith shrugged. “Okay.”

  Miles set the bow down on the workbench and hooked a thumb at Smith. “My boy here is a little modest, but he’s also the first one to tell you he doesn’t know something, which I guess is a good thing?”

  Bishop patted Miles on the shoulder and pointed at Stevens. “Glad you think so. I put you both on the work crew that’s going to help fix this place up.”

  “Oh, joy of joys.” Miles sighed.

  “Knew you’d be happy. Fact is, this place is a mess, but he can get some work done anyway. So imagine what he can do when it’s set up properly.”

  “I mean, yeah, I’m with you, but…”

  “Good. Glad we’re in agreement. We start tomorrow.”

  Stevens sighed, too. “Yay.”

  Smith lifted his chin a bit. “We?”

  Bishop nodded. “Yes. I’ll be helping out, where I can.”

  Miles shrugged. “Not unusual. We have everyone available and capable work on stuff like that. Rotate them in and out, back to their normal work. Keeps things moving.”

  “Well, yes, but it also instills a sense of community.”

  “Right. That.”

  “And in this case,” Bishop continued, ignoring Miles, “it gives a chance for the neighbors to meet you.”

  Smith’s shoulders slumped a bit. “Yay.”

&nb
sp; “Oh come now, I won’t hurt you in the least. What are your plans? I’m sure we can get some of it accomplished in short order.”

  Smith shrugged. “Well… I want the rest of the place cleaned out.”

  “Uh-huh, and?”

  “Then I guess I need bricks and dirt to make the forge.”

  “We have… some. Maybe enough.”

  “Then I suppose…” Smith tugged on his beard. “Can we put a floor up there?” He pointed at the high roof overhead. “Like, a floor halfway up that reaches about half of the length of the place. Not over the forge on this end. From say…” He took a few steps and held his arm up. “About here to the back wall.”

  “Uhh…” Bishop shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Why?”

  “So I have somewhere to sleep that isn’t surrounded by tools.”

  “What’s wrong with the common house?”

  “People, mostly.” Smith shrugged. “Sorry, but I’m just not good around crowds. And it’s not a new thing, I never was.”

  Miles craned his head up. “Should work. Just need to have some beams up the middle.” He limped over to Bishop. “Makes sense, too. Guy is a workaholic, trust me. Limiting his hours only hurts you. Besides, this is his stuff, right? He might as well be here to keep an eye on it. Don’t need someone walking off to mend a chicken coop with some fancy hammer.”

  Bishop nodded after a moment. “You’re right. I just don’t know if we have the lumber.”

  “Oh we’ve got tons of stuff to start with.” Stevens shrugged. “We’ll make use of some of this junk. Beam doesn’t have to be perfectly straight if it holds weight. We’ll put those ones against the walls, and use the best ones in the middle. Only thing that needs to be level is the floor.”

  Smith nodded. “I hear the rustic look is in these days.”

  Bishop smiled a bit. “What the hell. Sure. I want you to feel welcome anyway, so you having your own space suits me just fine. We’ll start cataloging what we have available in the morning while we clean this place out.” He started for the door. “Supper should be ready before long. Try not to get lost in here.” He waved as he left.

  Miles shook his head a bit. “Guy is terrified you’ll vanish in the night.”

  Stevens nodded. “Mmm.”

  “Pfft.” Smith unstrung both bows, setting the strings on opposite ends of the workbench… he’d mixed strings up before. He set both bows on the upturned barrel still sitting in the middle of the room. “Why would I leave?”

  “He doesn’t know. He just knows how much you can do here.”

  “No more than anyone else.”

  “Ha!” Miles limped over to the bench and leaned against it. “I can’t make bows from old pipes or knives from rusted out files.”

  “Can you make armor, axes, or swords?”

  “Uh, don’t think so.”

  “Huh.” The flat black paint can rattled, but it took a few seconds to be convinced to wake up.

  “Wait… you can make armor?”

  “Yeah, but theres not much reason to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because armor doesn’t stop bullets. That’s why people stopped using it.”

  “Soldiers had body armor.”

  The spray from the can was a bit messy, but it evened out enough to get a light coat on both bows. It would be a few minutes before he could do another coat. “Modern soldiers wore kevlar, not plate or mail. I can’t make kevlar.”

  “Wow, something Smith can’t throw together from old junk. I’m impressed. Or, maybe shocked?”

  “It’s a longer list than you think, but that one isn’t my fault. Kevlar is a weave of fibers. I doubt anyone can make a useful piece of it by hand. At least, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “But bullets are kind of getting rare, right? Maybe bows are what people will start using again.”

  “They had black powder guns before electricity. I’m sure someone can get those running again.”

  “Can you?”

  “Nope. Never have, no idea how. Besides, I don’t know how to make gunpowder. All the flintlocks in the world won’t matter without that.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” Miles shook his head. “Then what good are you?”

  “Knives, bows, axes, swords, arrows. Armor if it’s somehow necessary. Made a crossbow once. And a spear, but that was easy.”

  “That really does make you sound like a blacksmith.”

  “Yeah… except for the bow stuff.”

  “Going to make a sign for you to hang out front. Like, an anvil, or a hammer or something.”

  “Neat.”

  “And a bow, I guess.”

  “Now that’s just silly.”

  Miles shrugged a bit as he wandered to the door, shading his eyes against the setting sun. “I assume you’ll get requests for sightly more mundane stuff. Shovels, rakes, that sort of thing.”

  Smith tilted his head a bit as he waited for the second coat of paint to dry. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

  Stevens scoffed. “So, what, just weapons?”

  “Generally. It was a hobby. I made stuff I wanted. I researched what I wanted to know.”

  “If you can make a sword, I’m sure you can figure out a shovel.”

  “I dunno… is it a war shovel?”

  “You’ll do fine.”

  “Mmm.” Smith dug through the junk left in the shop. Something, anything cloth… old shirt. Perfect. He picked up the bows and laid the shirt down on the barrel before replacing the bows, white side up. Didn’t want to scratch the paint. Aesthetics weren’t the problem here, the sun was the enemy.

  He didn’t share the pair’s optimism. He knew what he knew, but he also knew there was a lot more he didn’t know.

  Socrates would be proud.

  He had never made a shovel, or a pitchfork, or a rake, or cutlery, or door hinges, or nails, or… well, countless things they were sure to ask for. It would take some experimentation. People might be okay with that, and he could certainly blame some of his learning curve on the materials… but he wished he had been a bit more varied in his studies, just the same.

  Two coats later the bows were black instead of white. It would wear off over time, but it was a damn sight better than nothing.

  Stevens and Miles watched him all the while. “You know, you could paint faster.”

  “Yes. If I didn’t mind problems.”

  “Pfft. Like what?”

  “It needs to bind to the plastic. Only certain paints do. Wrong paint? Problem. Paint too fast? Get runny paint. Might not be a problem when you paint a barn, but here it would mean ridges which would pop off exposing the material.” Smith tugged on his beard. “Professionalism is its own reward.”

  “Wow. Glad I just watch the fence.” Miles shook his head.

  “Oh? I assumed you guys were law enforcement in general.”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s usually just the gate. But don’t steal anything or kill anybody, I guess.”

  Stevens nodded. “Or at least be quiet about it.”

  Smith cut his eyes back and forth. “I hadn’t really been planning to, but rest assured I am now too intimidated to even consider it.”

  Miles started for the door. “Damn right. Now come on, food. I’ll get a speech if we’re late again.” He stopped with a wince.

  Smith set the paint can aside with the others. “You need me to make a crutch? I can probably whip something up.”

  “Won’t get better if I don’t use it.”

  “That’s probably true… after a requisite rest period.” Smith stepped up close to offer a shoulder.

  Miles ignored him. “I think I have a few days off scheduled next month. I can rest then.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m done badgering you.”

  “Cool, because I wasn’t listening.”

  Smith glanced aside at Stevens. He just shrugged.

  15

  Supper was served at the typical time and place. Smith, Stevens, and Miles were a bit late even though they left a bit earl
y. Miles still had some healing to do and they weren’t going to ditch him. That would be terribly rude.

  Besides, then Smith might have to talk to someone else. That wouldn’t do.

  Being late had its privileges; all the tables were full, so Smith had to resort to sitting under his same old tree. It was becoming familiar. Homey. Eventually he’d probably just grab stuff and head back to the shop. Or just keep food there and avoid this meaningless socialization entirely.

  People waved and greeted him by name. He waved back. He didn’t know any of them, but they all seemed to know him now.

  Stupid bow test.

  It seemed entirely like the kind of thing Bishop was trying to do. His focus on community made sense. Really, it did. It was just… ugh. Smith had never been good with names. So boom, here’s sixty or so. Enjoy.

  Hell, he was still having trouble remembering his own name was supposed to be “Smith” now.

  The menu didn’t seem to vary much by the day. Smith was pushing a few bits around, waiting until he could leave. He figured he needed to be present for fifteen or twenty minutes at least. Less would probably be seen as some sort of insult.

  More would seem too friendly for his liking. Or desperate.

  There had been some people on the outside that would do anything to be around other people. Didn’t take them long to find the wrong kind of people. If they were lucky they ended up on a farm for the rest of their lives.

  There were worse places they could end up.

  This place still seemed like a dream sometimes… but he wasn’t sure if it was a good dream or a bad one. In the back of his mind he still thought he was going to wake up in another tree, tied off in case he moved in his sleep. Yeah, this all seemed great now but the lack of it when the real world came crashing back… that would be worse than never having dreamt it up.

  Hope was dangerous anymore. It got you into trouble.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Bishop seemed in high spirits as he approached with a wave. “I’ve asked around. We can start the work tomorrow.”

  “Neat.” Smith set his plate aside. “Afraid I might not get much done myself with people underfoot, though.”

  Miles scoffed.

  Bishop shook his head. “As if two bows are not accomplishment enough for now. You can take a load off and just point for a few days, though I’m sure your expertise will help in getting your shop set up properly.”