The Blacksmith

by Howe, Barbara;

  The wizard set the book on his desk and folded his hands together over it. “His Grace the duke has matters in this city well in hand. You needn’t worry about his safety; his guards would kill a madman before he could get close to the duke or his family.”

  “I’m not worried about them. I don’t want some poor soul killed because he got so fed up he attacked the duke.”

  Sparks flew from the wizard’s eyes. “Who sent you?”

  “Nobody sent me. It was—”

  “Nobody sent me, sir.”

  “Nobody sent me. Sir. It was my own idea to come.” In fact, it had been Sam’s idea, but it wasn’t fair to point a finger at him.

  “Which guild do you belong to? What’s your rank? Does your guild council know you’re here?”

  “The Blacksmiths’ Guild. Sir. They don’t know. I’m still a journeyman, and—”

  “A journeyman.” He leaned back and sneered. “Did you really expect me to believe your guild would back you? Of course not. If it mattered, they’d send a member of the guild council. And do you think the Fire Warlock, with all his magic, knows so little about the state of affairs in Frankland that you, a mere journeyman craftsman from…from where? You don’t sound like you’re from Blacksburg.”

  “Abertee…sir.”

  “Abertee? Oh, God. Do you imagine the Fire Warlock can learn any­thing from a bumpkin?”

  “Aye, if he’s listening to you tell him the duke’s got everything under control.”

  He shot out of his chair and screamed at me. “Get the hell out of my sight, you impertinent ass, before I flame you.” I was halfway down the hall when he yelled, “Stop.”

  I edged towards the outer door. I didn’t need to know how far he could throw flame.

  The wizard stood in the door of his study, smoothing down his hair and tugging at his cuffs. He straightened his shoulders and gave me a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “There is something you can do if you do want to ensure Blacksburg remains a prosperous, orderly city.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can, sir.”

  “Then the sooner we stamp out this dangerous nonsense from the craft guilds about rewriting their own charters, the better. What do you know about this ridiculous conspiracy?”

  “C…c…conspiracy?”

  “Gad. Why am I wasting my time? Of course they wouldn’t have let a journeyman in on it. Get out of my sight, you hick.”

  I skidded around the corner of Master Randall’s house, caught sight of a guard outside the smithy, and scrambled into the alley. A peek around the corner confirmed that the guard had had his back to me and hadn’t noticed. I backtracked, and slammed into the wall at the touch of a hand on my arm.

  “Gosh, Duncan,” Sam said, “I sure am glad they haven’t arrested you, too.”

  Riot

  I saw a badger once, trapped in a cage. I’d felt sorry for the poor beast, but hadn’t done anything about it. If I ever saw such a thing again, I’d be inclined to rip open the cage and let him loose.

  Light coming in where the door didn’t fit tight was the only proof I had that I’d not spent more than one night and part of a day in this hole. They had brought me breakfast, but I’d eaten that a long time ago, and was tired of listening to my rumbling stomach.

  There wasn’t room to stretch out on the floor, and the ceiling was too low for me to stand upright. I had to keep my elbows tucked in to not bang them on the walls. I’d already crawled on my hands and knees, feeling my way over everything, just to have something to do.

  I should have insisted, yesterday, that Master Randall give me that frostbitten certificate right then. I could have left the gate with Master Paul, and been on my way home by now. Going home broke would have been better than this. Facing the duke’s questions would be better than this. Facing an angry Fire Warlock would be better than this. Even facing the Frost Maiden… Nae. I went back to crawling around, running my hands over the walls.

  When the door finally opened, I almost cried.

  “Come out of that root cellar,” Sam’s mum said, “and have dinner. They’re not looking for you.”

  “They posted a list on the church door,” Sam said, “of the people they’re looking for. Offering a reward. Your name’s not on it. Master Paul says the duke doesn’t know who he ought to arrest, and is just guessing.”

  “And he wouldn’t guess an outsider, and a journeyman at that, would be involved with the charters,” I said. I stepped out into the yard and reached for the clouds. Stretching had never felt so good. “But they went after the grandmasters because they’ve already spoken their minds to the duke more than once. Makes sense. Who else have they arrested?”

  “Don’t know for sure. All I know for certain is who’s not been arrested. Both grandmasters are on that list.”

  “That’s damn good news, but you said—”

  “I was wrong. Master Randall’s top journeyman said he slipped out the back when he saw the guards coming.”

  “What else have you heard?”

  “All kinds of crap. I’ve been all over the city fishing for news, but one person will say one thing and the next will say the exact opposite. Except they all say the duke blew his chance. Everybody in Blacksburg has heard about the charters by now, and are helping hide the people he wants to arrest, even though he’s offered a whopping big reward, especially for Master Randall. The duke doesn’t have enough guards, either, to make arrests and collect the exit tax at the same time. I’d bet you could get out with all your money.”

  “Won’t do me any good without that certificate.”

  We gobbled our dinners, then went to the Hammer and Anvil, on the off chance someone might have news. It was closed and locked. So was Master Clive’s smithy. Most stores and workshops in between were silent and empty. Every soul in the city must have been out in the streets, making trouble for the guards, and pushing them back towards the palace.

  We stopped at Master Paul’s smithy to grab our quarterstaves, and while we were there, a noise, like a crowd cheering, rose from the direction of the wharves.

  Mrs Hammer came out of the house, wringing her hands. “Have you seen Paul?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “If I had any sense, I’d leave Blacksburg right now and not come back. Keep the children indoors, ma’am—don’t let them get mixed up in this.”

  “I will. Be careful, yourself.”

  I hoisted my quarterstaff and headed for the noise, Sam following close on my heels. We reached the high street leading from the wharves in time to meet a group of men carrying guild banners marching towards the square. The crowd let them through, then fell in behind, carrying us along like a river. We added our cheers to the noise.

  I shoved through the crowd and caught up to the group with the banners. The air wizard, his arms full of papers, led the way. Master Randall, carrying the Swordsmiths’ banner, was right behind. I fell into step beside him.

  “Sorry, son,” he yelled. “Should’ve given you your certificate yesterday. I’ll do it tomorrow, if I can.”

  I shouted, “We’re taking the charters to the duke?”

  “We are. You’re not. Stay out of it. This isn’t your fight.”

  I argued, but he wouldn’t have it. “You’re needed in Abertee.”

  We reached the square, and I dropped out of the stream of marchers to watch from the cover of the trees at the Earth Guildhall. The guards stopped the marchers at the palace gates, but the crowd was getting thicker, and pressing against the iron fence. People milled about, making as much noise as they could—yelling, screaming, pounding on the cobbles with quarterstaves or broomsticks, or banging on pots with knives. Glenn Hoskins ran past, shouldering a pickaxe.

  The marchers with their banners were well-dressed merchants and respected crafts
men, but the folk at the edges, and the ones still pouring in, men and women both, looked like every cutthroat, pickpocket, thug, and other lowlife from miles around. Some had weapons or tools they could use as a weapon, but others carried rocks and cobbles. With a knife or a quarterstaff, you have a chance of dealing with the person behind it, but a rock can fly out of nowhere and kill with no warning. The sun was about gone, and it was cooling off, but I was sweating like I was at the forge. The Water Guildhall, almost due north, stared at me. I stood rooted to the spot, watching and worrying.

  News rippled through the crowd that the duke had arrested the two merchants who had started the conspiracy, and turned them over to the Water Guild. In an instant, the crowd turned into a howling, bloodthirsty mob.

  A section of iron fence rocked. Rocks flew, smashing windows. The guards waved their pikes, but there wasn’t room at the front for the marchers to retreat. Other sections of fence rocked. The guards lowered their pikes and charged the fence. Master Randall was in the front row.

  I grabbed Sam and ran. We swam upstream through the crowd, fighting towards the edge of the square. I watched over my shoulder as a section of fence went down. The guards, caught between hammer and anvil, had no chance. The mob ran them over and charged the doors. The vandals further out turned on the Water Guildhall and shops around the square. We dodged flying glass and ducked down the nearest side street, shoving through the mob. Some women in rags came out of a mansion with armloads of loot, laughing like they were proud of themselves. Where was that frostbitten Fire Warlock when you needed him?

  We reached the cross-street Richard Collins lived on. Glenn Hoskins, coming the other way with a torch, was lighting rags and tossing them through broken doors.

  I charged at Glenn, laying out looters in the way. Glenn took to his heels. Sam dashed into the Collins’ house and flew back out pulling a burning rug. Richard, bloody, limping, and swinging a sword, followed.

  For a moment he looked about to run Sam through, but then he pulled up short. His yell was drowned out by a huge, angry voice coming out of the walls, and the stones in the street. “THROW DOWN YOUR ARMS, OR DIE BY FIRE.”

  I dropped my quarterstaff. Sam dropped his a heartbeat later. Richard looked panicked; I knocked the sword from his hand with my fist. A looter grabbed it, brought it up to swing at me, and it went red-hot in his hands. He screamed and tried to drop it, but the metal stuck. Somehow, he tore away, and ran screaming down the street, but he’d left half his hand on the sword.

  A river of fire roared down the street. I shoved Richard and Sam through the door, but the fire, hot as a forge, caught me. Flames poured over and around me and then they were gone, and hadn’t hurt me, or set the house afire. I fell on my knees on the top step, and leaned against the doorpost, shaking.

  Glenn, blazing like a torch, ran down the street towards the river. I clapped my hands over my ears, but couldn’t block out his screams. The stink of burning flesh hit me like a punch in the gut. Glenn fell, rolled, and fetched up against a stone wall across the street, and lay there burning. Looters with burns on their arms or faces ran past him, howling.

  I leaned over the side of the steps and puked. Sam flopped down beside me and added his. We lay side-by-side on the steps, heaving, until Glenn stopped twitching and the flames died down.

  “Duncan,” Sam said, “I hated him, but that’s an awful way to die…”

  “Don’t feel guilty about it, Sam.” Richard leaned out the door, looking green himself. “That was magic fire. You couldn’t have saved him. You would have burned along with him.”

  By the Warlock’s beard, I hoped that was the truth. I didn’t need Glenn on my conscience. Maybe something could be said, after all, for the Frost Maiden’s way of killing.

  That thought came out of nowhere. I smacked my head with my hand, to beat some sense back into it. The riot hadn’t killed us, and the Fire Warlock hadn’t either, but she might yet…if the Black Duke didn’t hang us first.

  And if we did survive, what the hell would I do now, with Master Randall gone? I shouldn’t have stopped to think. Thinking hurt.

  I stood up, and pulled Sam to his feet. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  Sam guarded the door while I carried Richard to his kitchen and shouted for his wife. “It’s Duncan Archer, ma’am. I’m trying to help. We need to stitch your husband’s leg. He’s got a bad gash in it.”

  A head popped out of the pantry, and got a good look. She ran for the stairs and came back with needle and thread. Richard hunched over and hung onto the edge of the table while we worked on his leg. I cleaned the wound, then held it closed and talked while she sewed. “Somebody should tell those two bonny lasses their dad’s going to be fine. The riot’s over. The Fire Warlock’s here in Blacksburg, and he won’t let it happen again.”

  A pair of wide eyes peeked around the pantry door, followed soon by another pair. Mrs Collins said, “Come on out, girls, and say thank you.”

  They thanked me prettily, and watched while their mother finished stitching, then wrapped an Earth Guild bandage around his leg. “It should be like new by morning.”

  “Good thing you had those bandages,” I said, “because the healers are going to be awfully busy the next couple of days. I don’t know when you’d get anybody to come look at it.”

  He croaked out a thank you. He looked ready to pass out. I carried him into their sitting room and laid him on the couch so he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. The room was a mess, like the looters had smashed anything they couldn’t carry. Sam and I shoved a couple of heavy wardrobes in front of the windows; if the looters came back, they’d not have an easy time getting in.

  Before we barricaded the front door, I carried his sword in with the fireplace tongs and dropped it on the hearth. “You’d be better off with an axe or quarterstaff. That sword says ‘aristo’ as much as if you stood on the front steps and shouted it.”

  He said, “I know, but I have no other weapon. I’ve never learned to use a quarterstaff.”

  “Maybe you won’t need to. The Fire Guild will keep a tight grip on every­thing going on in this city for a while.”

  “I certainly hope so. Are you still planning on returning to Abertee?”

  “Nothing could make me stay here now.”

  He sighed. “I’d leave, too, if I had anywhere else to go.”

  He held out his hand. We shook.

  He said, “Meeting you was the second most lucky thing that ever happened to me. Thank you, my friend.”

  It was full dark when Mrs Collins let us out the garden gate. She insisted on giving us a lantern. I didn’t want to draw attention, but stumbling over bodies in the dark would’ve been worse. We took it.

  We started down the lane but then our feet turned us around like they had minds of their own, and marched us towards the square. The Fire Warlock’s voice was in my head, not all around, and it was ordering me—me, Duncan Archer—to come and account for myself.

  The Fire Warlock

  In front of me, Sam marched towards the square.

  I said, “He ordered you to come, too?”

  Sam nodded, and swallowed a couple of times. “Duncan, I’m scared.”

  “So am I. Only an imbecile’s not afraid of the Fire Warlock.”

  The square stank of charred flesh. Bodies, dead or dying, lay scattered. Witches and wizards roamed about, snuffing fires and tending the wounded.

  Our feet brought us inside the palace fence, to a bonfire of furniture and bedding. Nick Cooper marched in and joined us.

  I said, “My God, man, how are you still standing?”

  “What?” He looked down. “Oh. It’s not my blood.”

  Other scared folk followed Nick. Some I knew, and respected. When there were eleven of us—eight men and three women—the Fire Warlock walked out of the bonfire.

  Two of the wo
men screamed. I dropped the lantern. My knees wanted to buckle, but I froze, as if I had any chance of escaping notice.

  He stopped a couple of feet from me, and glared. At me. Eye to eye. His shoulders were almost as wide as mine, too. His big ring flashed red, and lit up the whole group. He raised his wand and tapped me on the chest. I reeled back, and stepped on Sam’s feet. He yelped.

  The Warlock growled, “It won’t do any good, hiding behind the smith. I’m going to get a good look at each of you.”

  He walked down the line, tapping us on our chests. “Duncan Archer, Sam Jackson, Nick Cooper…”

  When he got to the end, he turned around and glared. “Why, out of all the people in this city, can I only find eleven—eleven!—who went to somebody else’s aid tonight?”

  It wasn’t easy to read faces in the flickering light, but everybody else looked confused and scared, too. Nobody spoke.

  The Warlock held up his hand. “I don’t expect an answer to that question. I called each of you here because the Fire Office took notice of your actions, and is demanding I commend you for your responsible behaviour and clear thinking. I suppose I’ll have to, but I don’t much want to thank a dozen twigs for staying out of a bonfire that didn’t have to burn in the first place. Instead, I want an answer to a different question.

  “If you are such fine, upstanding citizens with sensible heads on your shoulders,” he roared, “then why didn’t any of you frostbitten fools convince your guilds to ask for my help before this mess got completely out of hand?”

  The others looked at me. I said, “Uh…”

  He stalked back to face me, and folded his arms across his chest. The ring shining so close hurt my eyes. “Well?”

  I wiped sweat off my face. “I’m just a journeyman, and an outsider, and—”

  Spittle flew. “You think just because you’re from somewhere else and planning on going back there that what happens here doesn’t matter to you?”

  “Nae, sir, I—”