Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  Under that funky costume, I bet he had shoulders like an ox.

  “Good night, Ms. Beauhall.” He nodded once, stepping back from me. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I watched him as I ducked into the car.

  I backed out of the space, keeping him in my mirror until the last moment. He stood there, staring at me with his hands tucked inside the rubber goblin head.

  Big hands, thick fingers—connection with the forge and fire. Something about all that reminded me of the things Katie sang. She was always going on about elves and dwarves, magic stuff—myths and legends. I needed to call her to ask some questions.

  I stopped at the shop. I kept the good swords in a safe there. Julie wouldn’t be in until nine the next day.

  I opened the safe and looked at my collection. There were some old blades in there. Some really old, but the black beauty was my favorite.

  I was too tired to work, but I really wanted to fix the sword. Maybe tomorrow after we got the order out for Broken Switch Farm, I’d talk to Julie about me repairing this one.

  The shop was strange at night, cold with the forge banked and the industrial ventilation turned off. I could smell sweat and smoke baked into the timbers of the place. Julie would be up in her trailer on the back of the lot, but the forge faced the main road. I wasn’t exactly isolated, but for a moment, the emptiness scared me.

  I placed the two halves of Gram on the anvil—funny how the name filled the blank spot in my brain. It felt right. I leaned against the rain barrel we used to cool horseshoes and studied the broken blade.

  Another of Katie’s songs swam in my head. Something about a dwarf from Dover and bending over . . . her lyrics trended toward raunchiness. But the line about the Dwarvish lover with big hands and their trysts in the dead of night made me think of the Swedish guy back in the parking lot.

  Gram ended up in the safe with the rest of my treasures, and I slunk home, exhausted, and praying for sleep.

  Three

  KATIE MET ME AT MONKEY SHINES FOR COFFEE BEFORE THE auction. She was stunning in her teacher outfit—black mid-length skirt and white short-sleeved top. Hell, she was stunning in nothing at all, but that’s beside the point.

  Seeing her took the edge off my rocky morning. I’d slept poorly, with nightmares of ogres and trolls.

  She kissed me while we were waiting for our drinks and the last of the night’s stress melted away.

  When I described the events of the night before, she got really excited.

  “He’s definitely a dwarf,” she said over her mocha latte.

  Katie lived the fantasy shit like no one else I knew. She spoke Elvish and even some Dwarvish from Tolkien, followed jousting troops like pro sports teams, and delved into myth and legend like most young women followed movie stars or rock bands.

  “He’s an extra on the Elvis Versus the Goblins thing I’m doing up at Carl’s,” I said, toying with my chocolate croissant. “I highly doubt a dwarf would be in Seattle, working on a low-budget movie. Besides, aren’t dwarves short? This guy was easily six foot.”

  Katie waved a hand in my direction, like she was shooing flies. “You are so naïve. This isn’t Disney.” She leaned toward me. “Norse dwarves are as tall as normal people. They just can’t be out in the daylight. It’ll kill them.”

  I could tell she was getting excited, but come on. This was too much.

  “If you have the Gram—”

  She was practically bouncing in her seat.

  “—a real magic sword . . . and this dude is a dwarf, maybe he’ll help you reforge it. Give you some tips.”

  “You know this isn’t real, right? He’s just a guy and the sword is just metal. No magic, no gods. Just a steel blade that was flawed.”

  “Think of the possibilities,” Katie rolled on. “If this is the sword Odin gave to the Volsung clan, can you imagine the possibilities?”

  What could I say to that? Volsungs? Come on. A long-dead Scandinavian clan? And Odin? Norse gods were in comic books and dragons were in role-playing games. As far as I was concerned, it was all fairy tales.

  “This is nuts, you know?”

  She ignored me. “Wait until I tell Jimmy. He’ll have tons of questions.”

  I winced. “Can we keep your brother out of it?” I asked. “It’s hard enough with him being the leader of Black Briar, and me dating you.” I sighed.

  Her eyes took on that twinkle I loved and feared. “He knows we’re sleeping together,” she said with a wicked grin. “I told him it’s none of his business who I fuck.”

  Great. I looked around the coffee shop. “I don’t think the people in the drive-thru heard you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t make me stand on the table and sing it to the whole joint.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, be that way.” She made to stand and I slid down in the seat, covering my face with my hands.

  She laughed. “Relax, Beauhall. I won’t make a scene.”

  I moved my hand, looking at her.

  “This time,” she said, winking.

  Oh, lord. She was so damn cute, but what had I gotten myself into?

  I sat up straighter when I realized she was teasing me. I wish I was as free about all this as she was. Me, I tried not to think about it too much. The voices in my head were too loud, too judgmental. You can take the girl out of the hard-core religious lifestyle, but you can’t make her . . . oh, to hell with it.

  “Dwarf or no dwarf, I’m gonna fix the blade tonight, after Julie knocks off for the day.”

  “Oooh,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Can I come?”

  I rolled my eyes. She’d bring her guitar and sing while I worked. It was cute, and somewhat annoying. “Fine, but you need to bring the beer for after.”

  She sat back, a twinkle in her eye. “No drinking while you are working hot metal,” she said. “I’ll bring something special for after.”

  The auction was a bust. There were two hunting knives and a commemorative sword celebrating the end of the Spanish-American War. Nice stuff, but too young for my tastes.

  Four

  KATIE WATCHED SARAH WALK ACROSS THE PARKING LOT TOward her car. She put her hands-free set on and dialed her sister-in-law.

  “Hey, Deidre.”

  Deidre and Jimmy had been married for about forever, and she was a huge help after Katie’s parents died. “How was the auction?”

  “Good. Sarah is like a kid at those things. Wants to touch everything.”

  Deidre laughed. “Did she buy anything?”

  Sarah waved as she drove out of the lot, and Katie blew her a kiss. “Nothing today, but I get to watch her fix a blade tonight at the smithy.”

  “Ooh, lovely. Things going well with you two?”

  Katie thought about it, started her car, and pulled out of the lot. “You know she’s sexy as hell. I love how strong she is, physically and mentally.”

  “She’s a good fighter. Everyone in Black Briar seems to like her well enough.”

  Katie smiled. “True. She’s got horrible self-esteem, but when she’s not dwelling on it, she’s dreamy.” When she wasn’t worrying how fat she was. Katie hadn’t met anyone in better shape in her life, and that included the SCA folks she knew.

  “But . . .?”

  That’s the thing, she thought. Is there a downside? “We’ve been together a while now, but she’s still too uptight about it, you know?”

  Katie could hear Deidre scheming. “We’ll have to get together and strategize on it.”

  “Excellent,” Katie said, laughing. “Is my lazy, no-good brother around? I have something he needs to hear.”

  “This about Sarah?”

  “Yes, and about Black Briar inner-circle stuff.”

  “Okay,” Deidre said. “You know these phones are not secure.”

  “Yes, mom,” Katie said with a laugh. “I’ll be brief and vague.”

  “Good, hang on—”

  Katie heard her put the phone down.

  �
��—Jim, it’s Katie.”

  Now to convince him that sitting on the sidelines wasn’t working any longer—no matter what promise he made to Mom and Dad before they disappeared. Besides, they’d been looking for something big their whole adult lives. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the real Gram and the cycle had begun anew.

  Five

  I MADE IT BACK TO THE SMITHY BY ONE O’CLOCK AND HELPED Julie pack up for our trek out to Broken Switch Farm. They had seven horses and a pony, so it was after dark by the time we got back to the forge.

  “Katie’s coming over tonight while I reforge the black sword,” I said as Julie filled out the deposit ticket to take the day’s earnings to the bank. “I need to fix it before the shoot tomorrow night. Carl needs it.”

  She looked up at me, her half-moon glasses hovering near the tip of her nose. The cowboy hat she normally wore hung off a wrought-iron coatrack I’d made her as one of my first projects. She ran her hand through her burgundy hair, pushing it off her forehead. Her complexion was ruddy from working over the fire for all these years. But she had an incredible body for someone in her forties. I hoped I looked as good when I was her age. As it was, being twenty-six was no great shakes. My arms were great, but I felt a little dumpy.

  “Make sure the tools are put away, and keep track of the propane.”

  “I thought I might use the Centaur forge tonight.” I think I was bouncing at that moment, but I wouldn’t admit it.

  “The propane would be cheaper,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know how you are. Just keep track of how much coal you use. We’re running low.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  I returned to sweeping down the shop. I loved starting a new project.

  And, I’d be seeing Katie. There may have been a part of me that wanted to show off for my girlfriend. Is that so wrong?

  So what if I changed into a sleeveless T-shirt—it was hot. Besides, it was nice to have her watch me—see the hunger in her eyes, know that she wants me. And hang my father. He wouldn’t understand no matter what. Lust was a sin. Hell, with him everything was sin.

  I stopped and closed my eyes. This was not his space. He held no power here. After three long, cleansing breaths I began arranging the forge, straightening tools, making things nice. Working with fire took order, control. Katie saw passion as the opposite—wild and abandoned. I needed to work on separating the two in my mind. Fire . . . passion . . . each burned, each consumed.

  Julie smiled at me as she left the shop. “Be careful,” was all she said as she walked out.

  By the time I heard the crunch of Katie’s tires on the gravel drive, I had already carried buckets of coal from the dwindling supply out back into the building and started the Centaur forge. I needed a good thirty minutes or more to get the coals heating evenly.

  Katie respected places of power. She entered the shop quietly, head bowed, so as not to disturb the fey she was sure were always present at a working forge.

  She was dressed in a brown and gold peasant skirt with tiny bells sewn all around the hem. That’s what she’d worn the first time we’d met and it was what I slid off of her the first time we’d made love. God, that was almost a year ago.

  My heart was pounding in my chest. I watched her place her guitar and cooler against the wall by one of the cleared worktables, thinking back to the first time I’d watched her.

  Six

  WE WERE BOTH AT A RENAISSANCE FAIRE OVER ON THE CAScade Peninsula. I had just finished farrier school and was doing double duty. I hadn’t started with Julie yet, even.

  The ren faire gig had me spending the majority of my time manning a rough smithy, putting on a show for the paying guests. On top of that, I was temping with an equestrian group, keeping their horses in shape for the five three-day weekends in a row.

  I was checking out a statuesque black Friesian named Pericles, owned by a strapping young knight in the group. He went by Sir Wenceslas, if you can believe it. He had a penchant for strutting around in a sleeveless cuirass so he could show off his bulging biceps.

  I was pretty sure I could take him.

  Despite a poor education in the classics and history in general, he had no problem attracting oodles of women.

  Most women, and here’s the crux of the tale.

  I was busy, making sure a rock hadn’t bruised yon knight’s ride, when he muttered, “Holy mother, look at her.”

  This lovely young woman walked by in a plain white cotton top, and a brown and gold peasant skirt. The bells on the hem jangled when she walked, drawing attention to her strut.

  I lowered the Friesian’s leg and stepped to the fence, leaning beside him, catching a very nice view of her walking away. It wasn’t hard to admire her contours.

  “Callipygian,” I said.

  Sir Wencesloser looked over at me with a very puzzled look.

  “Greek for nice ass,” I said, punching him in the arm and turning back to the horse.

  “Greek, huh?” he asked, leaning way over the fence to continue watching her. “They had a thing for asses.”

  “Present company excluded, I’m sure,” I muttered.

  I ignored the wolf whistle our young mister ripped out of the smithy and finished with Pericles, who proved to be a kind and patient animal. I suspected he had to be in order to put up with Lover Boy.

  When I was done, I grabbed an apple from my kit, pulled out my pocket knife, and fed several slices to my patient. “You are amazing,” I said, rubbing his nose.

  “Thanks,” Wenceslas muttered, watching the crowd. “I think I may have found a young maiden to rescue.”

  I walked over, looking for his obvious target, when the gorgeous girl walked by again.

  “This is her fourth time walking past,” he said, turning to the side and flexing his biceps at the world. “She has a thing for me.”

  She passed us, her walk just as enticing as last time, but she did not look our way.

  He seemed to deflate a bit, lowering his arms. “She’s playing coy.”

  “Yeah. That’s it,” I said, patting him on his shoulder. “Maybe you should take Pericles here back to camp and get him some water.”

  He glanced back at me, calculating. “Isn’t that what you’re getting paid for?”

  See. Now he’d pissed in my Wheaties. Of course, I liked this gig. Paid really well. But there was a line he was approaching quickly.

  “Sure thing,” I said, unwinding Pericles’ lead from the fence. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Think you can watch my gear?”

  He was too good for the hirelings, I guess. He waved a hand at me, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah, okay.”

  Pericles followed me without as much as a snort. Smart fella. We cut across the market square, between the funnel cake stand and the roasted cashews. I loved the way he walked, the clip-clop of his hooves as we crossed the footbridge near the spot where the pickle man kept his barrels cooling in the stream.

  Up the hill a ways was the encampment of the knight’s group. ORDER OF THE LEAF read the sign over their main tent. Marijuana leaf was my bet. Several young men lounged about, polishing armor and drinking large cans of overly caffeinated beverages. It was early, around two in the afternoon, and I knew they had shows at six and seven. They’d hit the hard stuff after that.

  “You guys seen Sir Wenceslas’s squire around?” I asked.

  One of the guys belched and the other three laughed.

  “How dare you speak to one of my station,” the belching knight said.

  I could learn to hate these playacting clowns.

  I bowed, bending one knee and dipping my head. “Pardon, good knight. I am on an errand for your brother, Sir Wenceslas. Might I inquire to the location of his good squire?”

  One of them pointed past a row of sleeping tents to the lot where the horse trailers were parked. “He’s in the back, you’ll recognize the crest on the horse trailer.” One of them winked, and another made some gesture I didn’t catch. “Be sure and announc
e yourself.”

  I nodded and led Pericles away. Idiots.

  Okay, eagle on a banner—that’s Wenceslas’s symbol. Hope these guys knew something about it.

  I found the trailer, fourth from the end. They had a dozen horses and kept them in good shape, or I wouldn’t have been here. They just partied too much to be jousting, in my humble opinion.

  As I approached the trailer, I heard giggling and stopped. This I did not need.

  I banged on the side of the trailer and a young woman in a barmaid’s outfit scrambled out, tucking her rather large breasts back into her top. She winked at me as she went past. Ren faire folk are all in collusion, that’s the general understanding.

  A young man of about seventeen came out after her, buckling his pants—obviously frustrated by the interruption.

  When he saw it was me, his look of embarrassment and shame switched to lurid bravado.

  “Well, hello,” he leered, leaning against the side of the trailer and letting his belt fall, untended.

  He topped six feet, but was about as wide as a ruler. “Willowy” came to mind. “Your master bids you take possession of his steed.”

  Maybe he was nineteen, but he looked me up and down, pausing at my breasts and really not leaving that point.

  “You are a comely lass. Perhaps you’d like to . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Since you ran Gwendolyn off and all.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. He was cute enough, but even if he was the wrong gender for me, he was too damn young.

  “Yeah, great,” he said, snatching the lead from my hand. “Tell my loser brother . . .”

  I didn’t listen, just turned and walked away. This gig was losing its luster.

  By the time I got back, loser brother was gone, and so was my kit—two changes of clothes, my wallet, car keys, cell phone, plus the apples and a nice baguette.

  Bastard.

  I stormed around the enclosure for a moment, seeing if I’d moved it behind the wall, which I hadn’t. Only so many places to stash a pack. The station had three wooden walls and a tarp for a roof.