Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  Not exactly what I’d expected.

  Rolph lay on the floor in front of the safe, bloody and beaten, his hands and arms covering his head, as if to ward off another blow.

  I fell to my knees beside him. “Craptastic,” I muttered, touching him on the arm. “Hang on there, big guy.”

  “Apprentice?” he mumbled through a smashed mouth. “Is it you?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said, a cold wave of nausea and fear warring with the horror and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. “What happened?”

  “The dragon,” he said, his breath coming in sharp stabs. “He sent some giants to take the sword. He thought I had acquired it for him and was holding out.” He lowered his left forearm over his eyes to block the light, but his right hand fell to his side.

  “First, I have the sword, so you don’t need to worry.”

  He peered at me under his arm, his eyes intense, searching.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Now, don’t move. Let me get the med kit.”

  “You are an angel,” he said, barking out a laugh.

  I stood, set the hammer on the table beside the anvil, and walked to the emergency kit Julie kept in the smithy. We could handle damn near anything short of an IV or blood draw.

  I sat on the floor beside him and checked him for immediate trauma. No bones appeared to be broken, and his blood loss was limited to the wounds on his face and head.

  “We should get you to a hospital, get some X-rays,” I said, opening a bottle of antiseptic and a bag of cotton balls.

  “No,” he said, as I knew he would. “Cannot risk being out after the sun rises.”

  “Right, gargoyle time,” I said, covering the lip of the bottle with a cotton ball and tipping the liquid out. Hell, what did I know anymore? If he believed it, best to humor him. “This is going to sting a little.”

  I placed the cotton against a shallow cut on his forehead and he drew in a sharp hiss. “Little,” he mewled.

  “Probably needs stitches,” I said. “But I’m not a sewer. Different trade.”

  “You are humorous,” he said, his lips swollen like two pink slugs.

  Tires popped on the gravel parking lot and I stood, snatching up the hammer and killing the lights. “Hang on, Rolph,” I said, squatting next to him and patting his arm. “If the bastards show again, I’ll be ready for them.”

  “They were never here,” he whispered. “They did this at my home.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked as voices approached the smithy. Julie and a male voice. I listened a moment and knew. Jack Marlowe.

  “Friendlies,” I said, and stood. I flipped the lights back on and stood in the doorway, waiting for them to come inside.

  “What the hell is going on?” Julie asked, standing square in front of me. I stepped away from the door and swung my arm out to take in Rolph.

  “Someone has used one of the movie extras as a punching bag,” I said, being cool. “And he decided this is the safest place to land.”

  “Cute outfit,” Jack said to me with a wink.

  Julie and I both looked at him. Neither of us had a pleasant expression on our face, and he took a step back. “Just saying,” he mumbled.

  “Never figured you for pink,” Julie said, craning her neck over me to see Rolph. “He gonna live?”

  “Likely,” I said, stepping aside and setting the hammer down. “I thought I’d do a bit of doctoring and see how he cleans up.”

  “No hospital?”

  “I can do stitches,” Jack offered.

  “I’ll go up to the house and get some things,” Julie said, shaking her head. “Jack, you come with me.”

  She grabbed his hand and walked out the door. I peeked and caught her grabbing his ass just as they reached her front door. Interesting night, indeed.

  I knelt back with Rolph and began cleaning the smaller cuts and abrasions. He mewled and moaned but his blood was as red as mine.

  “So, giants, huh?”

  “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “How many?”

  “Only two.”

  “Two?”

  “They are giants, after all,” he said. “Tall, arms like twisted steel, hands the size of . . . well, rubber goblin hands.”

  I laughed at that and he tried to smile despite the pain.

  I sat back on my heels, a bloody cotton ball in one hand, and considered. “Did you see their vehicle?”

  “Hummer,” he said. “Black and, I think, dark green.”

  “Bastards,” I said, letting the anger bubble near the surface.

  Rolph stared at me a moment. “You know of them?”

  “Maybe,” I said, getting a clean cotton ball and dipping it in the antiseptic. “Couple of goons ran me off the road Wednesday, fit your description. One of them punched my car.”

  “Could be them,” he said. “I would advise caution.”

  “Gee, ya think?”

  I finished working on him and sat back to contemplate the situation. Julie and Jack didn’t come back. After thirty minutes, I heard a truck leaving and Julie came into the smithy. Her hair was mussed up, and she had on a different . . . “Is that Jack’s shirt?”

  She waved at me, batting away my comment, and knelt by Rolph.

  “He can’t go home,” I said. “They know where he lives.”

  “Who are they?” she asked, pulling a hooked needle from her kit along with some fine thread.

  “They want the sword,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “You have done this before?”

  “Oh, sure. Dozens of times,” she said, squatting over him. She handed him a pint of whiskey and examined the cut over his eye. “I’ve sewn up horses and such. Skin is skin.”

  “Comforting,” he said.

  We helped wrestle him up to a seated position against the anvil and he took several large swallows of the whiskey.

  “Ready?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.

  “Aye,” he said, closing his eyes.

  He winced a bit, but didn’t really make too much of a fuss. The stitches went swiftly; she really had a delicate touch. Seven little black Xs dotted his forehead, and he would heal good as new. Mostly.

  “He could bed down here for the rest of the night, if he needs,” she said, packing her kit.

  “No sunlight,” he whispered, exhausted.

  Julie raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Right. Julie, just roll with this, okay?”

  “What am I rolling with, exactly?”

  Okay, here was the next test. Rolph believed this, and Katie did the last time I’d had a rational conversation with her. But how could I tell Julie with a straight face? Hell, I couldn’t exactly say I wasn’t having my doubts about my sanity. There were moments where I was afraid all this could be true, but those moments were fleeting.

  “I am of Durin’s folk,” he said.

  I shrugged at her. “He says he’s a dwarf.”

  Julie held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Dwarf?”

  “At your service,” Rolph said.

  “If you say hobbits or wizards, I’m tossing both your asses out onto the street.”

  She was smiling when she said it, but I could tell she was a little discombobulated.

  We waited for a few breaths. She brushed the hair out of her face and nodded. “Okay, goons want the sword, you’re a dwarf, and can’t be out in the sunlight.” A look of comprehension crossed her face. “Tell me you have Gram,” she finished, facing me.

  If you’d have hit me with a feather I’d have collapsed into a heap of pink cotton. “Not you, too?” I asked. “Am I the only sane one here?”

  Julie laughed. “He’s a smith, I can tell by his hands and arms. Besides, I just get the vibe from him. And you’ve been freaking out about the sword, and, face it—I’m a blacksmith. How many blacksmiths do you know?”

  “Um, besides you and me . . . two,” I said, confused.

  “Yes, two. But I know dozens, and we all follow the legends, t
he culture, the mythology. I have seen Wagner’s Ring Cycle. Seattle Opera does it every few years.”

  “I’ve never seen it,” Rolph interjected.

  I shrugged. “I’d rather gargle drain cleaner than listen to opera.”

  “It’s a good story,” Julie said, leaning against the door frame. “I think Warner Brothers did it best with Bugs and Elmer Fudd.”

  “Oh, I saw that,” I said, nodding. “Valkyries, battles, Viking warriors with winged helms and magic swords . . .”

  “And lightning bolts,” Rolph said.

  We looked at him and he shrugged.

  “I like Bugs Bunny.”

  “Anyway,” Julie said. “Sigurd or Sigmund, I can never remember . . .” She waved the air. “One of them slays the dragon Fafnir with the sword. Blah, blah, fat lady sings.”

  I winced. “Sigurd, actually.”

  “My father claimed to have met him,” Rolph said.

  I rolled my eyes. “So, Julie, do you believe my sword is Gram?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Julie said, sitting on the edge of the workbench. “There are people out there who believe it. Enough to hurt your friend here.”

  Touché.

  “So, he can sleep in the storeroom. No windows in there. I’ll run up to the house and get him some gear.”

  And back she went, out the door at a skip. Skipping and whistling, actually. I bet this would be a perfect moment to ask for a raise.

  We got Rolph bedded down and Julie headed up to the house with a promise to check on him the next day.

  “I miscalculated,” he said as I was pulling the door closed.

  “Sorry?”

  “I thought as soon as you saw what he was that you would kill him on the spot.”

  He was a dim shadow in a room of shadows, so I couldn’t see his face, but I let that little puzzle piece rattle in my head a moment.

  “You set me up?”

  “I knew you would see his true form, recognize him for the beast he is. Was I wrong?”

  I shook my head, remembering the fear. The doorknob slipped from my suddenly sweating hands and I leaned against the door frame. “Terrifying.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. When I was convinced he had gone to sleep I straightened up and pulled the door closed.

  Twenty-nine

  OKAY, TIME TO TAKE THIS UP A NOTCH. I HAD THE SWORD IN my car, and there were at least two thugs looking for it.

  What I didn’t understand was why Sawyer would offer to buy it from me, then send guys to rough up Rolph. Something didn’t add up.

  I sat in my car a moment, resting my head against the cool vinyl of the steering wheel and thinking. This was just too much. I needed to talk to Katie. Hell, I just flat needed Katie. I couldn’t breathe. So I drove instead.

  I parked in the same spot I’d lucked out on a few nights earlier and walked down the alley with the sword in its case in one hand and my favorite hammer in the other. No plan to take a beating.

  I passed the Dumpster and thought of Joe. His odor usually preceded him. I’d almost passed the alley when he stumbled out, reeking of sour sweat and cheap wine.

  “It is beneath you, smith.”

  I turned, nearly jumping out of my skin, the sword and case on the ground at my feet, my hammer pulled back for a blow. I rolled onto the balls of my feet and let out a breath.

  “Jesus, Joe. Why the hell do you have to scare me like that?”

  He stopped by the Dumpster, his features shadowed and twisted by the glow of the streetlight on the corner. “You truck with dwarves, smith.”

  “Dwarves?” I asked. “Does everybody know about this?”

  “He will bring you ruin,” Joe said, stepping toward me. He leaned on a rough-hewn tree branch and hobbled toward me a step. “You bear the runes, you bear the sword.”

  My left leg cramped then, sending me to one knee. I’d really overdone it with that run. I breathed through clenched teeth and stretched my calf, trying to get ahead of the knot.

  “You fight the truth, that is plain to see,” he said, turning his one good eye toward me. “And your spirit is cloven, sundered by your own fear.”

  “What the hell do you know?” I whispered, massaging my leg with both hands, the hammer at my feet.

  “Know?” he asked with a cackle. “I know you have wounds upon wounds, smith. When will you mend the break within yourself?”

  I lifted the hammer and stood, favoring my left leg. “Listen, you creepy old man . . .”

  But he was not there. I looked around the Dumpster and as far back into the alley as I dared. No one. I edged back, picked up the sword case, and hobbled out of the alley. Overhead a pair of crows cawed into the blackness before the dawn.

  Thirty

  I LIMPED TO THE DOORWAY UP TO KATIE’S PLACE AND REALized I’d left her keys at my apartment. Better to ring up, anyway. Only polite. No real way of telling if she’d even see me. Of course, she’d want to know about Rolph, and the things that had been going on . . . right?

  The buzzer stuttered a bit as I held in the button and waited. After a minute, I buzzed again, waiting. On the third try, Katie’s sleepy voice called down on the intercom. “I will kill you,” she said.

  “Katie?” I asked.

  “Sarah?” Her voice was suddenly more awake.

  “Yeah, can I come up?”

  She didn’t answer right away and I leaned against the brick.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, finally.

  Fair question, but . . . “No,” I said. Still hurt.

  “It’s really late.”

  “I just want to talk. Rolph’s been attacked. There’s news about the sword.”

  “Oh,” she said, hesitant. “How do you know I’m not having a Sapphic orgy up here as we speak?”

  That was absurd. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Never mind. You can come up for a minute.”

  Okay, that was something. The lock buzzed and I pulled the door open, finagled my gear through, and began the painful climb up to the second floor. My calf burned like nothing I’d ever experienced.

  Katie met me at the door dressed in her summer pajamas and a robe. Usually she slept naked, so the tone was set. She watched me with a cautious expression as I pulled the sword case through the door, and tried not to drop the hammer as I pushed around the couch and collapsed on the loveseat. “Could I get something to drink?” I asked. “Please?”

  She stood there a moment, contemplating, and then nodded. Schoolteacher till the end.

  “And some ibuprofen?”

  I took the two pills and the glass with a smile. The water wasn’t the only thing that was cold.

  Katie sat at her kitchen table, toying with her own glass of water and yawning. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking up.

  I could see the redness in her lovely brown eyes. Likely crying as much as sleep loss. Katie never cried. I hated that I did that to her, but . . .

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  She didn’t nod, or say anything. Just took a small sip of water and held the glass on her lap with both hands.

  “Right. Well. Things aren’t going so good right now. Rolph was beat up, and . . .”

  “New girlfriend?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Little old to be banging college kids, but I guess I’m not much older, huh?”

  The room spun for a moment. “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t have to wear her clothes over here,” she said, the bitterness thick in her throat. “Melanie and I are just friends. We were just meeting to talk.” She hiccoughed a catch, trying not to cry. “I wanted to talk about us,” she held her hand at me, open palmed, and drew it back to tap on her own chest. “You and me. About Jimmy’s and . . .” She turned her head and sniffled a bit, taking a napkin from the table and dabbing her eyes. “All we did was talk.”

  “O-okay,” I said, lost. “I believe you.”

&
nbsp; “Fine, then can you go, please?”

  She rose and stepped toward the door. “If you needed to sleep with someone else because you were scared, or uncertain, or just didn’t understand your sexuality yet, that’s one thing.” She was angry now, not sad. I sat there, holding the empty water glass to my chest and trying to breathe.

  “Katie, what are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t have to fuck her, and then wear her clothes here. That’s just low . . . beneath you.”

  I looked down and realized I was still wearing the pink sorority sweats. I laughed. Wrong move, and it sent her blood pressure up about fifty points, but I couldn’t help it. This was surreal.

  “Jesus, Katie,” I said, standing. I walked to the kitchen and set the glass into the sink. “I didn’t sleep with anyone, and how I got these is part of the story.”

  I walked back into the living room and she stood at the door, holding it open with her hand pointing toward the hall.

  “I swear to God. I’m wearing these because I pissed myself at the movie shoot.”

  A moment of doubt crossed her face, and she softened a pinch.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she whispered. “Just tell me you needed to get it out of your system or something, but don’t lie.”

  I walked up to her and fell to my knees at her feet. “Katie, I swear to you. I would never do that to you, and I would never flaunt it like this, never hurt you like this.”

  She looked down at me for the longest time. I didn’t move, just sat at her feet, looking up and praying. Then the cramp exploded in my calf again and I spasmed sideways, knocking the end table askew. I growled a wounded cry and clutched my calf, all dignity gone, all pretense vanished in the white-hot pain that seared my calf.

  “Sarah, my God,” Katie said, letting the door close with a bang, and kneeling beside me. “Charley horse?”

  “Yes,” I managed to hiss.

  She worked my calf, pushing my hands out of the way for a moment. Then she slid the sweats up over my calf and stopped, rocking back on her heels. “What the hell is this?”