I dumped out the crossbows I had gotten from the second group of men, along with bundles of arrows and strange little boxes, long and only thick enough for one arrow above another, for about twelve arrows.
“Oh, look at all these toys!” cried Troy, who whipped out his knife and began to take them apart.
“Stop that,” cried Kylee, dismayed at having the plain kitchen table cluttered with the pieces of the bows.
“Yes,” I said, “If you used those handy fingers to blacksmith small parts, we’d have business from all sorts of other places, and Kylee would have money for thread.” I smiled.
“I’m good at figuring out how things work, though. For example, I can tell that this crossbow can fire about twelve shots in less than a minute, maybe more, with good range. And look at these tips! They’re designed to break bones at short ranges, judging by the way they’re so short and heavy. These sure are fine weapons, deadly and dangerous: capable of killing many, quick,” he said, “But I’m not so good at this delicate smithing stuff.”
“You could be, if you tried. I know that whenever you try to do something mechanical, it usually works out. I want you to begin work with me in the smithy in a week or two. I’ve got an idea for a plow that always makes straight furrows, and I ought to finish it then.”
*
The next morning, at five, Gervaise got up, and Kylee, who was already up, gave him breakfast.
He went off, and at six, after I had finished chopping up enough wood to begin making charcoal, Kylee woke up the kids, they had breakfast, and I read from the part of the Scriptures that Allen had copied. Then, at about eight, after I was almost finished making enough charcoal for the day’s work, Allen arrived, worked a little in the house; putting together the part of the Bible he had copied the day before, I think; and then came outside. I had just finished making the charcoal, and was shoveling it into the furnace, when he walked into the smithy.
“How is the learning?” I asked, not looking up.
“Good,” he said, donning his leather apron, and picking up a small hammer and tongs, placed them in his apron pocket. He walked over to a table, and got out his mold for large chain lengths. Finally, after arranging his workbench, he spoke. “I’m glad that instead of having to ride to the monastery every day, I can just have two full days.”
“I agree. It’s better for me, because I get more work out of you, and better for you, because you get more schoolwork for you.”
“Right. Anything happen?” Allen said.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Oh, and by the way, Farmer Sheave is coming today at ten today instead of eleven tomorrow to pick up his order of heavy chain,” he told me, quite a bit on the late side.
“Do you have the ten strides finished?”
“No, not yet.”
“Allen, you don’t even have two hours. He pushed up the order, of course, the knowing it’s the busy season, with people getting ready to repair their plows, shoe horses, and generally getting ready for planting. He’s gonna be mad as a nobleman if he doesn’t get that order.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
I looked at the dizzying bit of work: he had ten strides of very heavy-duty chain, and I had at least two plows to repair, some hoes and things to make, besides the worrying about the chains.
*
Two hours later, Allen leaned outside my shop, while I coiled up the sixty heads or so of chain. I finished, and tied the chain in four places, so that it would be easier to lift.
Mr. Sheave rode up, and jerkily dropped from his horse. The shady look on his face said that this was a calculated move, and he didn’t think we’d make it.
I threw fully open the door of the shop. Sheave scowled, as I strode, the 60 pound double-strength heavy-duty chain draped over my shoulder. I heaved it into the back of Sheave’s cart, and Allen returned to the smithy.
“Didn’t think you could make it,” he said, begrudgingly. “I think you’re a better smith than I thought…If this is still high-quality workmanship.”
“It is,” I said, simply, slightly annoyed that he would question my work. I knew why he would; he was hoping to get a discount.
“Alright, here’s the gold piece I promised you.”
“Thank you for the business, Mr. Sheave.”
“Thanks for the ten strides o’ chain, Mr. Skye.”
“Pleasure. God bless you.”
“Same,” he said, although we both knew that it wasn’t so much of a pleasure as we indicated.
At that moment, speedy footsteps came from behind the smithy. The door at the back of the smithy opened, and was followed by some low conversation between the runner and Allen. The front door of the smithy opened, and Gervaise stepped out, and motioned for me. I stepped behind the door, which Gervaise shut. I knew what it was about, or at least thought I did, and didn't want Farmer Sheaves, of all possible people, to hear.
“What?” I asked impatiently.
“They’re coming, faster than we thought.”
“We’ll just tell the townspeople a little earlier.”
“But, I crept in close and was able to hear something.”
“What?”
“They’re sending a troop of fifty light horse ahead to secure the border towns near where the road comes out of the forest. Among those towns is ours. Tel Hermuun.”
“Did you get a map or anything for verification?” I asked, hoping he was mistaken.
“Yes, I pinched two maps from the commander’s tent. And there was this blue print of a ship…” he said with some excitement.
“What’s on these maps?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. The maps.” His mind had evidently been pondering the ships. “One has troop placements and distribution, and the other shows the road and its intended progress.”
“Good job,” I said, appreciating his achievements.
“What’s this?” Sheave opened the door he’d been listening behind. “Light horse? Soldiers, commanders, and roads? What are you not telling us, Skye?” The jug had burst.
“Oh, boy,” I sighed, rather reluctant to have him be the first person outside my family I told. “The Duke has sent a raiding party through the forest, well-armed and provisioned, and absolute foolishness to fight—“
He interrupted me. “We’ll fight ‘em!” Sheave was already riled, and grinned. “And send ‘im back where he belongs!”
“It’s too large for that! We can’t fight him! My father may have in his lifetime, but also he would have been against the sort of complete destruction that would happen when we are defeated by that enormous of an army. How far are they?” I asked, turning to Gervaise, expecting less than two days.
“If the troop leaves on time, they’ll be here by tonight. If not, tomorrow morning,” he replied, doing some calculations in his head.
“So we have only fifteen hours,” I said cooly, and turned back to Sheave.
“Let’s get what we can, fortify, and fight ‘em.”
“We don’t have to. No one has to get hurt. The Duke will win eventually. We could fend off the horsemen, but what about the rest of his army? It wouldn’t be a fight, Sheave. It’d be a massacre.”
Sheave smiled evilly.
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