Page 7
Story: Inked in Ashes (Inkbound #1)
CHAPTER 6
I grabbed the easy stuff first, knowing that I would need as much time as I could get for the last bit. In any case, the local blacksmith, an old fellow who went by Smitty Smithy, wouldn’t rent me space until after ten am.
In the meantime, I found myself wandering through The Smudge, taking in as much as I could with my hat pulled low and head down. I had assumed it would be miles better than The Hollow but…if there was a betterment, it was only by the edge of a cat’s whiskers. People were still struggling. There was still sickness, and scrawny kids without enough meat on their bones running rampant.
The biggest difference was the people in the streets openly using their abilities as Whispers. Nothing fancy, but magic was magic, and I could see how helpful it would be to have a skill even as simple as being able to light a fire without a match or see in the dark.
When the sun was a bit higher in the sky, I worked my way back to the forge and sat on the bench outside. Fetch rested on the rooftop closest to me, his eyes searching all around us for prey or a bauble to snag.
I shook my head. Not here, Fetch. I have a feeling we’d be caught.
As I waited, the sound of the bellows inside, the whoosh of the flames, it all lulled me, taking me back to a time that Pawpaw had been alive, and things…things had been simpler. Maybe still hard, but there had been bright spots.
“You’re a real natural there, Cinderella!” Pawpaw clapped me on the shoulder as I held the tongs in hand and lifted my creation from the oil barrel. “But what is it?”
“I took a couple of horseshoes, and I wove them together with that round bar you had over there.” I gingerly touched the metal, then gripped it tight. The warm steel felt good in my tired hands. At twelve, the tongs and hammer exhausted me.
He chuckled and took it from me. “But what is it? You made it quick enough.”
“I could see it in my head.” I shrugged and looked at my feet. “It’s a puzzle.”
He tucked a calloused finger under my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. Kindness, only kindness, shone back at me. “What’s the goal?”
“To get the ring off.” The two horseshoes were connected from each heel to a bit of chain, which connected to the other horseshoe’s heel. Around the chain was a solid ring.
Pawpaw squinted one eye and shook the metal a few times. “Well…I don’t know, but I think you might have made it impossible to solve.”
I grinned and wiggled my hands. He handed over the shoes, chain and ring and I turned away from him. In a quick series of motions, I twisted the rings and gave them a flip. When the ring slid right off into my palm, I spun back and showed him. “See? Like magic!”
His jaw dropped.
“Put it back on now.”
I turned away again, not wanting to give away my secret, but he stopped me, a bit of fear in his eyes though he tried to smile.
“No, show me, child. Show me the trick so I can see.”
It was only years later that I realized he’d been worried I might be a Whisper. Afraid that I might be dragged from our home for practicing magic, which was forbidden in The Hollow. Turned out I was nothing more than a clever kid with a big imagination and a knack for metal. Not much had changed on that front.
A knock on the wooden wall above my head startled me out of my memories.
Smitty Smithy stuck his head through the doorway, his hair capped under a tight bandana, his skin coated in coal dust which made his amber-hued eyes even more intense.
“Huh. You came back, wasn’t sure you would. You got two hours for me first. Then, two hours for you.”
I nodded and stood. “As we agreed.”
Putting my sack of goods in the corner, I took a quick look at the forge and set up.
Better even than Pawpaw’s. The anvil edge was crisp and sharp, the tongs didn’t squeak and the handle of the two-pound hammer was smooth, not a single splinter was going to find me today.
I rolled the hammer handle and gave the anvil an experimental tap. The ringing cleared away any doubts.
“A knife you said? You got a style in mind?” I turned to where Smitty slumped into a short backed wooden chair.
“Partially finished. Need its shape and edge, then a handle. Make it nice enough to sell, whatever style you like.”
Two hours was not a lot, especially when I saw the lump of steel that was his idea of ‘partially finished’. He was testing me for sure. Not that it mattered, I didn’t need him to hire me, I just needed the blade to be good enough that he honored his time commitment to me.
Using the tongs, I picked up the vaguely knife-shaped hunk of raw material and shoved it into the coal.
Wiggling it in under the first layer of coal, I reached for the crank handle of the air blower with my left hand—the piping went right into the base of the fire in the forge.
Hard not to be impressed, it was a far better setup than I was used to.
I needed the steel hot enough to manipulate it easily if I wanted to get this job done in time, so I worked the crank handle hard for a few minutes, the flames in the coal flickering brighter and brighter.
I settled into a steady pattern of steel in, crank the handle, steel out, hammer out the shape. Over and over, I worked until I had a beautiful blade that already I was loath to give up. The cutting edge was curved, like Fetch’s belly, rising to the deadly point at the end. The spine of the blade I drew down to a gentle rising point, then dropped it away to where the tang began. Happy with it, I set about to tempering the steel.
Sweat dripped down my face and into my eyes, but I didn’t slow. I could see exactly where each blow needed to land. Could see exactly how to finish the knife so that it would stand out in the crowd.
But that would come at the end. I went to the work bench where the handle materials were set—wood, bone, leather and some stone though that would be a right bitch. “What do you want for the handle?”
“Surprise me.”
Fucking hell, if I thought it wasn’t a test before, it sure as shit was now. I let my hands drift over a few things, stopping finally over a black piece of wood, charred on the outside. I scooped it up and got back to work.
It took me time, but once the handle was done, smooth and carved to be comfortable for a hand bigger than my own, the black of it was deep and glossy, like glass instead of wood.
Next was edging the blade.
“There’s a pedal over there, pump it and the sanding paper runs on its own.”
I blinked and saw what Smitty was referring to. Damn, a step up indeed.
“How…”
“Here, I’ll pedal it, you sand.”
The blacksmith joined me, using one foot to pump the machine to life. The sandpaper was on a vertical roll, and it began to spin, faster and faster. I pressed the knife to it, and grinned. “This is awesome.”
The edge was unbelievably sharp in no time; it was ready for the last piece I could see in my mind.
“You got any wax?” I asked. Smitty dropped a lump of black goopy something in front of me. “What the hell is that?”
“Pine tar, a few other things.” Smitty grunted as he flopped back into his chair. I had no idea how long I’d been working, but I had to finish this knife, finish my own project and get my ass back to Moll.
Pine tar and other things. It would have to do. I’d seen the acid etching barrel next to the oil, and I wanted him to be happy with what I was doing.
Taking pieces of the pine-tar-and-other-things, I rolled it in my hands, working it like sticky clay. Thinner and thinner I went until I had it where I wanted it. Then I laid it across the blade, avoiding the sharpened edge, spreading the pine-tar-and-other-things anywhere I didn’t want the acid to etch.
I dunked the blade into the acid bath, counting down, and then pulling it out.
Satisfied, I used a chunk of wood from the floor, scraped off the pine-tar-and-other-things, and handed the blade to the Smitty.
He swiped it with his apron, his eyebrows shooting up as he studied the knife. “Where did you come up with this pattern?”
“An old book of fairytales I used to have. Had writing like that in it.” It had been so long since I’d seen it, I couldn’t remember the stories in detail, but the pictures inside along with the spiky letters and fancy scrollwork were still etched in my mind. “Seemed fitting for the blade. If you’re happy with that?—”
“Take as much time as you want in the forge. Tomorrow too, if you need it.” Smitty stood. “Clean up before you go. You can use any of the scrap materials over there.”
He thumbed to a pile of steel in the corner. Maybe he saw it as scrap, but I…I saw it as a fucking gold mine.
I tried not to let my emotions get the best of me as I shot him a shaky smile.
“You got it.”
With a grunt he let himself out the door, and I all but dove into the pile of metal. No one was going to get the drop on us while we were stuck in Alabaster, not if I could help it. And I had a sweet little idea cooking up in my head, just for Moll.
A weapon that even she could use—a weapon no one would see coming until it was too late…