Chapter Four: Trying

Blessed Aslan, I never knew a person could be so worn out. Lock me in the training grounds with Kanell and Oreius any day over being the poor brute that has to clean not only a blast furnace but the oven for tempering coal as well. Dirtier, dustier, greasier, smellier tasks cannot be imagined. I scrubbed and scraped stone-lined walls and hauled away barrow after barrow of ash and grit. By the end of the day I was regretting not bringing Martil as I emerged from the oven coated with a sticky, tar-like byproduct of coke, with a layer of ash atop that. I reeked of smoke and burnt oil. My clothes were a complete loss and my boots had gone from maroon leather to a nasty patchwork of black soot and sticky tar and dirt. To top it off, it was a cold, rainy day and perfectly miserable in every respect. I must have looked a sight, because the entire settlement turned out to see me when I was done. Brickit, who had assigned me these jobs with a wicked gleam in his beady eyes because he knew I couldn't back down, thrust his frizzy head into the oven to inspect my work.

"Not as clean as it could be," he muttered, shaking his head.

I was sorely tempted to hit him over the head with the bucket I carried, but that would not have secured me anything but an even crankier Dwarf with a concussion. Another annoying factor in all this was that all the brushes and brooms and shovels I had used today were scaled down to a Dwarf's size, effectively doubling the workload, so I considered the bucket inadequate for my intent.

"I'd like to see you do better," I said, setting down the bucket to keep temptation at bay.

"I'm sure you would, but the Chief Smithy does not engage in such lowly tasks as scraping tar off of ovens. We reserve that job for tadpoles and spawn and visiting kings."

I stepped away from the bucket.

"Still," he muttered, eyeing me, "it could be done worse considering this oven hasn't been cleaned in years."

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Mmm. Ovens really don't need to be cleaned. Easier to just build new ones when they get this clogged up."

I gave him my deadliest glare.

He smiled, delighted with having infuriated me. "Besides, we just trade with our cousins in the Moon Mountains for coke these days. It's much easier than making our own."

I looked longingly at the bucket as I collected myself. I banished fantasies of cracking him over the head and forced myself to adopt a pleasant expression and voice. "So you're saying all this work was for naught."

"Not the blast furnace, which could have been cleaner."

Temper, Ed, I heard Susan's soft voice in my mind. Temper indeed! It was boiling, but if I blew up now I'd just be giving Brickit what he wanted. The Dwarf was positively glowing with smugness.

"Shall I remind you of your own words?" quoth he with a little too much glee. "Try me."

By the unspoken rules of such combat, I had to concede his victory. Still, I wasn't going to go down without a fight and there was no way I was leaving the field without drawing some blood of my own. Victory may be his, but it would not be complete.

"Well done," I replied. "Do keep trying, Chief Smith."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

All I wanted to do was collapse on that lumpy, so-called bed they had given me and not wake up for a week. My arms ached and my knees were sore from crouching and kneeling. My head was pounding from the stench and fumes. Still, I was too filthy to sleep comfortably without washing up. I pulled out the saddle bags that held my supplies and hunted for some soap. It was then that I found the note tucked in amidst my extra clothes. It was addressed to me and I recognized Susan's handwriting. I sat down on the floor, gingerly stretching out my legs, and broke the wax seal to read:

Dearest Edmund,

Aslan's blessing upon you, brother, and this mission you've undertaken. I know it won't, can't be easy, but don't lose sight of what it will mean for us and Narnia in the end. And for you as well! Look for a balance between their needs and wants, and ours. It's there, you just have to find it, and when you do, nourish it.

Don't worry about Peter worrying about you. Lucy and I will keep him busy.

With much love,

Susan

I smiled. Asking Peter not to worry was like asking the sun not to rise or the winds not to blow. It was as much a part of him as his protectiveness and his big feet. Beneath Susan's note, written in bright green ink, was Lucy's rougher script. She had yet to master the quill and I smiled at the splotches here and there in her note.

Dear Ed,

By the time you've found this you'll have left Cair Paravel, but I as I'm writing it you're still here and I miss you already. I'm wishing you were back before you've left. I know what you're doing is very important, but please don't push yourself too hard. I know you don't think you do, but you do. Trust me on that. Just do your best and I'm sure the Dwarfs will be very nice. I've been told Black Dwarfs can be grumpy, but then you can be grumpy and nice, too.

Love,

Lucy

P.S. Susan's right, we'll keep Peter too busy to worry!

I sighed, pleased that they had written this and glad I hadn't found it on the journey to the Blue River. I knew I had their support but it was nice to have that backed up in writing, especially after such a trying day. I read it again, wondering at Susan's words. And for you as well. What did she know that I didn't? I was trying to prove myself, that I knew, but to whom?

I leaned back, too tired to think or move as exhaustion settled in upon me. I fell asleep where I sat, still filthy and reeking from my first, rather awful day as a diplomat.