A/N: Due to my laziness, we jumped about a week chronologically. Just a heads-up. ^.^
***
They reached Birmingham in half the time that had been calculated. Kurama welcomed the leeway, planning to enjoy himself in stationary comfort for a few days. Kuwabara, however, was unsettled. He glanced over his shoulder many times and muttered about his dislike for the place.
"We'll stay long enough to get the swords. You still want a sword, don't you?" Kurama asked, flicking the reins in signal that he did not expect an answer.
When Yusuke pointed them in the clear direction of his mother's forge, he paled and crept behind Kuwabara.
Kurama recognized immediately the symbol of Yusuke's discomfort. A handsome carriage, gilt in gold trim, stood before the entrance to the forge in all its anomalous glory. Two restless mares were still hitched to the front, one of which stamped her hoof impatiently as the other garnered the most attention. A young man in a neat, clean uniform patted the muzzle of the other, passing carrots to her from his palm. He glanced up when the cart drew near enough.
"We won't hide you. You're our ticket," Kuwabara hissed through the corner of his mouth, nudging the urchin.
Kurama passed the reins to Keiko and hopped from the cart, addressing the coachman with a supercilious air befitting a lord. Somehow his travel-worn, dirty, thin visage handled the grandeur with little strain. "Is the blacksmith in?" This question, coupled with bright, green eyes staring disdainfully down an upturned nose, exuded authority the man obviously did not have. The youth replied out of reflex despite the protests from his eyes.
"Yes, milord."
Kurama tried hard not to grin. He brushed past the coachman and into the forge without allowing his patina to crack. Once inside, his chest deflated and he bowed to the women he encountered.
"I am here on business, good ladies, and would wish to do business with the smith of whose talents I have heard from miles away."
A woman in a heavy apron, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what d'you want from me, eh? I en't got all day."
*
If Keiko had been expecting a warm reception upon hearing this woman was Yusuke's mother, she was sorely disappointed. As it was, the blacksmith gave her son a good whack upside the head so his ears rung and cursed at him for leaving her alone. She appeared to take it for granted that he would return to her and so merely punished him for his stupidity.
The other woman, however, prim and beautiful, took Yusuke by the ear, sat him down, and talked to him long and hard. When her cotton candy eyes lit upon Keiko, she let out a cry.
"Yusuke! Have you done anything to her? Oh, my dear, you must be..."
Keiko found herself embraced in a thick aura of floral perfume and lace. "I'm...I'm fine, really. They helped me, so I offered to drive them here."
"My dear, you cannot trust so easily! Come with me, let's get you cleaned up." She shot a glance at Yusuke with the soft promise, "I'll deal with -you- later."
Meanwhile, Kuwabara had presented the blacksmith with the swords Yusuke had dragged across the countryside and she snorted.
"I could of gotten you two out of each, boys. But if it gave my idiot son grief, good on yer." She took the swords, unscrewed the hilts cleanly from the blades after a few minutes' work, and set the metal in the fire to melt down.
She took a seat at the worktable by the forge, swiping her hair behind her ears. "So how'd you come upon my boy, mm?"
Kurama shrugged. "He tried to rob us."
She grinned. "That's my boy. 'Course, it just meant I saw less of him. That Botan has him in charm school all hours of the day so he's never caught the love of iron. He grew up with it in his hands until she came along." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't blame him running away."
Kurama rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If it's consolation, he's a terrible thief." He nudged Kuwabara, who nodded.
"Got spirit though," the burly man added, fingering a bent nail he had strung about his neck on a piece of Keiko's clothesline.
The blacksmith shrugged. "Must of, else you might have killed him, mm?"
Kurama laughed. "We needed him to lead us here, in any case."
She smiled at him. "I like your honesty. Care for a drink, mister..."
"Oh! Excuse me. Call me Kurama, and this is Kuwabara. Family names aren't necessary."
"Thieves?"
"We prefer 'con men.' On small scale, at least."
She smiled again. "Urameshi Atsuko. Now, about the drink?"
Kurama held up a hand, silencing Kuwabara. The man was about to voice his pressing need for a good drought, but he had learned not to surpass Kurama in social setting. "No, thank you, miss Atsuko."
She shrugged. "More for me, then." An old bottle materialized from beneath the table and she took a long swig. "Whiskey's good for metalwork."
Kurama raised an eyebrow. "I'll take your word for it."
***
They reached Birmingham in half the time that had been calculated. Kurama welcomed the leeway, planning to enjoy himself in stationary comfort for a few days. Kuwabara, however, was unsettled. He glanced over his shoulder many times and muttered about his dislike for the place.
"We'll stay long enough to get the swords. You still want a sword, don't you?" Kurama asked, flicking the reins in signal that he did not expect an answer.
When Yusuke pointed them in the clear direction of his mother's forge, he paled and crept behind Kuwabara.
Kurama recognized immediately the symbol of Yusuke's discomfort. A handsome carriage, gilt in gold trim, stood before the entrance to the forge in all its anomalous glory. Two restless mares were still hitched to the front, one of which stamped her hoof impatiently as the other garnered the most attention. A young man in a neat, clean uniform patted the muzzle of the other, passing carrots to her from his palm. He glanced up when the cart drew near enough.
"We won't hide you. You're our ticket," Kuwabara hissed through the corner of his mouth, nudging the urchin.
Kurama passed the reins to Keiko and hopped from the cart, addressing the coachman with a supercilious air befitting a lord. Somehow his travel-worn, dirty, thin visage handled the grandeur with little strain. "Is the blacksmith in?" This question, coupled with bright, green eyes staring disdainfully down an upturned nose, exuded authority the man obviously did not have. The youth replied out of reflex despite the protests from his eyes.
"Yes, milord."
Kurama tried hard not to grin. He brushed past the coachman and into the forge without allowing his patina to crack. Once inside, his chest deflated and he bowed to the women he encountered.
"I am here on business, good ladies, and would wish to do business with the smith of whose talents I have heard from miles away."
A woman in a heavy apron, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what d'you want from me, eh? I en't got all day."
*
If Keiko had been expecting a warm reception upon hearing this woman was Yusuke's mother, she was sorely disappointed. As it was, the blacksmith gave her son a good whack upside the head so his ears rung and cursed at him for leaving her alone. She appeared to take it for granted that he would return to her and so merely punished him for his stupidity.
The other woman, however, prim and beautiful, took Yusuke by the ear, sat him down, and talked to him long and hard. When her cotton candy eyes lit upon Keiko, she let out a cry.
"Yusuke! Have you done anything to her? Oh, my dear, you must be..."
Keiko found herself embraced in a thick aura of floral perfume and lace. "I'm...I'm fine, really. They helped me, so I offered to drive them here."
"My dear, you cannot trust so easily! Come with me, let's get you cleaned up." She shot a glance at Yusuke with the soft promise, "I'll deal with -you- later."
Meanwhile, Kuwabara had presented the blacksmith with the swords Yusuke had dragged across the countryside and she snorted.
"I could of gotten you two out of each, boys. But if it gave my idiot son grief, good on yer." She took the swords, unscrewed the hilts cleanly from the blades after a few minutes' work, and set the metal in the fire to melt down.
She took a seat at the worktable by the forge, swiping her hair behind her ears. "So how'd you come upon my boy, mm?"
Kurama shrugged. "He tried to rob us."
She grinned. "That's my boy. 'Course, it just meant I saw less of him. That Botan has him in charm school all hours of the day so he's never caught the love of iron. He grew up with it in his hands until she came along." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't blame him running away."
Kurama rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If it's consolation, he's a terrible thief." He nudged Kuwabara, who nodded.
"Got spirit though," the burly man added, fingering a bent nail he had strung about his neck on a piece of Keiko's clothesline.
The blacksmith shrugged. "Must of, else you might have killed him, mm?"
Kurama laughed. "We needed him to lead us here, in any case."
She smiled at him. "I like your honesty. Care for a drink, mister..."
"Oh! Excuse me. Call me Kurama, and this is Kuwabara. Family names aren't necessary."
"Thieves?"
"We prefer 'con men.' On small scale, at least."
She smiled again. "Urameshi Atsuko. Now, about the drink?"
Kurama held up a hand, silencing Kuwabara. The man was about to voice his pressing need for a good drought, but he had learned not to surpass Kurama in social setting. "No, thank you, miss Atsuko."
She shrugged. "More for me, then." An old bottle materialized from beneath the table and she took a long swig. "Whiskey's good for metalwork."
Kurama raised an eyebrow. "I'll take your word for it."