It was hot in the smithy. But then, it was nearly always hot there, and
especially where Will stood by the great leather bellows. Master Brown
had not let him do much else, yet; he was still too small to be able to
swing the heavy hammers accurately without being a danger to himself as
well as his master.
Although he was an all-around blacksmith – shoeing a few horses and making assorted ironware for sale – Brown's specialty was as a bladesmith, forging knives and swords. Will felt lucky to have been apprenticed to him. That appreciation kept him working hard, despite his wish that Brown would begin to teach him something, and not just keep him carrying coke for the fire and pumping the bellows.
In fact, Will had secret plans to try working a bit on his own. Over the past sixteen months he had noticed that his master was taking longer and longer to return on those days when he went off to a tavern for lunch, and that he seemed to be drinking more ale than was good for him – or even rum, sometime. Brown always told Will to let the forge alone in his absence, and merely stay to mind the shop if a customer came by, but Will intended to see if he could handle the hammer alone.
He had taken one of the red-hot bars with the tongs and set it on the anvil, grasping the hammer and just about to try a few taps, when a man came into the smithy. Will quickly shoved the bar back into the fire.
"Can I help you, sir?" he said politely.
The man grinned, showing the glint of gold teeth. He was an unusual-looking fellow, with beads braided into the hair of his beard and head. "You can, boy. I'm looking for a decent sword, not too dear. What do you have?"
Will showed him the selection. Master Brown always kept at least a dozen swords ready-made on hand, though he would make to order as well for clients who wanted something special, like filigree work or a blade longer or shorter than usual. The man looked them over carefully, raising first one, then another, and making a few practice swings.
"How much for this one?"
When Will told him the price – ten pounds – he frowned. "Anything less?"
"That one," Will pointed at the blade in question, "is only seven pounds fifteen. But I wouldn't recommend it."
"Why not, boy?"
Cautiously Will looked around. "I was here when Master Brown made it, sir, and it's not his best work. Tap it on the anvil – you'll hear that it doesn't ring true."
The man did so, and raised his brows at the off tone. "Well, which would you say I should get, then?"
"You chose the best one for the price the first time, sir. But if ten pounds is too much, then take this one, which is nine. It will serve you well."
"You didn't make it, did you?"
Will laughed. "No. I don't make anything, yet. But someday I shall."
The stranger looked him over and nodded. "You're wiry, but I think you've the strength for it – and the wit. Come, I'll offer you eight and a half for the blade."
"I'm sorry sir, I can't. Master Brown sets the prices – if I let you have it for less, he'll take it out of me, later."
"All right, then, nine." The man suddenly seemed in a hurry, and counted out the coins onto the anvil, snatching up the sword. "Let me give you a piece of advice, though. If you want to make a good blade, you need to know what a man wants from it. So learn to use them yourself; that will teach you how to make what you want."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure you're right. Thank you." Will watched the man out, noting that he pulled his three-cornered hat well down over his eyes before stepping into the square. He was sure from the way the fellow had walked that he was a sailor – not surprising in Port Royal, of course – and wondered if perhaps he was a pirate. None of his business, of course, but he might have asked if the man had ever heard of William Turner, or the Yancy.
For his father and the ship both seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Everyone Will had asked denied knowing any William or Bill Turner. As for the Yancy, he had twice met men who had sailed on her some years back, but neither could tell him what had happened to her since, or even say if his father had been on her crew in the meantime. Reluctantly Will had come to the conclusion that she must have sunk or been taken. He still had a faint hope that his father might not have been on her at the time, and might still return to Jamaica and Port Royal, but that hope grew steadily less.
Now it was too late for him to try again with the iron, for Brown might return at any moment. Will sighed. Putting the swords he had been showing the customer away again, he paused. The man's advice was probably good, he considered. It only made sense, that using the blades would teach him what was most needed in them. But sword-play was not something that he could learn alone. Once he knew something, perhaps he could practice alone, but he needed a teacher to begin with. Whom could he ask?
Will mulled over the possibilities all afternoon, as he pushed the bellows-handles up and down. One positive thing about not having more interesting work to do was that he had plenty of time to think – too much time, usually. At last he decided to ask Rhys Jones, who worked in the public stable. Rhys had been a soldier, once, but had been wounded so badly in the leg that he could no longer walk well. He would know something of swords, enough at least to teach Will the basics, and he was a reasonably friendly fellow.
At the end of the day, Will was cleaning up with a few bits of help from Brown when his master said unexpectedly, "How old are you now, Will?"
"Fifteen – next month."
"All right. You're about big enough now to be able to swing those hammers, I think, and I can hire a little lad to pump the bellows if we need it. Tomorrow I'll show you how to work wrought iron."
Will's heart leaped. "Thank you, sir," he said fervently. "I'll get up extra early and stoke the fires."
"You do that." Brown looked around. "I'll be out this evening. You latch the door, and don't fall so sound asleep that you don't hear me come back."
"No sir," Will promised, and Brown left.
Leaving the smithy for the living chamber behind, Will looked at the blade he had disparaged earlier, running his finger along the edge carefully, and grinned. "I'll make swords ten times better than you are – someday. Someday soon."
Although he was an all-around blacksmith – shoeing a few horses and making assorted ironware for sale – Brown's specialty was as a bladesmith, forging knives and swords. Will felt lucky to have been apprenticed to him. That appreciation kept him working hard, despite his wish that Brown would begin to teach him something, and not just keep him carrying coke for the fire and pumping the bellows.
In fact, Will had secret plans to try working a bit on his own. Over the past sixteen months he had noticed that his master was taking longer and longer to return on those days when he went off to a tavern for lunch, and that he seemed to be drinking more ale than was good for him – or even rum, sometime. Brown always told Will to let the forge alone in his absence, and merely stay to mind the shop if a customer came by, but Will intended to see if he could handle the hammer alone.
He had taken one of the red-hot bars with the tongs and set it on the anvil, grasping the hammer and just about to try a few taps, when a man came into the smithy. Will quickly shoved the bar back into the fire.
"Can I help you, sir?" he said politely.
The man grinned, showing the glint of gold teeth. He was an unusual-looking fellow, with beads braided into the hair of his beard and head. "You can, boy. I'm looking for a decent sword, not too dear. What do you have?"
Will showed him the selection. Master Brown always kept at least a dozen swords ready-made on hand, though he would make to order as well for clients who wanted something special, like filigree work or a blade longer or shorter than usual. The man looked them over carefully, raising first one, then another, and making a few practice swings.
"How much for this one?"
When Will told him the price – ten pounds – he frowned. "Anything less?"
"That one," Will pointed at the blade in question, "is only seven pounds fifteen. But I wouldn't recommend it."
"Why not, boy?"
Cautiously Will looked around. "I was here when Master Brown made it, sir, and it's not his best work. Tap it on the anvil – you'll hear that it doesn't ring true."
The man did so, and raised his brows at the off tone. "Well, which would you say I should get, then?"
"You chose the best one for the price the first time, sir. But if ten pounds is too much, then take this one, which is nine. It will serve you well."
"You didn't make it, did you?"
Will laughed. "No. I don't make anything, yet. But someday I shall."
The stranger looked him over and nodded. "You're wiry, but I think you've the strength for it – and the wit. Come, I'll offer you eight and a half for the blade."
"I'm sorry sir, I can't. Master Brown sets the prices – if I let you have it for less, he'll take it out of me, later."
"All right, then, nine." The man suddenly seemed in a hurry, and counted out the coins onto the anvil, snatching up the sword. "Let me give you a piece of advice, though. If you want to make a good blade, you need to know what a man wants from it. So learn to use them yourself; that will teach you how to make what you want."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure you're right. Thank you." Will watched the man out, noting that he pulled his three-cornered hat well down over his eyes before stepping into the square. He was sure from the way the fellow had walked that he was a sailor – not surprising in Port Royal, of course – and wondered if perhaps he was a pirate. None of his business, of course, but he might have asked if the man had ever heard of William Turner, or the Yancy.
For his father and the ship both seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Everyone Will had asked denied knowing any William or Bill Turner. As for the Yancy, he had twice met men who had sailed on her some years back, but neither could tell him what had happened to her since, or even say if his father had been on her crew in the meantime. Reluctantly Will had come to the conclusion that she must have sunk or been taken. He still had a faint hope that his father might not have been on her at the time, and might still return to Jamaica and Port Royal, but that hope grew steadily less.
Now it was too late for him to try again with the iron, for Brown might return at any moment. Will sighed. Putting the swords he had been showing the customer away again, he paused. The man's advice was probably good, he considered. It only made sense, that using the blades would teach him what was most needed in them. But sword-play was not something that he could learn alone. Once he knew something, perhaps he could practice alone, but he needed a teacher to begin with. Whom could he ask?
Will mulled over the possibilities all afternoon, as he pushed the bellows-handles up and down. One positive thing about not having more interesting work to do was that he had plenty of time to think – too much time, usually. At last he decided to ask Rhys Jones, who worked in the public stable. Rhys had been a soldier, once, but had been wounded so badly in the leg that he could no longer walk well. He would know something of swords, enough at least to teach Will the basics, and he was a reasonably friendly fellow.
At the end of the day, Will was cleaning up with a few bits of help from Brown when his master said unexpectedly, "How old are you now, Will?"
"Fifteen – next month."
"All right. You're about big enough now to be able to swing those hammers, I think, and I can hire a little lad to pump the bellows if we need it. Tomorrow I'll show you how to work wrought iron."
Will's heart leaped. "Thank you, sir," he said fervently. "I'll get up extra early and stoke the fires."
"You do that." Brown looked around. "I'll be out this evening. You latch the door, and don't fall so sound asleep that you don't hear me come back."
"No sir," Will promised, and Brown left.
Leaving the smithy for the living chamber behind, Will looked at the blade he had disparaged earlier, running his finger along the edge carefully, and grinned. "I'll make swords ten times better than you are – someday. Someday soon."