Will pounded the welding hammer furiously down on the red-hot blade of a new sword, sending sparks flying in all directions. His temper was flaring, but a few menial tasks in the shop provided a welcomed relief. It was nice to be able to pound into something in order to mitigate his wrath, and Will was rather comforted in the knowledge that while he vented his feelings, a sword was being made in the process.
It was a nice sword. Of course, it was nothing like the one for the Governor. In spite of his ire, Will cast a loving glance at the weapon lying in state on a table nearby, sheathed in a fine leather case. The Governor's sword had taken nearly a week to re-polish after that clumsy idiot customer had got it scratched among the metal shearings. Now, it was a magnificent sight to behold, and Will reminded himself with pride that it was undoubtedly the nicest weapon he'd ever created.
The new sword, smoldering gently on an anvil, was the order made by the same audacious fellow who had damaged Will's masterpiece. Will had been quite incensed about putting time and effort into anything meant for that particular specimen of incivility, but his time was thankfully also his money, and Will expected to be well-paid for his work.
He gave one last pound to the smoking blade and stepped back. It was finished now; all that was required at this time was to wait until it cooled and then fit a nice handle to it. It was simple really.
Will milled about his shop organizing displays, fixing little projects that he hadn't had time for that day, and generally wasting his time, he felt. He wouldn't go home. Elizabeth was too angry with him, and he hadn't the heart to face her until he had created a believable alibi. Besides: he believed that they both needed a little time to cool their anger.
He wasn't angry with his wife in any way - mostly just with her father for stepping in to their 'rescue.' Will was even angrier with himself for accepted Mr. Swann's accurséd proposal. Secretly he still wondered why Elizabeth refused to accept her father's money. She had said something about separation from her family - freedom in her own right or some such - but why on earth would she want that, he wondered. At least she had (part) of a family. He didn't have any at all.
After so many years, however, he was past caring about that.
Will licked his finger and touched the cooling blade quickly. It sizzled and smoked under his touch and immediately he drew away. The blade wouldn't be cooled for at least another hour.
Filled with a sudden determination to be useful, Will decided to wait for the sword to cool. There were other things to do in the shop until that time, and if he managed to finish the sword before the night was done he might be able to get paid sooner.
- - -
Through the dark streets of Port Royal a small band of men came silently. Taking care not to be caught in the light, they moved covertly through the alleyways, talking in whispers if at all. The streets were devoid of people; most good citizens were asleep at this time of night and most bad ones were up at the tavern getting drunk. The way was clear.
A swift beam of moonlight appeared from behind the clouds and glinted off the emerald eyes of the leader who hid his face deeper in his cloak.
The group came to a halt in front of the Blacksmith Shop.
"Is this the place?" asked the leader, his voice muffled from inside his mantle.
"Aye," said the burly man beside him.
Inside the shop, Will was putting the finishing touches on a small iron kettle. He held it up to the flame of the candle on the workbench and inspected it carefully for blemishes.
"Excellent," he mumbled to himself, and laid the piece back down. With a yawn, Will stood up and stretched his arms.
"Now for the sword."
The door burst open and the band of men filed into the shop.
Will recovered from his confusion and called out, "I'm sorry, but we're not open for business at this t -"
"I've come for my sword," said the leader, stepping forward. Beside him, the burly man removed his own cape from in front of his face. Will recognized him as Caleb and scowled.
"I'm sorry," Will told him angrily. "The swords' not finished. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I should have it ready by then."
"We need it now," Caleb sneered back.
"Well, it's not ready." Will was stubborn. "Look, gentlemen, I can't have people pushing their way into my shop like this. I told you already; we're closed. You'll have to leave now."
The leader of the group reached down and picked up the Governor's sword from where it lay on the table.
"Put that down," said Will irritably.
The man paid no attention to him. "I want this one," he said evenly.
"Well, you can't have that one." Will came forward to grab the weapon from the man's hands but was stopped by the handle of the sword which the stranger touched to his chin as he inspected him closer.
"Are you...Mr. Turner?" the man asked in a low, eerie tone.
Will backed away a little and straightened his shoulders uneasily. "I am."
He saw Caleb and the stranger exchange significant glances. Caleb sneered again at Will, but the stranger withdrew over to the anvil where the other sword was lying.
"What's this?" he asked sharply.
"That's you're sword," Will told him. "I tell you, if you come back tomorrow I promise I'll have it finished for you."
The stranger brushed his hand along the metal blade and compared it to the one that he held. "I can't wait until tomorrow," he said quietly.
"You'll have to," said Will, becoming exasperated. "Look, Sir: You have to leave right now or I'll call the guards on you." The stranger looked up sharply.
"I'm not afraid of your threat," he said. Looking down at the Governor's sword he announced calmly, "I'd like this sword right here."
"Put it down now!" Will commanded. The stranger flicked it evenly out of the sheath and at the furious blacksmith.
"No," he replied, "I don't want to. I know things about you, Mr. Turner; like, where you live. Believe me; you do not want me as your enemy. I think it would be best for you if you just stay calm, let me have this weapon, and simply go on with your business."
Will stood still for a moment.
"I'm afraid," he said fiercely, "That that is something I cannot do."
With a sudden twist he dodged the sword that the stranger pointed at him and grabbed another from the stand nearby. Whipping it into the air he whirled back to fight his opponent but the latter was too quick for him. In a movement as quick as lightening, the stranger twirled the cooling blade from the anvil where it rested and shoved it cleanly through Will's shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind.
The stranger removed the cloak from around his face and stared with a diabolical grin at Will. Shutter lids sheathed and unsheathed over the pair of glistening eyes and diamond-like pupils at the blacksmith who had collapsed in shock against the wall in a flurry of spasms.
"I told you not to make me angry," he said mockingly. "You didn't listen. Perhaps you might have been more careful if I'd have told you that I also know where your wife is."
Will let out a painful cry. His face was white and drawn with pain as he twitched on the blade impaled in his shoulder.
"Don't do it," he begged. "I'll give you the sword...just don't harm my family."
"A little late for that, don't you think?" the man said in derision. "You should have thought of that before this. Now, you are powerless to stop me; neither can you prevent me from taking these."
He reached his hand into Will's front pocket and pulled out an iron key ring.
"Now we won't have to break through the door," he said softly. He jingled the keys in front of Will's face before tossing them to Caleb as he turned away. He threw his cloak around his face again.
"We're going," he commanded the rest of his men.
Behind them, Will yelled again as he tried to pull the knife out of his flesh.
"You monster!" he gasped, struggling limply against the wall. "You'll kill them!"
"Kill them?" The Captain turned around incredulously. "Why would we kill them?" Will became sick and a look of horror mixed with the pain on his pale features.
"No!" he cried. The Captain grinned and waved the Governor's sword in his direction as the group of men began to exit the shop.
"Goodbye, Mr. Turner," Caleb said mockingly as he shut the door on Will's cries.
It was a nice sword. Of course, it was nothing like the one for the Governor. In spite of his ire, Will cast a loving glance at the weapon lying in state on a table nearby, sheathed in a fine leather case. The Governor's sword had taken nearly a week to re-polish after that clumsy idiot customer had got it scratched among the metal shearings. Now, it was a magnificent sight to behold, and Will reminded himself with pride that it was undoubtedly the nicest weapon he'd ever created.
The new sword, smoldering gently on an anvil, was the order made by the same audacious fellow who had damaged Will's masterpiece. Will had been quite incensed about putting time and effort into anything meant for that particular specimen of incivility, but his time was thankfully also his money, and Will expected to be well-paid for his work.
He gave one last pound to the smoking blade and stepped back. It was finished now; all that was required at this time was to wait until it cooled and then fit a nice handle to it. It was simple really.
Will milled about his shop organizing displays, fixing little projects that he hadn't had time for that day, and generally wasting his time, he felt. He wouldn't go home. Elizabeth was too angry with him, and he hadn't the heart to face her until he had created a believable alibi. Besides: he believed that they both needed a little time to cool their anger.
He wasn't angry with his wife in any way - mostly just with her father for stepping in to their 'rescue.' Will was even angrier with himself for accepted Mr. Swann's accurséd proposal. Secretly he still wondered why Elizabeth refused to accept her father's money. She had said something about separation from her family - freedom in her own right or some such - but why on earth would she want that, he wondered. At least she had (part) of a family. He didn't have any at all.
After so many years, however, he was past caring about that.
Will licked his finger and touched the cooling blade quickly. It sizzled and smoked under his touch and immediately he drew away. The blade wouldn't be cooled for at least another hour.
Filled with a sudden determination to be useful, Will decided to wait for the sword to cool. There were other things to do in the shop until that time, and if he managed to finish the sword before the night was done he might be able to get paid sooner.
- - -
Through the dark streets of Port Royal a small band of men came silently. Taking care not to be caught in the light, they moved covertly through the alleyways, talking in whispers if at all. The streets were devoid of people; most good citizens were asleep at this time of night and most bad ones were up at the tavern getting drunk. The way was clear.
A swift beam of moonlight appeared from behind the clouds and glinted off the emerald eyes of the leader who hid his face deeper in his cloak.
The group came to a halt in front of the Blacksmith Shop.
"Is this the place?" asked the leader, his voice muffled from inside his mantle.
"Aye," said the burly man beside him.
Inside the shop, Will was putting the finishing touches on a small iron kettle. He held it up to the flame of the candle on the workbench and inspected it carefully for blemishes.
"Excellent," he mumbled to himself, and laid the piece back down. With a yawn, Will stood up and stretched his arms.
"Now for the sword."
The door burst open and the band of men filed into the shop.
Will recovered from his confusion and called out, "I'm sorry, but we're not open for business at this t -"
"I've come for my sword," said the leader, stepping forward. Beside him, the burly man removed his own cape from in front of his face. Will recognized him as Caleb and scowled.
"I'm sorry," Will told him angrily. "The swords' not finished. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I should have it ready by then."
"We need it now," Caleb sneered back.
"Well, it's not ready." Will was stubborn. "Look, gentlemen, I can't have people pushing their way into my shop like this. I told you already; we're closed. You'll have to leave now."
The leader of the group reached down and picked up the Governor's sword from where it lay on the table.
"Put that down," said Will irritably.
The man paid no attention to him. "I want this one," he said evenly.
"Well, you can't have that one." Will came forward to grab the weapon from the man's hands but was stopped by the handle of the sword which the stranger touched to his chin as he inspected him closer.
"Are you...Mr. Turner?" the man asked in a low, eerie tone.
Will backed away a little and straightened his shoulders uneasily. "I am."
He saw Caleb and the stranger exchange significant glances. Caleb sneered again at Will, but the stranger withdrew over to the anvil where the other sword was lying.
"What's this?" he asked sharply.
"That's you're sword," Will told him. "I tell you, if you come back tomorrow I promise I'll have it finished for you."
The stranger brushed his hand along the metal blade and compared it to the one that he held. "I can't wait until tomorrow," he said quietly.
"You'll have to," said Will, becoming exasperated. "Look, Sir: You have to leave right now or I'll call the guards on you." The stranger looked up sharply.
"I'm not afraid of your threat," he said. Looking down at the Governor's sword he announced calmly, "I'd like this sword right here."
"Put it down now!" Will commanded. The stranger flicked it evenly out of the sheath and at the furious blacksmith.
"No," he replied, "I don't want to. I know things about you, Mr. Turner; like, where you live. Believe me; you do not want me as your enemy. I think it would be best for you if you just stay calm, let me have this weapon, and simply go on with your business."
Will stood still for a moment.
"I'm afraid," he said fiercely, "That that is something I cannot do."
With a sudden twist he dodged the sword that the stranger pointed at him and grabbed another from the stand nearby. Whipping it into the air he whirled back to fight his opponent but the latter was too quick for him. In a movement as quick as lightening, the stranger twirled the cooling blade from the anvil where it rested and shoved it cleanly through Will's shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind.
The stranger removed the cloak from around his face and stared with a diabolical grin at Will. Shutter lids sheathed and unsheathed over the pair of glistening eyes and diamond-like pupils at the blacksmith who had collapsed in shock against the wall in a flurry of spasms.
"I told you not to make me angry," he said mockingly. "You didn't listen. Perhaps you might have been more careful if I'd have told you that I also know where your wife is."
Will let out a painful cry. His face was white and drawn with pain as he twitched on the blade impaled in his shoulder.
"Don't do it," he begged. "I'll give you the sword...just don't harm my family."
"A little late for that, don't you think?" the man said in derision. "You should have thought of that before this. Now, you are powerless to stop me; neither can you prevent me from taking these."
He reached his hand into Will's front pocket and pulled out an iron key ring.
"Now we won't have to break through the door," he said softly. He jingled the keys in front of Will's face before tossing them to Caleb as he turned away. He threw his cloak around his face again.
"We're going," he commanded the rest of his men.
Behind them, Will yelled again as he tried to pull the knife out of his flesh.
"You monster!" he gasped, struggling limply against the wall. "You'll kill them!"
"Kill them?" The Captain turned around incredulously. "Why would we kill them?" Will became sick and a look of horror mixed with the pain on his pale features.
"No!" he cried. The Captain grinned and waved the Governor's sword in his direction as the group of men began to exit the shop.
"Goodbye, Mr. Turner," Caleb said mockingly as he shut the door on Will's cries.