Chapter Two: A(r)rival

"This is it?"

I felt my jaw drop. I'm sure I expected something along the line of the blacksmith shops in Cair Paravel - tidy affairs with well-organized ranks of tools and supplies and masters and apprentices. What I got was something entirely different.

"The Blue River Smithy," said my Satyr escort in an uninspired tone. He cast an equally dubious eye at the ancient and ignored slate-roofed structures before us. There were half a dozen buildings that seemed to melt into the hilly riverbanks or got swallowed whole by the ancient trees of the forest. It was a dreary place and I reminded myself - not for the first time - that I had given myself a week to get through to these Dwarfs. Seven days. A sennight. I could endure this place for that long, I was sure. It couldn't be any worse than my old school, except perhaps for the food.

Mayhap it looked better in the daylight. Or in the summer. It was hard to imagine so unpromising a location producing the best weapons in Narnia, and therefore the world. The damp twilight of spring was upon us as we dismounted and I led Phillip and the few guards with me towards the little settlement. There were voices - more odious than melodious - rising up in song from a thatch-roofed long house on the edge of the clearing. Light spilled through the thick glass windows and I gathered the entire population had come together for their evening meal. Leaving Phillip with my escort, I boldly strode through the smithy. No challenge rose up as I approached and knocked.

The voices didn't stop. If anything, they got louder. I felt a growl rise up in my throat. I was tired and hungry and disappointed. I knocked harder.

Nothing.

Furious, I banged on the door with my fist.

The singing mercifully stopped and a moment later the door was yanked open. Inside was brightly lit and I caught a quick glimpse of carved beams, wooden benches, and dozens of black-haired Dwarfs of all ages ranged around a table that ran almost the length of the room. A blast of warm air and the smell of smoke and beer reached me.

"What?" demanded the bristling, wire-haired Dwarf before me. He was almost my height and he stood with his legs splayed and his hands on his hips. By his affected, imposing manner and the fact that he answered the door, I knew this was the Chief Smith. Blait had explained that greeting newcomers was the privilege of whoever headed a Dwarfish community. The manner of greeting, of course, was left to the discretion of the particular branch of the clan. Clearly this was the Blue River equivalent of making a strange traveler feel wanted. I pushed right past him into the room, ducking my head under a beam until I could stand straight.

"Hey there!" he sputtered. "You can't just come in like that!"

"Be you so civilized that you prefer I use a window?" I returned, peeling off my gloves. I bowed politely to an elderly dame and a handful of daughters. "My ladies. Aslan's blessing upon you, fair ones." The delighted girls giggled in response and the dame chuckled with amusement at this show of civility. Obviously courtly manners were in short supply here. All the better.

The Chief rushed around to place himself between me and the table once again. "Who said you could come in at all?"

I pointedly ignored him, casting my gaze around the snug room before addressing him. "You did."

He snorted. "I'd never ask some scrawny spawn of your ilk into my home!"

"Really?" I drew the letter from the pouch at my waist. "This appalling example of penmanship says otherwise. Shall I remind you of your own words?" Without waiting for a response I opened it and read, ". . . we therefore refuse your overtures and bid you come yourselves or leave us in peace. Signed Brickit, Chief Smith." I glared at him. "Leaving you in peace was not an option after such a warm and open invitation. So." I folded it away. "Here I am."

"And who are you?" challenged the Dwarf, at the end of his patience. He was clearly astonished that his challenge had been taken up. Blait had warned me that I could not expect a polite reception and that I had to offer as much abuse as I received in order to gain any standing in the eyes of the Chief. That, for me, was not a problem. I already knew I could handle Brickit and I'd already won over the ladies.

I looked at the smith as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm Edmund." I waited, then slowly enunciated as if speaking to an idiot. "Your king."

"Narnia's king, maybe, but not mine, boy!" he bristled, pointing a stubby finger at me. "What do you want?"

"Your good will."

That took him aback. He drew himself up to his full height and glared from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He had shining, deep-set black eyes and a permanent scowl. Gazing at him, I sensed a familiar hurt. Once upon a time, his trust had been warped and used against him. Perhaps it had been Jadis' manipulations, perhaps he had been betrayed by family or friends. Either way he bore the scars upon his spirit, making him wary and defensive. That I could understand. All too well.

"Such things are not given," he hissed, poking me in the chest.

"Not if they're worth anything, no," I agreed, leaning into his touch and disarming him further. "They're earned. Hence my reason for coming here."

He stared. There was not a sound from any of the expectant and highly entertained Dwarfs around the table. I dropped my gloves onto the closest bench and removed my cloak, claiming some territory by laying it over the seat. I turned to this Brickit chap with a faint smile.

"So when do I start?"