Chapter Three: Bitter

I spent a miserable night on a lumpy pallet in a smoky little chamber. The Dwarfs, Brickit especially, did not know what to make of me and I made little or no effort to enlighten them. Phillip and my escort I dismissed the next morning. Much as I would have liked them to stay, their presence would have hindered my progress with my oh-so-charming host and I suspected I would be too sorely tempted to ride off on Phillip before I managed to accomplish anything here. Phillip was very reluctant to go, but he left only after I agreed to send a courier to find him if the Dwarfs got out of hand. Since I had not brought any couriers with me, the good Horse contacted a local family of Fruit Bats that were willing to carry messages for me.

"All your baby sitters run off?" teased one of the Dwarfs as I stepped alone into the long house for breakfast. The Dwarfs were bustling about and seemed incapable of doing anything quietly. Luckily I had been up for a while. I am not the best company in the early morn.

"No," I returned. "I dismissed them. I didn't want you to feel frightened."

The old dame laughed, setting a plate of food before me and pouring me something dark to drink. I thanked her warmly and bid her good morn.

"You like beer?" demanded my companion.

I tasted the bitter stuff in my cup. It was positively grainy on my tongue. "Yes, I do. What is this?" I stared into the liquid's murky depths, hoping this wasn't what they meant by beer.

"Ha!" yelled a new voice. Brickit strode in. "That's one for the tadpole, Brint!"

"My name," I said, "is Edmund."

Brickit snorted. "Not even a tadpole, this one. Spawn you are."

I ignored him and attacked the plate of eggs and toast.

He dropped heavily beside me. Sandwiched between Brint and Brickit, I realized they must be brothers or close cousins for they looked much alike and had the same mannerisms. Brickit reached right across me to snag a piece of toast from Brint's plate. "You speak as if I should care about such things, whelp!"

"What do you care about?"

With a hardened sneer he reached for his belt. On the table before me he set a double-bladed dagger of exquisite and intricate workmanship. The metal shone with a silvery blue tint, the keen edge flashing in the faint light. It was as elegant as it was beautiful.

"Steel," Brickit hissed. "The finest, purest metal in all of Narnia. Its secret is mine and my family's. Take it in your hand, Spawn. You'll never hold better."

I obeyed. The knife was a little unbalanced for my larger hand and longer fingers, but even my inexperienced eye could tell it was a weapon unparalleled.

"It's beautiful," I said, setting it down again. My admiration pleased them. After a moment of deep consideration Brickit demanded,

"So. You're here. Barely invited. A burden to us all. What do you intend?"

"I intend to secure your good will, as I said. You care about steel and metalwork; I care about Narnia and her defenses. The better the weapons, the better the defense."

He huffed and Brint faintly echoed the sound. "Huh. What's that to me?"

"Everything if you want to keep working your craft in peace."

He shrugged. "Peace I had until last night when you darkened my doorstep."

I smirked, tasting that awful beer again and wondering if it was possible to grow used to something so bitter. "Peace you have because the White Witch was overthrown last Sunbend."

Brickit glowered, though at me or his memories I could not say. There was no denying the truth of my words.

"Would you prefer the rank and file of Narnia's soldiers to depend upon inferior weapons? Because even the smiths at Cair Paravel very grudgingly admit that Blue River steel is superior to theirs."

"Ha! And well they might!" crowed the Dwarfs, pounding the table in delight.

"Spy!" decided Brint, pointing at me. "He's a spy for them eastern smiths!"

Not even Brickit could support so outrageous a claim. When I rolled my eyes at the accusation he imitated the gesture. The old dame passed by with more 'beer' and swatted Brint in the head and snapped,

"He's a king, ain't he? Kings have no cause to spy and why should he when all he wants is weapons?" She glared at Brickit. "You listen a'him well, Chief Smith Brickit, and keep your tongue behind your thoughts."

I realized this must be their mother because neither Dwarf dared make an answer. We waited in cowed silence until she bustled away and then the interview continued.

"So what is it you and these other lofty monarchs of Narnia wish of my lowly smithy?"

"If I were so lofty then I wouldn't be sitting here and if you were so lowly then I really wouldn't be sitting here," I replied.

"What do you want of us?"

"We want you to make us weapons. Swords, armor, lances, knives, and so on. We simply ask that you work for us and with us. You'll be well paid."

"I should expect so. Is this 'we' the four of you or the royal we?"

"I'll let you choose."

"How do I know you're any better than her late majesty?"

I swallowed, taking a moment before I made my reply. "Did she come to you herself? Did she ask or did she threaten? Did she give you any reason under the stars to trust her?"

"No," he admitted. "But then you haven't given me a reason to trust you, either."

I thought of pointing out how being here at all, alone, armed only with Shafelm and that back on my pallet, were blazing shows of trust on my part and my siblings', especially Peter's. Instead I said, "Then tell me how I can give you reason."

He gave me an assessing glare. "Afraid of a little dirt, Your Majesty? Can kings work?"

I gave the look right back. "Try me."