Chapter Seven: Letters

Dear Ed,

Sorry to bother you while you're charming the Dwarfs, but the Weavers' Guild from Anvard and Chiya-by-the-Sea got here sooner than anyone anticipated - two days after you left - and we got right into negotiations since the Sheep and Alpaca and all the other Narnain representatives were present and eating up the evergreens in the formal garden. We reached an agreement after three days (who knew dyes and wool could be so valuable?) but then the Weaver's Guild got stubborn and insisted that they needed the agreement of all the monarchs on the document to legitimize it. Personally I think they just want it for show, but could you sign this copy of the agreement and write me up something authorizing me to put your seal on it? The Guild members aren't a bad lot, but they keep looking behind the tapestries and moving the carpets and if Oreius trips one more time on a rolled-up rug I think we'll be minus a weaver or two. Some of them brought their families, too, and one of the little girls tried to pick up that big Rabbit buck, Lt. Porida, and carry him around. It was not good. If nothing else, do it to save the garden because the Dryads have taken to swatting the Angora Goats if they get too close.

I hope things are going well with your own negotiations and there hasn't been any bloodshed. The girls are driving me mad. They won't leave me alone and I can't get any studying done. Speaking of girls, Blait found me yesterday with a belated suggestion for you to try to win over the women of the smithy. I suppose it's some unspoken secret in Dwarfish circles, but the women have a great deal of authority and influence over the menfolk and if the ladies like you that will go far towards to bringing the men around. He mentioned something about being served bad food and cold beds and no laundry getting done when the women are not pleased, so if you're in need of allies, look to the ladies.

Hurry home. I miss you. It's two against one and quiet moments are a thing of the past. I even miss your snoring.

Love,

Peter

I smiled faintly as I finished the letter, then I looked up to the Centaur officer before me. He and a handful of swift-moving soldiers had clattered into the smithy at a dead run a little after the midday meal to deliver Peter's letter of two days ago. My appearance had shocked them almost as much as the fact that I was shoveling coal for anxious Dwarfs that bellowed and shouted during some vital point in producing wire. The Centaurs had to wait beneath their brilliant lion banner until the master saw fit to dismiss me and now they were trying hard not to be scandalized at the sight of a king blackened with coal dust and ash.

"The agreement with the Weavers' Guild," the lieutenant said, producing another document.

"Not with these hands," I replied, displaying my filthy palms. Peter's letter was covered with smudges and I could feel the grit coating me. "Let me wash up first."

"Oi!" demanded a familiar voice. "Oi, where you think you're going, Spawn?"

The towering Centaur and Elk soldiers looked with interest and amusement as Brickit stomped over in a fit of fury. I stopped and turned as the Chief Smith cast the little band a sneer. His face was red and his frizzy hair stuck out at odd angles and he was positively dancing with pent-up rage.

"There's work as needs being done!" he sputtered, clearly showing off before the army.

"The master dismissed me for the now, Brickit. I have some royal duties to attend to and a letter to write for the High King."

"What, he can't write his own?"

I displayed Peter's letter. "He writes quite well, Chief Smith. Far better than you. I just have to read and sign a trade agreement and authorize him to use my seal. Is that so difficult?"

"Yes."

I knew that would be his response. He had worked himself into quite the foul mood and he planted himself right before me.

"Wire won't shovel coal!"

"Then let Bort do it!" I said just as loudly. "And seeing as how I need a witness to my signing the agreement and authorizing Peter to make use of my royal seal, I hereby appoint you."

I stalked over to the trough where we all washed up at the end of the day. I hastily scrubbed my arms and hands clean and ducked my head in the cold water to work some of the dust out of my hair. Only then did I take the agreement from the lieutenant. I looked to the Dwarf.

"Coming?"

"You think that by having some fancy-pants soldiers show up uninvited and unwanted and trampling through this smithy you can start ordering a Dwarf around in his own home? I think not!"

"Centaurs don't wear pants, sir, and royal appointments, no matter how brief, are not given lightly." I lowered my voice and leaned close. "Unless you want to feed four Centaurs, Brickit, give me half an hour and they'll be out of your beard. I need two signatures out of you. Wouldn't you like to see your signature on a trade agreement with Archenland?"

I'm not sure which appeal reached him - feeding Centaurs or signing official documents - but he drew himself up to his full height and snapped,

"Fine! Fine! So long as this is the last we see of them. Fine!"

"Thank you," I replied. "Lieutenant, have you paper and ink?"

"Aye, majesty," he said, and he slid a small satchel off his shoulder and handed it to me. "Queen Susan sent this for you."

I opened it up. Inside was paper, Gryphon quills, and a small bottle of ink.

"Bit of a hint, that," commented Brickit sarcastically, peering in at the gift.

"Rather," I agreed. "Wait here, sirs."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"I, Spawn, by the grace of Aslan, sometimes called the Just, King of Narnia and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Table, hereby grant and authorize my elder brother, High King Peter, sometimes called the Magnificent, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Emperor of the Lone Islands, etc., the right and authority to affix my royal seal upon the trade agreement with the Weavers' Guild of Anvard and Chiya-by-the-Sea dated the twenty-first day of Mayblossom, 1001. Signed by me and witnessed by Brickit, Chief Smith of the Blue River Smithy on the banks of the Blue River by Aundroe Pass."

"I know what it says, Brickit, I just wrote it."

"La, very fancily wrote. Too bad you can't spell your own name, boy."

I suspected he was rather tickled to have his signature affixed to something so official sounding because it was the third time he'd read it aloud, each time replacing my name with his nickname for me. I was too absorbed in reading the agreement to pay him much heed. Peter was right about dyes and wool being valuable. No wonder the cashmere and angora Goats was so smug about their wares.

"What's the etcetera?"

"What?" I looked up.

"Etcetera. What else is this Peter?"

He spoke my brother's name with unwarranted contempt, probably because I was here and Peter wasn't. I blinked, my mind on textiles, not titles. "Um . . . Lord of Cair Paravel, Guardian of the Northern Marches, Master of Redhaven, Grand Duke of Terebinthia and . . ." I wracked my memory for the last of Peter's numerous titles. "Keeper of the Lion's Seal."

"How come you don't have so many titles?"

"I'm more fortunate than Peter is." I failed to mention that I had more titles than I'd listed. I just stuck to the ones most important to us both. Most of them were just for show, anyway. I finished my study of the trade agreement and seizing the quill, I signed my name to it. "Here," I said, sliding the parchment over. "Sign right here."

He complied, writing very large and looking very satisfied. I set the sheet aside for the ink to dry.

"Thank you. I'll be back to work in a few minutes."

"See that you are, Spawn."

I waited until he was gone, then I hastily wrote a letter of my own.

Dear Peter,

If I ever attempt anything like this again, have the goodness to stuff me into a sack and not let me out until sanity returns. A week? What was I thinking? Lion's mane, brother, it will take a lifetime to get through to these Dwarfs! Brickit is everything Blait warned us he would be. I've been working here in the smithy doing the drudge work and picking up bits and pieces of how they work metal - they're remarkable craftsmen even if their beer is just a step away from something poisonous. I think they're a good people overall, just cautious because they've been hurt in the past.

As for the advice, I think I won the good ladies over from the start. It's amazing how far manners will take you and Brickit's niece has appointed herself my awakener, brave girl that she is. And as for our dear sisters, they worry about you worrying about me, so don't and they'll leave you alone.

I want to succeed here, Peter. I can't back down or they'll never trust us or work with us. I promise I'll write some more soon, but I must get back to the smithy. We're making wire. I miss you and the girls and Martil and decent food and my bed.

Love,

Ed

P.S. I do not snore.