Chapter Eight: Gran

I had to be reminded in the morning that it was Seventhday. I had no idea of what it meant for the Blue River Smithy, but in Cair Paravel my brother and sisters would linger in bed, linger over breakfast, and unless there were any pressing duties, do whatever they chose with the day. I suspected I would not be allowed such liberties.

Sitting in my usual seat at the long table, I took a few moments to watch the Dwarfs as they interacted. Families sat together or close by one another (Baia and Brack sat between Brint and their sharp-faced mother) and while there was a great deal of grumbling going on at all times, it was good-natured and lovingly meant. I noticed that younger girls served the apprentices that were more distantly related, but Brickit's mother made the trip down the length of the table to set a plate before me herself.

I rose to greet her. "Good morn to you, lady, and thank you," I said, taking the warm plate of food: eggs, sausage, mushrooms, all topped with an apple fritter. She smiled and poured me a cup of that brutal beer.

"Eat afore it's cold, Majesty."

"Please, call me Edmund. Most everyone else does."

Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "Aye, except thems as wastes their breath calling you Spawn. You can call me Gran, as most everyone does."

I smiled. "That seems too short a title for a grand old dame such as you, but Gran it is, lady."

She chuckled and swatted at me to get on with my meal. I sat down and set to the hot food with good appetite. It was a few minutes before I looked around again. I saw Gran take a seat by Brickit and I wondered that he seemed to have no wife and family besides his mother and brother. I think he would have liked to have children though I was certain he'd do nothing but complain about them endlessly. Family was extremely important to Dwarfs of both the Black and Red clans and children were one of the few things they treasured above gold and jewels.

I finished every last bit of food (Dwarfish plates being disappointingly small) and I was trying to drink the beer without tasting it when Brickit dropped into the seat beside me so abruptly I choked on my mouthful. He gave me a few sharp whacks on the back that almost knocked me into the table as I struggled to recover.

"You won't win any good will by dyin' on us," he grumbled, dropping a plate of fritters before me. "Well, maybe some. Eat. Mother says you're too thin."

His mother must be in league with Susan, then, because she has the same complaint. I happily speared one of the treats and set to, pushing the plate towards Brickit. He gave me a look, then took one.

"I don't know what you do in your palace on Seventhday, but we poor smiths can't not work. There'll be no smithing going on, but there's plenty to keep one's hands busy."

I chewed and swallowed. "Of course. What can I do?"

He grinned and snagged another fritter as he rose. "Whatever my mother tells you."

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As it turned out, I had a very good day helping Gran and I learned a great deal on more subjects than I ever expected. It was pleasant not to be yelled at every few minutes even if I had to fetch water and wash dishes and peel enough potatoes to feed thirty-four Dwarfs and one boy.

"Thank you for the extra fritters this morn," I said as soon as I stood before her.

"You need them. Here now, sit you down and take this knife and see you don't waste too much in the peelin'."

I complied, memories of helping my own mother in the kitchen standing me in good stead, because my efforts satisfied her and the other ladies as they prepared the evening meal. On Seventhday they only ate twice, in the morning and then an early supper so that the cooks could have time off.

"He's trying you again," Gran said, bringing her stool close to mine. She carried a great armload of wild fresney and she immediately began to cut the pale new greens from the roots. "Most menfolk, they'd be shamed to be at a woman's beck and call unless she was a master smith."

"I have sisters," I offered as my defense, "I don't mind." I watched her for a moment, taking in her iron-gray hair peeking out beneath her mobcap and her deeply lined face. "Baia said you were once Chief Smith."

"That I was until I couldn't swing a hammer strong enough to do justice to the craft. That was . . . twenty winters or so ago. We were waiting long for you and your kin."

"What was it like? I mean the Winter?"

"Hard. Hard on life. Hard on spirits. We were luckier than most Animals, being able to trade more. A few we helped, but most assumed we worked for her and kept a distance."

I was silent, sorry I had asked, ashamed of the question that rose in my mind that I dared not ask.

Gran looked at me. "We didn't want to. We wanted to work our smithy in peace, but peace there was none. It was right after Brickit stepped in as Chief Smith that they came, demanding weapons and armor for her Fell Beasts. We refused. Then that Minotaur general of hers -"

"Ottman," I provided, hating the sound of the name. I remembered his stench, his slavish devotion to Jadis, his horrifying strength as he shoved me into a tree and ordered me tied up.

"La, that was his name. He came, foul and twisted thing that he was. It was he as killed my son's wife, and she with their first child, as she journeyed home from the Lantern Waste to see her family."

I blinked rapidly, resting the knife on my leg so as not to hurt myself. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"It was long before your time. You're not to blame, lad. You're to be thanked for ridding us of them." She sniffed, likewise pausing in her labor. "If you can call what we did working for them, then aye, we did, and I defy anyone to blame us. I'll give Brickit credit, though. Never was an order on time or complete and I never thought I'd be proud of a son for producing such shameful quality steel as to make a good smith weep. Too much sulfur and you get a steel so brittle in the cold that just a smart blow or two will crack it. Ottman may have taken his Blaine, but to be sure we fought in our own way and many a life in her forces were lost to Brickit's sabotage."

"I'm glad to hear that," I replied, impressed by his daring.

"So you see why he's hesitant to welcome you with open arms."

"I do. I hope he can see the difference between the likes of Ottman and us."

"He can. Dense he may be a'times, he's no fool."

I picked up another potato. "I meant what I said when I first got here. We do need his good will and good weapons."

"You just keep going as you are, Edmund. Show him you're not afraid and a true king. Truer than that pasty-faced wench as set herself up as queen," she finished in a muttered growl, and I grinned to hear Jadis called a wench.

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"Now," and Gran's surprisingly strong hand pushed me down onto one of the benches in the long house. "We make more than weapons here! You've sisters, so you'll appreciate this. Or they will."

The meal was cooking, the room was swept and dusted, and the young girls were resting or sewing or quietly talking. Laid before me was a quantity of silver wire and tools and metal rods of different widths with a shallow shaft cut into their length. There were silver and gold beads and turquoise beads and some brightly colored stones for which I had no name. Without preamble, Gran lifted one of the rods and began to wrap the silver wire around it, twisting the tube as she went.

"Wrap the wire tight," she said, handing it over and guiding my hands. "Each turn right up against the next. Guide it, lad. Feel it. Put yourself into your work."

"What is this for?" I asked. My fingers were turning black from the silver, and the rod grew heavier as I twisted the wire down its length.

Gran snorted and a few of the younger girls came along to see what we were doing. Baia came and sat beside me, watching with her big, brown eyes and learning right along with me.

"Take this," and Gran wielded a small pair of wire cutters, "And fix it in the channel and cut each one on an angle like so. There! Steady now!" She handed over the cutters and watched as I followed her instructions. Soon I had a pile of tiny rings before me.

"So you tell me what this is for," teased Gran.

"Jewelry," I smiled. "I didn't know this was how you made links."

"If we forged each ring we'd take a century to make a suit of mail. String half with beads. We'll make a necklace worthy of a queen."

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That night, alone in my snug, low room, I pulled out the delicate little necklaces and bracelets I had made under Gran's instruction and laid them out on my pillow. They were very simple and had a few clumsy links, but I was extremely pleased to have been the one that made them. For Susan I had used silver and turquoise beads and for Lucy every other link held a dark green bead like jade. These would be my thanks for their letters and support. I wrapped the chains in a handkerchief and stowed them in one of the saddle bags before I lay down. Resting my head, I pondered what I had learned. So much lost, so much gained. I felt a great sympathy for what these people had endured, but at the same time I was glad to have a better understanding of them.

I started a prayer to Aslan, hoping he approved of my efforts, asking for his blessing, but I fell asleep before I could finish.