“What are you doing?” Marla asked, sounding either curious or concerned, Peter wasn’t sure.
“I did some gold panning today. I didn’t get much, but I got a lot more than I ever have back home.”
“Gold panning?”
“Sometimes if you take sand or gravel and swish it around in water so the lighter material floats away, you can find small pieces of gold in the heavier chunks left behind. This pan isn’t as good as the specialty ones available back home, but it worked well enough. See?” Peter held out the beat up old bronze bowl, pointing to his little pile of gold.
“Oh, yes. Now what do you do with it?”
“I don’t know. It takes a lot of heat to melt it down, and I imagine it’s not worth much here, like the gems.”
“No, gold is gold, and often valued by weight. You know you don’t have to worry about money, that the guard has financed this journey?”
“This is just for fun. Did you get what you needed done?”
“Not quite, some needs to wait until tomorrow. I did find out something about the iron furnaces, though. You ready?”
Peter’s stomach rumbled before he could speak, getting a laugh from Marla. “Maybe get something to eat on the way?”
“Sounds like we should.”
As Peter suspected, the furnaces weren’t advanced enough for what he had been thinking. Marla had gotten him in on the pretense of his wanting to learn about the production of iron. They were then sent to the shop across the street, which looked like what he really wanted. They had big hammers powered by one of those giant hamster wheels, which they used to pound metal into bars to be sold to specialty smiths.
“What can I do for you?” asked the man who appeared to be in charge.
“I’ve got a bit of an odd question. Would you be able to take two different irons and weld them together?”
“Most smiths do that themselves.”
“Well, yes, but not like what I had in mind.” Peter pressed his hands together. “Like this, so each side of the bar is a different iron. And then cut it mostly in half, fold it, weld the fold shut, draw it into a bar, and fold it again?”
“Why the hell would you want to do all that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Ideally it would be folded eight times.”
“It’ll cost you.”
“Of course. The test to see if you’ve done a good job will need a vice and a special pair of tongs.”
“Either you’re mad as a hatter or know something I don’t, and I’m curious enough to find out which it is. What two irons would you like to use?” Peter looked at the sample bars and realized he didn’t know how to pick in the primitive setting. He asked for a file and ran it across the end of a few bars that had rusted slightly, then chose two. “Hmph. Go find someone to make your special tongs. I’ll have your bar this time tomorrow.”
As they walked away, Marla nudged his elbow. “You never talked price.”
“I know. I doubt it will cost nearly what he thinks. I mean it will, but once he sees the finished billet he won’t charge me, just everyone else who wants a piece.”
“That’s a gamble.”
“I suppose, yeah. I may have to give up my gold and gems.”
“How hard is it going to be to get these tongs made?”
“Oh, any smith that makes normal forge tongs can do it quick enough. The bigger challenge is finding a strong enough acid to do a visible etch in the time it takes to haggle the price.”
“Why?”
“I’ll have to prove it’s Damascus steel, won’t I? Oh, sorry, Akorkin spirit iron.”
“Oh.”
The next day Peter was standing outside the shop with his tongs and a jar of the strongest acid he had been able to find. The Master waved him in and set a bar of metal on the counter. “Here it is. What is your test?”
“We get it nice and hot, clamp one end in a vice, and then you grab the other end with these and start twisting. If the welds don’t let go you did it right.”
“Let’s get to it, then.” It took nearly an hour, but the entire bar twisted beautifully.
“There’s another test I’d like to do, but it’ll need to be squared up and the faces ground flat.”
“Any more ridiculous steps?”
“No, that will be the last thing I need from you.”
It was another hour before Peter declared it good enough.
“Now let’s talk price,” the Master said, sitting down at a table.
Peter took his jar of acid, set it on the table, and lowered one end of the bar in. It was only a small bar, so it wasn’t at risk of tipping over. An hour later, an annoyed Master still hadn’t budged on his price, so Peter took the bar out and wiped it with a rag. “Do you know what I had you make?” Peter asked, holding up the etched end.
The Master looked at it, and his jaw dropped. A moment later he managed “Akorkin spirit iron?”
“Yes, or something very similar. The quality might vary wildly depending on the two metals you start with. How valuable is knowledge of the process?”
“I wouldn’t be able to afford it. Nobody in this town could. And you gave it away before talking price. You just might be as mad as I thought.”
“I have a bladesmith to pay, and I thought this might do nicely.”
“It would indeed. That is really all you want?”
“It’s enough for me. Now you can make more and sell it as Akorkin spirit iron or give it a new name. You can guard the secret closely or share it with every smith in town. Whatever you do, I imagine it will pay far better than a single day’s work.”
“I don’t know what god of mischief sent you here, but I will make an offering in your honour.” The Master bowed, and Peter left, feeling awkward.
The bladesmith’s shop was only a few blocks away, so Peter stopped in to check on his sword. The blade itself looked great, but the smith offered to have the handle and a scabbard done for him, too. It could even be done tomorrow, if Peter could pay.
“I can probably pay, but I’ve got a question for you. What do you think of the quality of this billet I had made up?”
“Akorkin spirit iron?”
“It should be roughly the same, I just don’t know if I chose the right iron to make it from.”
“How would you know the process?”
“I’m not from around here.”
“Obviously. Never mind. I’ll see if I can turn this into a blade. If it is what it looks like, you’ll walk out of here with your sword in a scabbard tomorrow. I have work to do.”
Peter left, smiling, and went to have a nap before Marla dragged him out shopping again.
Marla wasn’t back when Peter woke from his nap. He wrote out everything he knew about Damascus steel, and she still hadn’t returned. Just as he started considering going to find food on his own, she burst in and threw herself on the bed next to him.
“Did things not go well?”
“Most of what we need for the next leg of our journey is ready. I just can’t find a second pack animal.”
“You think you’re getting all this stuff on just two?”
“You’d be surprised how much they can carry.”
“It’s not the weight I’m concerned with.”
“What, then?”
“Even split in two our things will take up a lot of room. And we’ll have to unload the animals each night, won’t we?”
“Yes, why?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never travelled this way before. It just doesn’t sound realistic to me.”
“We’ll be fine. How did your business go?”
“The bladesmith is making a blade from the piece of Damascus steel I had made for the price of the process. He says my sword will have a handle and scabbard tomorrow, and if the metal I gave him is like Akorkin spirit iron, I’ve already paid for everything.”
“Well, that’s lucky, then.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should go with you to look for the beasts.”
“Do you have mysterious secrets to trade that might interest the trader?”
“I doubt it. But maybe they need something other than money.”
“Like what?”
“How should I know? I haven’t spoken to them.”
“Whatever. Hungry?”
“Always.”
In the morning, Peter and Marla went to the baths, hoping a good scrub would improve their mood. Despite the unfamiliarity of bathing in a swimming pool with people of all genders, Peter actually did feel better afterward.
Out on the street, Peter scratched at his chin. He had never had a beard this long before. “I haven’t seen a barber here. What sort of sign would they have?”
“What is a barber?”
“Someone who cuts hair? More importantly, someone who shaves off facial hair.”
“People cut their hair where you’re from?”
“Are you making a joke? I feel like you are making a joke, but I don’t know what it is. I’m not used to having a beard and would like to remove it.”
“I had wondered about that. You didn’t have it the day you arrived.”
“Seriously? People here just have the hair they have? They don’t style it?”
“There are different ways to wear your hair, but hair is the length it is.”
“This doesn’t make any sense to me. I can’t believe you.”
“Where you’re from people carve their hair into shapes?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“Why?”
“Why choose one shoe over another?”
“Don’t you mean hats?”
“What?”
“Shoes go on your feet, not your head.”
“I think this conversation needs to end. What now?”
“Pick up your sword?”
“I doubt it’s ready, but we can stop in, I guess.”
“It will take me a day or two to confirm, but I think this is at least as good as Akorkin spirit iron,” the bladesmith said when they walked into his shop. “I don’t suppose you know why the pattern goes away when worked?”
“The pattern isn’t in the metal itself, it comes from corroding the layers. It’s an etching, but shallower than you could do with tools. Each bar of starting material has slightly different mixes of metal, causing them to react with acid differently.”
“Oh. Putting them in acid will bring the pattern back?”
“Yes. I’m not sure which acids work well and which ones will just cause it to rust as soon as the air touches it.”
“Good to know. Worth some experimentation. Here, your sword arrived not a quarter hour ago. You’re paid in full as far as I’m concerned, and I’m the one who gets to decide. Wherever your journey is taking you, I wish you well.”
“And may your business be lucrative.” Peter put the translation of his Damascus steel instructions he had had Marla write out on the table when he picked up his sword, though the bladesmith was already back to grinding the blade he was working on.
From there Marla led him to the livestock market she was hoping to purchase from. It was a paddock outside the palisade, with a barn. There were several of the larger beasts that had pulled the wagons from the other town, but none of the small ones that pulled the little wagons to the mine.
Peter stood back and listened as Marla made her inquiries. When the third trader said they didn’t have any available right now, he spoke up. “Why not? Where are they?”
“My son took the whole herd up to our summer pasture, but we haven’t heard from him since. A landslide has destroyed a section of the trail, and the only other way to the pasture isn’t safe.”
“It’s not safe?”
“Could be someone too defensive of their claim, could be bandits, hell, it could be ghosts. But nobody who has gone up that part of the mountain has come back for a year now.”
“Oh. That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not. It’s too far out for the guard to investigate, so unless an army comes through things aren’t changing.”
“Is it possible it’s just an animal?”
“Might not be a person like you or me, but that’s not the same as just being a wolf-bear or something.”
“What’s this summer pasture called? Or where is it?”
“You’d be a fool to go up there.”
“I was just going to ask around, see what other stories about it there are.”
“Knock yourself out,” the trader said, giving them the necessary information.
On their way back to the inn, a guard stopped them. The same guard that had stopped Peter the day they had arrived in town. “Carrying a sword in town is frowned upon.”
“Just picked it up from the shop, heading back to the inn.”
“This the one you found in a pond?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I see?”
Peter handed it over and asked about the trail with the mysterious disappearances.
“Lucky find, that. I don’t know much about out there. We don’t patrol that far from town. Can’t go there on official duty. But if I were to go for a hike on my day off, tomorrow, maybe I could have a look around. It’d be foolish to do alone, though.”
“Going for a hike before we head over the mountains sounds like a good way to see if my legs are up to the task.”
“It’s a long one, though, would have to be heading through the gate when it opens at sunrise.”
“Yeah, that would be a good plan.”
Peter took his sword back and he and Marla returned to the Inn. “I don’t know what foolishness you’re planning, but it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“I doubt it’s ghosts.”
“No, but it could be a dragon!”
“I’m still not used to the idea of dragons being real. Maybe if I see one, but I’d rather not.”
“I hope your luck holds out,” Marla said, stretching out on the bed in a way that didn’t leave Peter any room. He could have moved her, but he sat on the floor instead.