The King's Vault - Chapter 2 - The Request

If you haven’t read the first chapter, then please, do so here:

CHAPTER 1

Winter had usurped Autumn for the most part. The snow had drifted in and draped itself over the rooftops. The ice in the street had slowed the walking speed a considerable amount. It is a terrible feeling to lose one’s feet on the cobbled pavement. Not to mention rather embarrassing.

Olan was due back a few days ago. I was not only beginning to run out of necessary materials to fulfil the Royal Quartermaster’s order, but Olan’s wellbeing was plaguing my mind. It, like the heavy snow on the house rooftops, blanketed my thoughts. And even the warmth of the smith struggled to melt the gnawing, iciness of my imagination.

The only comfort that came to me was when I hammered away at the work. Rhythm helps all. Rhythm heals all. And a familiar tune kept creeping its way into my mind. One I knew I’d heard before. One that reminded me of, oddly enough, silence. But not peaceful silence. The unnatural silence, where noise has not existed of its own free will, but has been forced out and stripped and removed from a room. As though a vortex had drained it from the space. The same tune a certain man, with a certain offer had whistled. And the same eerie silence he seemed to leave in his wake.

And with every ring of the bell, with every customer that walked into my shop, facing the heat of my forge that blasted fire and warmth and work at a rate it hadn’t known before, I thought of him. Despite my decision, I felt the need to tell him of this - that my honour was worth more than money. This didn’t sit well in my stomach. The money would be helpful. But my heart beat true and clear and clean knowing I have not disappointed my father and undermined the values of our generational shop. But the wants and needs of the heart can be deceptive. In love. In experience. In business. And especially in wealth and money. And when the shop bell rang this time, I knew it was someone important. My heart sang and thumped and hissed like the very metal and forge I’d been hunched over for the past fortnight. And with each pounding beat, a growing sense of disquietude and doubt crept and filled my mind, until my thoughts became sticky, gurgling and bubbling like a tar swamp.

I wiped my face and hands, removing sweat and ash and excitement from my face. And there stood the castle quartermaster. It’s hard to miss the bulbous red nose that seemed to pulse with a slight glow, even more so in the winter weather. I had to hide the disappointment from my face.

“Good morning, sir. What brings you to the shop today? The order is coming along as planned, and I should have it -”

“Should?” He interrupted. “Should is not a word we, and by we I mean myself and the king, want to hear, Carter. We, and by we, I mean the king and I, are on a tight schedule! Yes. Very tight! There’s rumours and words and rumblings of conflict in the outer regions. Do you understand this? Don’t destroy your reputation by being bashful and lazy!” He almost seemed to spit the final words in my face.

“Aye. Cyrus, we’ve known each other a long time. You knew my father just as well. Have you ever known me to shirk my responsibility? Are you so willing to spit on the grave of my late father, that his son and prodigy would not adhere to his word?” The words seemed to slip out of my mouth, and Cyrus’ nose seemed to brighten. His cheeks grew almost as red as his nose, as though he was holding his breath, and black, beetle-like eyes seemed to turn demonic, where the whites were no longer visible. And then, as though the steam had simmered in his head, he returned to normal and finally breathed. “The work is coming along Cyrus. I’ve been in the back, huddled over the forge like a pauper huddled over a street fire in winter, dripping my very being into these armaments. They will be done. On time. As promised. On my word. However, I am running short on supplies, and Olan should be here within the next day or two, God willing, where the work will be finished on time, if not before.”

“Yes. Right,” Cyrus nods. “Apologies Carter. You know how the King can be at times. When you say two weeks, he hears one. May I see how the work is going, to report back to him?”

“Aye, of course Cyrus. Follow me.”

He strutted past me and entered the back of the shop. The beetle eyes scuttled and scanned each blade edge. Each helmet strap. Every so often, a breath of excitement and appreciation flew through his nose. And occasionally he muttered positives to himself. I sat back and watched him, sipping on some water. And after a time, he stood back, with a rare smile filling his face, displaying his yellowed teeth, tracing new lines in his wrinkled cheeks that were a rare etching for him.

“Just remarkable. Excellent work. Your reputation, like your father - no no! Better than your father - does not precede you.” He slapped my shoulder, spilling my water and laughing. “Grand. The King will be glad. Sharp blades. Strong helms. Our army will be a force with this quality.” And with this, he made his way out of the back, and to the front of the shop. His hand grasped the door handle and he paused and turned, with a sheepish expression. He almost refused to meet my eyes, scanned the scuttling beetles around the room, and finally resting them on the blade above my head.

“The King did have one further request. He aims to take to the battlefield should the need arise, and wants a blade fitting his royal status.” He flicked his nose up. “How much?”

“Cyrus…”

“You know he won’t take no for an answer. He will throw as much gold as he can fathom at you.”

“And I, like him, am stubborn. I will give no answer but no, regardless of the price.”

“Carter, please -”

“No. The King has not seen it. He knows not of this blade. I can make him a grand one, aye, but nothing like this. It would do you well to not mention this blade, and instead, deliver my willingness to make one for him.”

Cyrus huffed. And I knew he’d go off and tell the King of the blade. Like a loyal dog bringing a stick to receive a gentle pat on the head. And with that, he left, allowing the cold, silent breeze to enter the store and send the hairs on the back of my neck to attention.