“Sir?”
“A smith, Watchman, who is familiar with the forge.”
“Oh.” Scanning the crowd, Hektor spotted a familiar face. “Yes sir, I do.”
It only took Linton a moment to understand what Daedrus required. Tipping his cap back, he scratched his head thoughtfully. “This be the market forge,” he explained. “The Fair Master’s in charge of it, though he don’t usually work it hisself. We all work it through the fair to cast a horseshoe or make somethin’ small as a customer might want.”
“And the Fair Master sets the forge schedule?” Daedrus asked. “He sees to it that every smith who needs it gets a chance to make use of it?”
“Every local smith,” Linton corrected. “Only Haven smiths can use the market forge. That’s tradition. If a smith from outside wanted somethin’, he’d have to ask one of us for it.” He snorted. “An’ good luck to ’im.
“My cousin Bri was Fair Master for years,” he continued. “Did a good job he did, too, keepin’ everything movin’ along smoothly. There weren’t never too much waitin’.” He frowned. “Come to think of it, with him gone, I reckon I’m Fair Master now.”
Daedrus nodded. “And so he, your cousin Bri, would know everyone who made use of the forge. As you will next year?”
“Yep.”
“So it would be very unusual to have a stranger lurking about unescorted?”
Linton snorted. “Wouldn’t happen at all. We keep an eye out; we all do.”
“I see. Ah, here come my colleagues.”
Daedrus turned as more than two dozen Artificers and students descended on the iron market. He’d set Hektor and Aiden to checker off the entire field with a ball of twine pulled from his voluminous cloak, and now he sent each of his consultants off to an individual square to take measurements and make notes. As the Artificers spread out, he returned his attention to Linton.
By late afternoon the Artificers had finished their investigation and were now clustered about the ruined forge, comparing their findings. Several other smiths had been drawn into the conversation, and, as the sun sent long fingers of shadow across the field, Hektor could hear their voices rising and falling as they argued over the events leading up to the fire. But one thing they all agreed on was that no one except a local smith was ever allowed near the market forge. After a particularly heated piece of debate, he heard Linton’s voice rise above the rest.
“ ’Course any fool can see it started by accident, right here. Sparks is what done it, sparks an’ wind. It’s happened before more’n two decades back; Bri told me hisself. Nearly sent the whole fair up that time.”
Shaking his head, Hektor turned to find Captain Torell standing beside him. He started.
“Sir.”
“It seems the street is close to its verdict,” the captain said dryly.
“Yes, sir.” Hektor shrugged. “Folk here don’t take too kindly to bein’ told what’s what.” He glanced over to where Linton was now jabbing another smith in the chest to emphasize his point. “They’d rather do the tellin’.”
“So I see. And I imagine the people of Candler’s Row are much the same.”
“I ’spect so, sir.”
“Do you have a plan that will take the wind out of their sails as well?”
“Sir?”
“Never mind, one crisis at a time.” The captain now turned as Daedrus called out to them.
“An accident,” the old man said once they’d joined the crowd of smiths and Artificers. “Tragic, very tragic, but avoidable in the future, I think. Yes, very much so. We have some ideas for the rebuild that will prove quite advantageous.”
Turning, he pulled a small metal disc from the depths of his cloak. “Does anyone have a ... oh, thank you.” He accepted one of the dozen small hammers that were immediately held out to him and, reaching up, affixed the disc to the forge with two tiny nails.
“Artificer’s seal,” he said in answer to Hektor’s questioning expression. “Usually we place them after the building is complete, but as this project was in fact an investigation, not a construction, I think it’s neither unreasonable nor premature to place it now, hm?”
A murmur of assent from the Artificers made him smile. “Good. Now, Fair Master Linton, do come by some time this week, won’t you? I’m eager to get started on our plans. Do you have my address?”
Linton chuckled. “I do, sir. I cast your nails.”
“Do you really? Well, they’re very fine work. What, hm?” He turned as the captain now cleared his throat.
“It’s growing dark, Daedrus. Time to lock up the field.”
“What? Oh yes, of course.” The old man waved at the gathered smiths and Artificers who began to leave the iron market still deep in conversation. “And will the young watchman be escorting me home again?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
The captain nodded formally. “Sergeant Dann will be only too happy to oblige you, after which he’s to report back to the watchhouse. Sergeant?”
Hektor looked up from the small metal disc he’d pulled from his pouch with a confused expression. “Sir?”
“Escort the Artificer home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be at the White Lily tomorrow night, Daedrus?” the Captain asked.
The old man beamed. “I wouldn’t miss it, Travin.”
“Very good. Carry on, Sergeant.”
“Sir.”
Hektor glanced back at the metal disc in his hand, staring at the colorful Artificer’s seal embossed over Haven’s coat of arms, then up as Daedrus began to chuckle.
“Not so premature, as it happens,” the old man said with a smile. “Now, if you will be so kind.” He gestured towards the gates. “I have drawings to begin, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Of course, sir.” Tucking the disc back into his pouch, Sergeant Hektor Dann of the Haven City Watch escorted Artificer Daedrus from the iron market.
Widdershins
Judith Tarr is the author of a number of historical and fantasy novels and stories. Her most recent novels include
and
, as well as the Epona Sequence:
,
, and
. She was a World Fantasy Award nominee for
. She lives near Tucson, Arizona, where she breeds and trains Lipizzan horses.
Egil was as ordinary as a Herald could be. He was no hero or villain or Herald-Mage. In the Collegium he was solidly in the middle of every class. When he rode out on his internship, he did well enough, but nothing that he did was especially memorable.
Other people had dreams of greatness. Egil dreamed of peace and quiet, and time to read or write or simply sit and think.
Egil’s Companion was named Cynara. Like Egil, she professed no grand ambitions. She did love to dance when she had the chance, and Egil was happy to indulge her. It was the one thing at which he was truly distinguished, and as he said, it was mostly a matter of not getting in Cynara’s way.
Once Egil was past his internship, he was happy not to travel any longer. He settled in at the Collegium, teaching logic and history to the recruits and taking on whatever other tasks seemed most in need of doing. If there
