lip, and in her anxiety, betrayed her youth.
Aleksia reckoned her no more than sixteen or seventeen.
“That's half my dower — ” she said, as if to herself.
“But I would readily make you another bargain, Maari.” The coaxing tone was back in the man's voice, and the gleam in his eyes told as clearly as speech just what sort of a bargain he would like to make. “For so good a friend and neighbor, things need not come to money between us — ”
“And for the dear friend of my father, who has been like a father to me and my brother, and a respected elder of our village, I would have it no other way. Cheap at the price to keep my brother safe and the farm in our hands.” Maari did not need to say anything more, and the man flushed a little. Properly, too, in Aleksia's estimation. And yet, she had said it with such politeness that there was nothing the man could do but graciously take the three coins she told over into his hand, and accept her thanks and let her go.
Aleksia chuckled as he swore a little and kicked at the floor. Outfoxed! Well there it was, even a Wonder- smith and a magician could be tripped up by his own desires and find himself making a fool of himself in front of a clever girl.
She watched him as he crossly banked the fire, then pulled on a tunic, like his brother's — plain and somewhat the worse for wear, clearly in need of a woman's hand. So these were bachelor fellows, then? Not surprising that he was making a fool of himself over a girl a third of his age. Or perhaps not a third his age, but surely less than half. A man without a wife could delude himself into thinking there was no gray in his hair and beard, that he was the same fellow he'd been twenty or thirty years ago. A man with children about him that were the age of this young maiden had no such delusions. And besides, he would be far too busy keeping close watch on his own young maidens, eyeing old rakes and impetuous young bucks with equal disfavor, to have the leisure to go making a fool of himself in the first place.
Lemminkal came in again just as Ilmari finished shutting the forge for the night. He was trailed by a handsome fellow who was the right age for the departed maiden. Ilmari saluted them both with ill grace, and Lemminkal laughed.
“And what did I tell you, brother? That stream's been overfished. You should be casting your hook for a tasty big salmon, not chasing after the slim little minnows.”
“Bah,” Ilmari said, as the younger man chuckled. “And I suppose that's to leave the stream for your apprentice!”
“Not I!” The young man laughed. “Oh, no, I have the sweetest girl in the world waiting for me at home, and compared to her, your pretty caller is a candle to a star.”
“Well I'd liefer have a candle than a star,” Ilmari grumbled. “It's of more use.”
The three men went out, and Aleksia searched for another reflective surface near them, so she could continue her observation. She quickly realized that there were not many in the home of a pair of bachelors…No polished ornaments. No mirrors — not that she expected glass, so expensive and so fragile, in such a place. But no polished metal, either, no shiny pots, the housewife's pride.
Finally, though, she did find a reflective surface — the water in a barrel somewhere near the fire. She got a most unedifying view of the ceiling of the place, but at least she could listen.
She had often wondered what Witches and Wizards and Godmothers talked about when they sat around their own fires of a night. She discovered that it was of very little use to her. The young man — Veikko — spoke of the doings of the village at some length, while the older men commented, Ilmari with a touch of good-natured mocking. At least, she thought it was good-natured. Lemminkal asked how Ilmari's commissions were coming, cautioning him that Winter was coming and his patrons would be ill-pleased if their tools and weapons did not leave with the last trader.
“Well enough, old woman,” Ilmari said, his tone a trifle peevish. “I take but one extra bit of work, and you pester me as if you thought I was falling behind.”
“Because you took it and put all else aside, with the hope of trading it for a Winter between the maid's thighs,” Lemminkal said bluntly, while the young Veikko made a choking sound. “That may well keep you warm, but it does nothing to pay for our bread to be baked, nor for any of our Winter provisions. So unless you plan to learn how to bake and make cheese, I think I've a right to act like an old woman where the money is concerned!”
“Oh, give over!” Ilmari snapped. “Here!” There was the sound of coins being slapped down on the table. “She paid me in her dower money and there is an end to it! And I have but the ax to finish, and that will be done well before the last peddler leaves! And what was I to do? Tell her no, and let that half-grown boy cut himself to ribbons with a scythe he's too young to swing? The corn won't wait, but that ax can. I wouldn't have turned her away, if she'd been harelipped and cross-eyed and hadn't two coppers to clink together, Lemminkal. Though she'll never know what sort of bargain she got for her three silvers. Kings would pay for what I gave her.”
There was silence for a moment. “I beg your pardon, brother,” Lemminkal said, humbly. “Here I thought — ”
“Oh, it was on my mind,” Ilmari grumbled. “I'm a man after all, and she's a toothsome creature. But she would have none of my hinting, and told me how she could not give an honored elder of the village less than his due. Good luck! Talking about me as if I was her grandsire! Well, she's paid, and they'll get their harvest in, and in good time, and maybe a bit more.”
“And what did you do for her, brother mine?” Lemminkal asked.
“I put her father's strength and skill into the scythe, that's what,” Ilmari said with satisfaction. “After all, he's hardly using it in Tuonela. There's no harvesting nor planting across the river of death. And I put in it what she asked for, that the lad not feel he's weary until day's end and time to put the tools down.”
“Hakkinnen was a champion in the field,” Lemminkal mused. “They say in the village, he could get more harvested in a day than most men in two.”
“And well if the boy can. He can hire himself out to some of the other farmers in exchange for woodcutting and other work. As he grows into that scythe, the magic will fade, as it should. Eventually, the skill and strength will be all his.” Aleksia could hear the pride in the smith's voice. And no wonder; that was a tricky bit of magic. It was one thing to put magic into an object. It was quite another to get it to recognize when it wasn't needed anymore. “I learned my lesson with that damned hand-mill, brother. Never again will I make a thing that never fails, never fades. Bad enough that the hand-mill attracted the attention of half the black sorcerers in the North. Worse that it became a bone of contention that nearly destroyed a family. But worst of all — to keep it grinding what was asked
