Rolle chose one cleaver from the table between them and held it close to his eye. He examined the edge of the blade and took some practice swings, as though cutting through the air was the same as cutting through flesh and bone. Then he picked up a second cleaver and repeated the process.
The two tools were the same except for the steel used. An apprentice had made the first out of a lesser steel. It served as practice for the apprentice and a cheaper option for those who couldn’t afford nicer. The other had been made by her father.
Alena’s eyes tracked Rolle’s movements closely. She saw the years of experience ingrained in his cuts. Rolle was no warrior, but she suspected he could butcher a cow faster than anyone in town.
“The grip feels a bit small,” Rolle said, “and I prefer my cleavers to be a bit longer and heavier.”
“If you’re interested,” Alena replied, “we could forge something custom for you, but it would require some time. We’ve been busy.”
Rolle laughed at that. “So I hear. Drok’s smithy is worried they’ll be run out of town.”
Alena shook her head. “We can’t handle all the work this town requires. And Drok does fine work.”
“True,” Rolle admitted. “But everyone knows where to go when they need a blade they can count on.” He picked up each cleaver in turn again. “These feel nearly identical. Different steel?”
“Yes.”
“I think I like this one more,” he said, handing her the cheaper cleaver.
Alena saw how Rolle’s eyes lingered on the more expensive cleaver. He knew it was better, but couldn’t convince himself to spend the extra money. He was a man careful with his money.
She’d seen such expressions on many faces in the last two years.
Part of the challenge was her father. He insisted that his shop be known for quality of all its products, not just his own. The whole town knew of her father’s gift with steel, but he rarely marked his personal creations in any way. Perhaps an expert would notice the difference between a blade crafted by her father and one crafted by an apprentice, but most wouldn’t, and her father preferred it that way. If the shop sold it, the product had earned his approval.
Alena was also prohibited from speaking about who made what. Custom work was an exception, but for items up front she had strict orders. She knew who made which cleaver, and could have easily sold Rolle on the more expensive one if he knew her father had crafted it himself.
She admitted that it allowed the smithy to charge more for all its work, and the practice fueled avid speculation about who made what, but she did sometimes find the restriction annoying.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” she began, and Rolle nodded for her to continue. “More than many professions, the quality of steel will matter for you. The less expensive cleaver will serve you well, but it has its own cost. It will require more time to maintain, won’t hold its edge as long, and will need replacing sooner.”
She paused. “You’re a man who lives by the quality of his blade. Although this blade costs more,” she pointed to her father’s cleaver, “you’ll be more satisfied with the purchase, and it will save you time in the long run.”
Rolle wavered, but Alena didn’t push. Sometimes the art of the sale was in knowing when not to say more.
Rolle let out an explosive sigh, a grin lighting his face. He had wanted the more expensive one all along; he just hadn’t been able to justify it to himself.
Alena had given him just the reason he’d been looking for.
Not long later he left, the proud new owner of her father’s cleaver.
Her father came out from behind the corner. Alena hadn’t seen him from her position, but she’d thought she heard the rustle of cloth and shifting of weight that signified his presence. He didn’t come forward very often. It distracted the customers too much.
Father looked at the pile of silver on the counter. His look was mildly disapproving. “You didn’t—”
Alena smiled at her father’s discomfort. “You know I promised not to. And I didn’t need to. He just needed a reason to get what he wanted all along.”
Father nodded, not quite convinced, but trusting anyway. “It’s a good sale. I suppose I’ll have to get to work on another one. If he does come in for custom work, offer him a bargain. He’s been good to our family over the years.”
“Yes, Father.”
Before Father could reply, the door to the shop opened again. The young man who stepped in stood tall. Though he wasn’t half the size of Rolle, his presence still filled the room.
“I came by to escort Alena home, Father, if she’s done making all your sales for the day.”
“Hello to you, too, Jace,” Father said. He nodded his permission. “I can have the apprentices finish closing up.”
Alena glanced suspiciously at her younger brother. “I don’t need an escort.”
“The streets are filled with pickpockets and thieves, my dear sister. I couldn’t bear the blemish on my honor if any harm were to befall you.”
Alena raised an eyebrow. “You’re that bored?”
He laughed. “I am, indeed. And we haven’t had any time to ourselves lately. I want to know how my sister is doing.”
Alena gathered what few belongings she had brought to the shop, then remembered to call after Father. “Don’t be late tonight!”
“I won’t!”
The siblings left the shop, turning in the direction of their house. They shared the events of their day, though nothing momentous had happened to either of them. Alena noticed her brother containing his excitement about something, but he didn’t want to spill the story yet. Perhaps he’d finally met a young woman? Their mother would swoon at that news. She feared Jace spent too much
