"Oslo. Save me. Please."
"Master Bellavarn, you brought this on yourself."
"You won't abandon me, will you? Et tu, Kerv?"
"Don't look at me. I won't be taking your place."
"Don't be like that."
Bellavarn crumpled, placing his face in his hands. The preview the Duchess gave him of his upcoming get-together with a mystery girl filled him with dread. Father escaped. Oslo was remaining neutral, and Kerv was of no use. Bellavarn would die. He would die of embarrassment.
"God, help me."
Kerv called on all his military experience to prevent his laughter from breaking free. If he let out a squeak, he would be running laps around the carriage as it carried Bellavarn and Oslo. Kerv won the lottery by being allowed to ride inside consistently; he wasn't about to throw it all away. He was also amazed at how stone-faced Oslo could be.
The plump butler didn't glance at Kerv, but he got the feeling that he was bragging.
"Oslo."
"Yes?"
Bellavarn still held his face, but he wasn't covering his eyes anymore.
"How many smithies around our territory aren't employed or suspected of working under the Astors?"
"Approximately five are within easy reach. Suppose we venture towards the palace, that number is practically nonexistent. The only option would be to hire a rookie with no experience."
"Hm. Out of those five, how many can handle large orders?"
"Two. Three if you include Farriers."
"Which one has the most work experience?"
"Vestal's Smithy. It is the largest by far."
"Then that'll be our first stop."
Oslo nodded in confirmation. Bellavarn leaned back in his seat, feeling the bump of the wheels as the carriage traveled. Were there no shock absorbers? Maybe that would be his next project.
Looking out the window, he noticed that snow still blanketed the landscape. Some of it was slush along the streets, but most was pristine, untouched snow. Winter weeds were growing rampant in places, popping out of cracks in the road and sprouting in every unlikely place. For how close they were to the mansion, things seemed run down.
"Oslo. I am worried."
Oslo's facade broke for a moment.
"About what, master Bellavarn?"
Watching out the window, he noticed the absence of people, and those he did notice gave the carriage odd looks. The few pedestrians huddled together for warmth, and mothers hurried their children along instead of letting them play. Looking towards the sky, smoke trails were indicating lit fireplaces, inside and out.
"Several things. But right now, I am worried about the smoke."
"The smoke?"
"Do you see them? The number is wrong."
Both Oslo and Kerv glanced out the window at the sky, counting the smokestacks.
"There are quite a few."
Bellavarn crossed his arms.
"No. There are not enough."
Every single abode should have a fire lit. Every home. Smithies. Bakeries. Taverns. Every working place. Yet for every house where smoke rose, there were three that lay dormant.
Bellavarn stepped out of the carriage, making sure to watch his step. His clothes were heavy and warm. He wanted to wear a cap or maybe earmuffs, but that seemed to ruin the 'noble image' he was supposed to have. Apparently, his entire face was always supposed to be visible, lest someone mistake his identity. There were only a few occasions when nobles went incognito.
"This is the place, master Bellavarn."
Kerv and Oslo were beside him, staring at Vestal's Smithy. It was a sizeable, half-open structure where workers walked to and from. Loiterers lingered around the outskirts of the warm building. In the sky, several smokestacks converged to create a billowing cloud of gray. The area smelled of sweat and iron.
The presence of a noble permeated through the crowd quickly. Bellavarn didn't have to do anything other than display the Sallow crest, and he was hurriedly escorted inside.
Kerv watched the crowd warily. Their numbers were numerous, and he would have trouble fending them off if something were to happen. It was a shame Henry was on assignment. Bellavarn had refused anyone else since they were merely on business, and the presence of more guards would send the wrong message.
Since Oslo was doing most of the talking, they progressed quickly up the chain of command and were guided to a separate waiting room. Bellavarn unbuttoned his winter coat when he started to sweat.
Two minutes later and the boss walked in. She was a tall, tanned, and muscular woman who kept her hair protected underneath a bandana. She seemed to have come directly from the forge; a sheen of sweat coated her skin.
Seeing that the boss was more than a manager was promising. A boss who worked was always a respectable person. Bellavarn liked her immediately.
"I apologize for the wait. I wasn't expecting any esteemed guests."
Bellavarn spoke up, able to handle his own dealings.
"It is not a problem. We didn't send word ahead, and you seem to have an abundance of staff to take care of. I assume you are Vestal?"
The woman's expressions were primarily flat and unreadable. She didn't grovel, but wasn't disrespectful either.
"Alex Vestal. What brings you here?"
Bellavarn smirked. This fit his impression of what a smith should be. No nonsense and to the point.
"I won't waste your time. I wanted to order some prototypes. They would be small works about a palm's size, circular with three curved prongs, and I would need about a hundred of them. Would that be doable?"
"Depends."
Bellavarn quirked an eyebrow when she didn't elaborate. He figured she would ask to see a drawing or know the exact dimensions before giving a hard answer.
"What would it depend on?"
"Which Household you are from."
A subtle, befuddled look came over him. Oslo interceded.
"Did your assistant not mention who we are? You are in the presence of Bellavarn Sallow, son of Duke Sallow."
"Then the Vestal Smithy won't be working for you."
"You know we can pay you appropriately, so why would you turn us away without listening? You are aware this smithy operates on Sallow land."
Her answer didn't make sense.
"My assistant said I was meeting with a Duke. I figured it would be Duke Astor. Not the son of Duke Sallow. We've heard the rumors about you. We don't do business with your kind. If you were another customer or one of my workers, I would beat them with my hammer…"
Kerv took a threatening step as Vestal raised empty hands.
"…but since you are a noble, I can't touch you. I can, however, refuse your business."
"You are awfully quick to judge. I assume you're in the business of making money, not friends."
"I have enough money. I don't need rotten business."
"Rotten? You have a lot of audacity for someone operating on Sallow land."
"My smithy supplies the majority of the Capital. Not only for weapons and armor, but for tools, horseshoes, and nails. Even if you are a Duke, you cannot hurt my footing when it comes to supply and demand. If anyone here has audacity, I would say it is you. How do you expect anyone to conduct business with you when rumors of your character reach this far. "
"You're going to believe such rumors without even asking for yourself?"
"If I asked, you would lie, or your butler over there would lie for you. Even if it's not true, the stench would be all over my work."
…
Bellavarn lost all his words.
Kerv was glaring daggers at the woman, but she made no threatening moves. Oslo spared a concerned glance for Bellavarn but was similarly glaring. Both of them learned that Bellavarn could solve his own problems and were silently supporting whatever decision he made.
Internally, Bellavarn was going over everything he knew.
How did this smith even find out?
The rumor hadn't been proven or corroborated by anyone who witnessed the event. The maids and staff gossiped, yes, but it never left the mansion. The Duchess made sure of that. Yet, not only did the royal family know, its also been distributed to the masses. Either there was a spy among the household, someone cast incredible magic, or Melody was the one spreading the rumor. He didn't know which was worst.
What hurt Bellavarn the most was that no one ever asked for his viewpoint. Everyone would now assume he was guilty by accusation alone.
Now, how much time would it take to regain this random smith's trust? Did he actually need her in the first place?
Taking a deep inhale, Bellavarn spoke.
"You didn't ask, but I'll answer anyway. Whatever you have heard and from whatever source, it is slander. It is a shame because I had a favorable impression of you before you decided to judge me so. This could have been a profitable partnership. It'll be a shame to watch such a successful smithy dissolve."
He was Bellavarn Sallow. A Duke's son. He didn't need to stand for this continued biased judgment. He didn't have to earn everyone's trust. They should earn his. Alex Vestal just lost all of his goodwill and would never earn it back.
"We will not be working with you, even if you beg later. Also, no one from the Sallow household will be doing business with your smithy from now on. Best of luck."
With that, Bellavarn walked out. Oslo turned and followed while Kerv stayed a moment longer to stare Vestal down.
The only reason Bellavarn didn't shut down the smithy entirely was that it provided warmth for a number of the homeless.
"Oslo. Are you sure that the Astors aren't controlling that place?"
"I am positive."
Then that means things are about to get much harder.
"All busts."
Every smithy, large and small, turned them away on account of 'rumors'. None of them even specified what the rumor was. Just that they refused to do business with his 'ilk'.
"I can try taking up a hammer. This item you need is small, right? How hard can it be?"
Bellavarn held his chin in thought, not glancing at Kerv.
"Your body type is all wrong. You won't be able to do it."
Kerv looked shocked and slightly hurt. Oslo gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.
"No. I have a backup plan. Although there is no way to tell if we will be turned away again."
"What do you have in mind, young master?"
"Ceramics. The only reason I chose metal to work with was that I was caught up in the idea of a weapon. However, once properly worked, ceramics are nearly as sturdy. Particularly bisqueware. Glazed works shatter more easily, but we don't really need them to be glazed. If we can find someone who works in non-traditional ceramics, it should be easy. In some ways, pottery is more mass-produced than metalworks. It just hasn't picked up in this era."
Kerv couldn't follow. Oslo understood the gist of what Bellavarn was saying, so he asked for further clarification.
"So you're saying you need a potter?"
Bellavarn shook his head.
"Not necessarily. It shouldn't be a hard adjustment if a crafter have a few years of experience. I could probably do it myself after some trial and error."
Kerv wondered when Bellavarn had time to take up ceramics, but brushed it off as him being multi-talented. Bellavarn was even learning to knit. Poorly, but the young master was trying, and that's what counts.
"If that is the case, we have a crafter on retainer. He's an old friend of mine."
Bellavarn and Oslo smiled at each other. That would be perfect. They didn't even need to run about looking all over the city.
One of the carriage horses whinnied as it chewed on some budding weeds. Bellavarn did a double-take.
"Alright. Let's talk to your friend. Also… Oslo, do you think you can have someone start collecting those weeds? I may have use for them."
Kerv gave him an odd look. What did weeds have to do with weapons?
"The Stink Weeds? They are useless. Only good as horse feed and making their breath foul."
Bellavarn remembered a stray passage from a book. It was an old book that was part of the mansion's original collection. He made a point to skim through every book in the library—no point in unknowingly getting a copy when they had one already.
"Use some of the money that was set aside for the blacksmiths to pay someone to collect it. Worst-case scenario, it turns into a public service."
"Understood, master Bellavarn. As you wish."
It was nice having someone trust his word.
Bellavarn bent down and plucked a bundle-full. It was repugnant—the antithesis of mint leaves.
Add another project to the list.