RE: Monarch

The words Sparkwright & Sons were burned into the hefty, expensive-looking sign that swayed in the swirling breeze above one of many winding streets on the western side of the city composed of a mix of small and medium-sized shops and houses.
I grabbed the iron ring of the thick door and pulled, a small chime ringing as I waited for Maya to enter, then followed after her.
My impression of the smith the first time around was that his establishment was rustic in a charming way. A simple forge, crates and barrels repurposed as displays holding numerous weapons of similar make and quality. Cephur and I had made up the entirety of the clientele. That was more or less what I'd expected to see.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Along with relocating, the smithy had seen considerable upgrades. The interior carried the same svelte trappings as high-end shops in the capital. Weapons forged from everything from high steel to lowhil were lovingly displayed in velvet cases, others mounted prominently on the walls.
"Welcome." A young boy with a monocle called out, squinting slightly at us before looking down at whatever he was marking on the counter beside the entrance. "Feel free to look around. Let me or one of my brothers know if you have any questions."
"Thanks, we're—" I started to respond, only to be interrupted by outside light and a sudden rush of air as the door chimed open behind us.
The boy leaned over to see past me, acknowledging an older male dwarf and younger female, their similar hair shades potentially marking them as relatives. "Pomp," the boy said, clear warning in his voice. "Don't."
"Just here for some chisels," the male dwarf said, smiling to show a golden tooth.
"They… uh… broke." The dwarf spread his arms in a helpless shrug.
"The
chisels forged less than a week ago broke."
"Yeh."
"All of them?"
"Just the ones I used. Ain't nothing to cry about, Ellis, just need to order another set."
"We've got the gold." The dwarven female added as the boy's face grew scarlet. "Happy to pay a premium for the rush job."
"Gold aside, he's back-ordered to the
right now." The boy muttered, flipping through a record book. "Checking the current inventory…"
Maya and I quietly stepped away as one. From the conversation and the look of the place, the smith was considerably busier than he once was. No fewer than twelve people circled the shop, examining the wares on display. Several items were obvious hybrids—some more practical than others. Some were pure flash and brilliance, such as a full-sized Elven sword with high-steel inscriptions and a radiant hilt. It would do poorly as a knife in the dark, but I could easily imagine one of my banner lieutenants waving it around, rallying their troops.
The pairing of a xescalt hilt with a lowhil blade caught me off guard because it seemed pointless. Xescalt was an exceptional mana conductor, so pairing it with a non-conductive blade was like sharpening a folding razor to perfection only to glue it shut.
There had to be a reason. I reached out and nearly touched the hilt.
"We can arrange a demonstration, if you're an interested buyer." A smooth voice startled me. A young man with similar features to the boy at the counter stood beside the display case. He'd been speaking to another human with prominent eyebrows, and I'd initially assumed he was a customer.
"Just looking for now." I smiled amicably. "More curious than anything else."
"Would it be possible to see the blacksmith today?" Maya asked.
"Depends." The boy shifted his head from side to side. "Da's already behind in his work, and instead of chipping away at those orders, he's entrenched himself at the forge, bashing his head against the wall working with a new material that's proving… unmalleable. Is there something pressing?"
"It's not worth the interruption," Maya said. But the boy's eyes had already traveled to the staff, split in two segments and hanging from her side.
He smiled widely, suddenly much warmer. "You've been here before. Or at least bought that secondhand and brought it home. That's one of his, yes?"
"This is my first time in the shop, but the weapon was a gift from him." Maya tilted her head toward me, warming up a little as she unhooked the staff from the loop on her belt and flicked her wrist, snapping it into place. "It's served me well throughout the years, and I've done my best to maintain it. But it's seen a great deal of strife."
"Best thing about Da's work is the sturdiness. He gets a little creative from time to time, but they're always nigh unbreakable. Shouldn't be nothing a little spit and polish can't…" The boy trailed off, studying the now-assembled staff. He pointed at a series of divots near the seam. "Those are dents."
"Yes," Maya agreed.
"You dented xescalt?"
"A few times." Maya admitted, then amended, "Well, more likely I was holding it out defensively, screaming, while something else dented the xescalt." She delivered the joke dryly and received no laughter.
Instead, the boy held the staff up to the light, twisting it back and forth. "Are these… alchemical striations? Did you dunk it in acid too?"
"Well," Maya clarified awkwardly, "if there was acid, it was sprayed at me. Nothing voluntary."
"You poor thing." The boy spoke directly to the staff.
"It is a weapon of battle, not a walking stick. And it's been treated quite well, considering," Maya said, growing heated.
I smoothly inserted myself between them. "We'll come back another time, when you're less busy—"
"—Sure. Put the piece through more abuse. That'll make it easier to repair—"
A firm hand attached to an exceptionally broad arm lashed out, the impact emitting an audible slap as it cuffed the youth upside the head. "What've I told you about fighting with customers, Ravi?"
The boy grimaced. "But Da—"
"Buts are for heathens and your middle brother. They do nothing for the rest of us." The slapper folded his arms atop a thick protective apron that smelled of iron and sweat. His once salt-and-pepper hair skewed closer to salt now, and his previously rotund figure had thinned with age and work. He nodded to Maya apologetically. "Sorry, miss. He gets a bit fired up about the inventory from time to time. Think he'd take everything I make home with him these days, if I'd a mind to let him." Then to the boy, he said, "Mind the forge."
Ravi groaned. "It's never going to melt, Da."
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"Then you'll get the honor of selling the slag like it’s worth something. But until then,
" He chuckled uncomfortably as the boy slunk away, turning his attention back to us. "Sorry again, miss."
"It's… fine." Maya seemed uncomfortable with all the attention, understandably, as most of the shop was now looking our way. "He's right. It isn't in the best shape."
"He's got aesthetics on the brain. Granted, he gets some of that from me. But he doesn't really understand that some people walk different paths. That a weapon can be an ornament to some folk, and a daily tool of living to others," the smith said kindly.
"It's nothing urgent, and it sounded like you were working on something important."
"No, no." A wave of fatigue swept over the tired man as he swept his sweat-strewn hair back. "Wasn't making headway anyhow." He scanned my face, brows furrowing in a silent question before seeming to let it go and holding out a hand to Maya. "Let me see what got the boy so riled up."
She handed over the staff silently, and the smith observed it with a studious frown, turning it between his large fingers and inspecting it fully. "Definitely seen its day in the sun. But… you've oiled and cleaned it well, and more importantly been consistent about it. Otherwise that xescalt would've oxidized and muddied, lost most of its luster. Only made a few of these early on. Almost a lifetime ago. Tell you the truth, there's less fault with the care of the thing than the original design."
"Oh?" Maya asked, surprised. "It's always served me well. Nothing about it ever caused me problems or got in the way."
"Because you lent it your strength. Everyone these days wants xescalt because it's plentiful, eye-catching, and sturdy." The blacksmith grinned. "You're a mage, right?"
"I have a degree of talent," Maya admitted.
He raised an eyebrow. "Humility aside, whatever you're packing is enough to keep this thing intact through years of heavy use, despite the structural flaw."
I wasn't sure how to parse what I was hearing. "You're saying the magic reinforced the design?"
The smith tilted his head from side to side. "Not exactly." He hefted the staff in a two-handed grip, like a club. "Imagine I'm a brute, and every time there's a scrap to be had, I end up swinging at whatever has the misfortune of being on the other end like they owe me a purse." He slapped the center of the assembled weapon. "It won't take long for even the most stringent lowhil to warp, become more bow than staff, if you catch my meaning." He shook his head, as if the hypothetical brute had offended him. "And that's a solid hunk of metal we're talking about."
His large hands twisted, and the staff became two pieces. His eyes twinkled as he observed them both, nostalgic if a bit embarrassed. "Believe it or not, my intentions were practical. A staff can be a real bitch to maneuver in tight quarters. Turning it into two smaller weapons equally capable of delivering whatever magical payload you happen to be slinging seemed like a reasonable idea. But any detachment mechanism creates a weak point. If our aforementioned brute spent any time swinging this thing at full strength, it'd be more curved than the road to the eastern reaches."
Maya took the staff back, and holding it up like a spyglass, stared down its length. "The curve is subtle, but it's there. You're right."
"Now, I'd like to help you out. Both of you." Again his gaze lingered on me before sliding away. "We do our best to keep the prices low—reasonable anyway, given that most of the designs are inspired by the works of much better demi-human smiths than me. Unfortunately, that also means every few months we get a couple of scumbags rolling through, passing themselves off as individual customers and trying to buy what we've got in bulk, only to turn around and sell it at a hell of a markup. Don't get that sense from the two of you, but neither of my sons recognized you." He glanced at Maya. "And I don't either. So, just to clear the air, where did you get this?" He asked, still friendly though now more serious.
Maya froze, not sure what to say.
"Uh, it was me, actually." I raised a hand sheepishly. "I bought it as a gift for her."
The smith studied me. "When?"
"More than half a decade ago." I looked around, still taken aback by the sheer transformation of the place. "Back when you weren't selling things made through non-human methods and materials quite so openly. I was a child then, and the man who accompanied me—"
"—Was a ranger with the most godless, piercing eyes I've ever seen." The smith's jaw dropped.
I felt pity for Cephur. "Godless is rather harsh. Just… a little intense at times. And he sort of acts like he knows everything, even when he doesn't."
"Wait." The smith suddenly pointed an accusatory finger at me. "You were the weary little bastard with the gold-rod purse!"
Maya put a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"That's… probably accurate," I admitted, a little embarrassed, suddenly scanning the shop for the closest route to the door. "Apologies for any trouble we caused you."
"Trouble?" The finger lowered painstakingly slowly as the blacksmith broke into a wide grin. "The shop made more profit that day than in the months leading up to it." Suddenly he was all smiles and slaps on the back in a way that put me immediately on guard. "Woke me right up to the fact I was a fool for keeping my little eccentricities locked away in the back room when there was a market for them."
"Oh?" I asked, doing my best to ignore the sinking feeling.
The smith practically rubbed his hands together. "Your generosity made quite the impact over the years, young man, quite the impact indeed!"
Over the next few dragging minutes, the man made his pitch, and I suffered through it, making noises of acknowledgment and confirmation at the correct places. I did listen, and to his credit, what he'd managed in the time between now and our first meeting was impressive. There were multiple forges, all from vastly different origins. The smith was getting attention from various nobles and non-human groups—though it was difficult to say how much of the bragging was exaggeration—and though his appetite for gold had quickened, he still spoke of his craft with the same excitement and childlike wonder that had endeared him to me all those years ago.
Out of the corner of my eye, Maya shifted. It was a subtle change, but the layers of courtesy and etiquette she'd been struggling to shed slowly fixed themselves back into place.
"A hundred golden rods," I offered, looking to end the exchange quickly. It might have been excessive, but in truth, the dance we were doing was strictly unnecessary. The smith's work, odd and eccentric as some of it was—the sword breaker he'd sold me at a pittance had saved my life more than once. Beyond that, it made sense to invest in the shops here. Outside investment would stimulate the town's economy and increase circulation of Sparkwright's rather eye-catching hybrids. Word would spread, which would aid the town greatly in the form of tourism income. And of course, it didn't hurt that he'd taken interest in Maya's weapon and Maya herself long before he'd caught even the slightest whiff of gold, and clearly took great pride and ownership in his work.
Sparkwright's stunned silence, however, communicated the distinct possibility I might have overestimated the quote. A hundred golden rods was barely a drop from the treasury's coffers, and a pittance to a trading company of similar standing to the recently deposed House Westmore, but the universal rule of small towns was that gold traveled further.
"I'll need to send someone to audit your books, just to make sure everything's above board. And have someone draw up and send over a contract once we have a better idea of the numbers." I gestured toward Maya. "Would you be able to do maintenance on her weapon in the meantime?"
After a moment, Sparkwright huffed. "Well, we can do a great deal better than that." He eyed the staff doubtfully, then offered her an apologetic smile. "It might be best to consider retiring that weapon, miss. For one thing, it'd be better suited for a person half your height, maybe two-thirds. You've outgrown it. Furthermore, the thing I mentioned—the weak point—is eventually going to be a problem, no matter how skilled a mage you are. Eventually it's going to break, and I can almost promise that when it does, you'll really wish it hadn't. I've got some beautiful xescalt composite staffs you'll love, full-sized. Gorgeous pieces."
I could almost see practicality and nostalgia war for dominance in Maya's expression. She breathed out, and for a moment, practicality nearly won. "I can look at what you have."
"Or," Sparkwright hurried, sensing the hesitation, "
, if it means that much to you, we can melt it down. Add more xescalt to the mix, reforge it almost identically, larger and sturdier than before. A solid piece without the potential point of failure. Does that sound more… palatable?"
The look on her face said it all.
"Yes," I confirmed immediately, feeling a degree of relief.
The large man clapped his hands together in satisfaction. "Excellent. We are a tad busy at the moment, but as you're both rather special customers to this establishment, I'd say we can have it done…" He looked at the ceiling. "In six, seven days?"
Maya winced. "I'll be gone by then. It's all right. We'll do this another time."
"Hm." Sparkwright rubbed his chin. "Could send it by courier, maybe."
"That's kind, but transporting valuables in this day and age is a risky proposition. And it means a great deal to me."
In my first life, this was the sort of obstruction I, like every other noble ponce, would try to solve with gold. I'd be nicer about it than most—generous rather than extortionate—raising the amount on offer until Sparkwright could not reasonably say no. But in the Sanctum's solitude I'd learned to listen more than I spoke.
"The business that weighs on you. Is it the backlogged orders to your customers, or the difficult-to-melt substance?"
He half-shrugged and suddenly looked exhausted. "If I'm honest, it's the ore. Doesn't matter what I do. Can't extract it, pulverize it, hell, even melt it down. Tried nearly every trick in the book when it comes to working with these mana-rich metals and it barely makes a difference."
Maya bumped me with her hip, smiling slyly.
"Well, in less than a fortnight we'll be business associates. Let me take a look."