Gaston took responsibility for my absence after our visit to the Milagros' and didn't tell anyone about the theft.
Shortly after, we received a letter. In it Father regaled us with his story of unimaginable storms that had capsized ships out at sea and ice winds that had shredded all manner of canvas. He would be returning in a week and lucky to becoming back with a profit at all.
Régine was faring well at Herr Leopold's shop, and Belle was smiling again. Cosette was gone a lot more now and I missed my only real friend.
I hated to sulk when everyone was happy, but I was left to mope about the small corridors of the Picoux's house most days.
Until Gaston came to visit.
"Where are we going?" I asked. A thick snow had fallen and it blanketed Dusek.
"I'm gonna teach you something." He chuckled. "You said you hadn't got a thing to do."
I hesitated in replying.
My first birthday since we had left Artois passed yesterday. I didn't make a fuss when everyone had forgotten. I didn't want to guilt my family into remembering me, but I did cry a bit when the day had ended and no one had said the slightest word.
The most I could hope for now was that when Papa came back, he might have something for me. But I wouldn't whine if the chaos in Libor had distracted him.
"Isn't it too cold? We won't be able to use the stove."
Gaston barked a laugh over his shoulder. "I could light a fire to melt a steel pickaxe in a snowstorm. I'm sure I could manage a small fire under a stove with less than a foot of this powder on the ground."
His bold chortle penetrated Dusek’s frost-burdened arteries. The laughs were almost demonic as they echoed back from the darkened crevasses of nearby alleyways.
"But we won't be cooking today."
I didn't question what he intended for me. With Gaston, I found it was better to let him have his secrets. At the very least, I could smell ash and a trail of it was escaping his chimney.
When we got inside, I took a second to look around. Weapons of all kinds adorned the walls and floors the way lace adorned all of Yvain’s suits. Fiery yellow streaks gleamed dangerously along the cold metal.
"Ah, even better." Gaston smiled as he pivoted at the centre. "The fire is still warm."
"Where... did you get all of these?" My gaze drifted to a mace fastened to the wall above the fireplace.
"I made most of them."
"Most?"
"Some of them belonged to friends of mine."
My gaze clung to the mace, although I didn’t ask about its significance. "What are we using the fire for?"
Gaston's ears perked up and he swung around, a large steel sword clutched in his hands.
"I'm going to teach you something." Gaston lowered the sword which was as long as my leg. "There isn't a better sword maker in all of Lammert. I think it would be a shame not to impart some of my wisdom."
"I can't make a sword!" I screeched. "I can't even cook eggs. How am I supposed to cook a sword?"
Gaston let out a deep, throaty chuckle. "First off you ought to be calling it forging. You can't 'cook' a sword." He pondered to himself before letting out a whooping laugh. "No more than you can smelt an egg."
Gaston placed the blade point down into the stone floor and kneeled beside it. "This here is Berenger."
Reluctantly, I knelt too. I had no other choice unless I wanted to hike all the way back to the Picoux's house in the wet snow again.
Berenger was a fierce looking instrument, deadly sharp and slightly curved.
"Am I going to learn how to make this one first?" I asked, gesturing to the weapon in Gaston's hands.
"Swords are the last step."
"And the first?"
By the way Gaston smirked at me I could see it wasn't going to be something I enjoyed.
"First, something small." He grabbed a large lump of clay from the work table and held it out to me, but I didn't want to take it.
"I-I'm not sure that this is what I want to learn to do... to be a blacksmith..."
The clay hovered between our bodies, the smile on Gaston’s face disappearing until he retracted his hand. His tough knuckles bent into the work bench and he smiled. "You’re a bit nervous, but you can leave if you want to. It's up to you."
Gaston’s immediate acceptance of my misgivings towards his craft was a surprise. My reluctance to tell him had been born of fear that it would disappoint the old man. Then again, he had no reason to think enough of me to be disappointed.
"Can I watch you?" I asked, nodding to the clay he still carried.
Gaston tossed the lump onto the work bench he had marched behind and chuckled.
"Of course, but the clay is more of a teaching instrument." He waved me over and pushed back a chair by the fire. "Sit here an' I'll start on melting the silver."
"Silver?" I hadn't seen anything made out of a precious metal since we left Beaulieu.
"Don't have much. Maybe enough to make a bracelet." Gaston removed a small bead from his trouser pocket and placed it on top of the workbench. It was no bigger than my fingernail.
“That sounds pretty,” I said and attempted to smother my envy.
Gaston stoked the fire and took the time to tell me what he was doing. I watched him slowly tease and hammer out the ribbon of silver and then heat it in the fires to prevent cracking.
A sweat began to bead on my upper lip and I quickly stripped to just a gown.
"Does a blacksmith often make jewellery?"
Gaston's hands remained careful as a deep laugh rolled off his chest.
"No, but I had a good teacher. The best blacksmiths in the land came from Mancha and my father was one by trade. He sent me there to learn from a good friend of his." Gaston evaded the ravenous flames and doused the silver in a bucket of water.
White tails of steam rippled from the hissing waters as he relaxed onto the workbench and placed the tongs down on the table.
"I'll be the first to admit I wasn't fond of it. My master had me work out the clay just like that," Gaston said as he gestured to the lump, a wily smile ruffling his white beard.
"Did he teach you how to make swords?" I asked.
The silver had formed into a thin, inch-wide band. Next, he pulled out a few tools and began to chisel into the surface of the silver.
"He was the best of his time. Kings sent their messengers from around the world to have him forge for them."
A glimpse of Gaston's life flashed in his blue eyes. His passion was overwhelming and it left me spellbound.
"Can I try?"
The chisel skidded to a halt as it shaved away at the bracelet.
Gaston’s chin tilted back. "This is for an important occasion, but I can show you how to do something similar with the dried clay."
I nodded enthusiastically and the biggest grin I had ever seen broke upon his
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