“Excuse me, can you help me?” Beth asked a man as he walked past. He was dirty, with a face covered in soot and the clothes to match.

“Out of my way, trash,” the man said, looking at her and Peter with disgust. Beth scowled as she made eye contact, already knowing what she would see.

Name: Unknown

Species: Unconfirmed (Human suspected)

Renown: Level 17 Stoker (specialty classes unknown)

Base Stat Average: 20.5

“Ugh!” Beth said. “It’s so frustrating! I don’t even know what a ‘stoker’ is!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a person who stokes a fire,” Peter said. “Shovelling coal, that kind of thing.”

Beth spun on him. “Are you kidding me? He’s a coal shoveller? Then why is he acting like he’s on his way to a Yale alumni luncheon and I’m a protester shoving a sign in his face?”

Peter gave a resigned shrug. “It’s just like when we were coming into town, remember? Renown is everything. Granted, I wouldn’t have thought it mattered when asking for directions, but here we are.”

“He’s only four levels above me,” Beth grumbled halfheartedly. She knew her annoyance wasn’t based on a single bad interaction. It was the product of more than an hour spent asking for help and repeatedly being rebuffed despite having found the Temple District’s blacksmithing region with relative ease. Now she was tired, grumpy, and quite frankly, sick of their current approach.

“You know what?” she said to her husband. “Forget it. If nobody will help us, I’m trying something else.”

Before Peter could stop her, Beth climbed onto the edge of a large fountain. Turning to face the people passing by, she hollered, “I’M LOOKING FOR DARIUS THE BLACKSMITH! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE DARIUS THE BLACKSMITH IS?”

“Jesus, Beth!” Peter said, covering his face with his palm. “Don’t ever say that Angela gets it from me.”

Beth snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Covering the eyes, good idea. That way they can’t check our Renown.”

Holding her hand over her own eyes, Beth resumed her shouting. “I SAID DARIUS THE BLACKSMITH! DOES ANYONE KNOW HIM? HE ISN’T TALL BUT HE IS VERY WIDE AND MUSCLEY. HE IS—”

Beth was distracted when a young boy covered in black soot began yanking on her pant leg.

“Hello!” the boy said brightly.

Beth hopped down off the fountain. “Do you know where we can find a blacksmith named Darius?”

“’Course I do!” the boy said with a laugh. “He’s my da, remember? I met you folks yesterday. Is Mr. Mark with you?”

The words took Beth aback. The boy was at least shaped like Darius’ son, but he was so dirty that he practically looked like a silhouette.

“Gavin?” she asked. When the boy nodded, she gave him a big smile. “Sorry! I didn’t recognize you. No, Mark isn’t with us. He’s going to the Mage’s College with his sister.”

“Oh wow, I’d love to see that!” Gavin said brightly.

Beth’s “mom sense” went off.

“By that, do you mean it’s an impressive building you would have liked to show them?” she asked.

Gavin shook his head vigorously. “Nah. It ain’t much ta look at, really. But seeing ’em try ta toss out Mr. Mark? That’d be levels! Do you think he’ll blow the place up or somethin’?”

Peter shot a look at Beth, then back at Gavin. “Do we think Mark would blow up the building? How on earth could Mark blow up a building?”

The boy cocked his head. “With ’is magic powers, silly. Just like he did to the nimh!”

“Magic powers?” Beth asked.

“A nimh?” Peter added.

None of this conversation made any sense.

Before they could ask any more questions, a great bellow cut across the plaza. “LAD! WHAT ARE YA DOIN’ YAMMERIN’ TO THESE—”

The moment Darius spotted Beth and Peter, his face split into a huge grin. “Well, if it ain’t the Sullivans! I thought I might be seein’ yeh soon. Where’s the lad?”

“He’s blowin’ up the mage’s college, da!” Gavin said.

Darius looked down at Gavin, then up at them. “Why would ’e do that?”

Beth couldn’t help but notice how Darius had asked “why” rather than “how” Mark might blow up a building. Which was disconcerting.

“Mark isn’t blowing anything up; he’s just doing some sightseeing with his sister,” she said warily. “How did Gavin get the impression that our son can do magic?”

“Because o’ what ’e did ta the nimh!” the boy said. “It was wicked! He was all like, glowy, and then the mrpph—”

Gavin’s words were cut off by Darius’ meaty hand covering his mouth.

“Not a word about that, lad.” he said, his voice a low growl. “If Mark wants to share, then ’e shares. But it’s not up to the likes o’ you to be decidin’ what he tells folks. We’ve made that clear to ya already, and you know why, so you mind your mouth, you understand?”

Darius removed his hand, and Gavin nodded sheepishly. “Sorry, da.”

“Could we back up for a moment?” Peter said with no small concern in his voice. “If Mark’s in trouble, we should know what’s going on so we can help him.”

For some reason, the comment made Darius chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Peter asked.

Darius shook his head, “I’m laughing ’cause yeh think yeh could help that lad if he got into trouble. Trust me, your boy can handle ’imself.”

“That hasn’t been the case in the past,” Peter said pointedly.

Darius looked at him sideways. “Aye. Then we’ll agree to disagree. I suggest yeh leave him be, though. If he wants ta share with yeh, he will. A grown man is entitled to his secrets, even from his parents.”

Peter frowned. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Mark, and it’s clear that he helped you out somehow, but he’s still got some maturing to do before I’d consider him ‘a grown man,’ as you say.”

“He’s either a grown man or a dead one,” Darius said bluntly. Peter made to respond, but Darius forestalled him with a raised hand. “I don’t mean ta step into yer family’s business—that ain’t my place—but you need to understand: This city ain’t like where you came from. At Mark’s age, he needs to be a grown man if he wants ta survive, an’ from what I seen, he can handle himself. Unfortunately, that puts you in a bit of a bind, ’cause you think he’s a boy, and he thinks he’s a man. But there ain’t a man alive who went and saw himself as a boy after seein’ himself as a man, so you’d best decide when to start agreeing with him, ’cause he’s never gonna start agreeing with you.”

Before either Beth or Peter could respond, the broad, jovial smile returned to Darius’s face.

“Now follow me to my humble little forge!” he said in his usual, booming volume. “Rosie won’t be back for a while, but she’d murder me if I showed you a stitch less hospitality than if she were home.”

Without waiting for a response, Darius trudged off the way he’d come, exchanging pleasantries with the surprising number of people who waved hello to the gregarious, if direct, man.

Beth looked at Peter to see how he’d taken Darius’ words. She expected anger, but to her surprise, he seemed somewhat contemplative.

It was a positive sign. Beth had hoped that their unusual situation would help her husband and son get past their differences, and if it didn’t, well… maybe knocking their heads together would get her a new Skill.

Peter noticed her looking at him and sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Might as well follow him.”

They jogged after the broad blacksmith, following him down a short side street to a new area where the air rang so loudly with the sound of hammer on metal that it made Beth cringe. From a city planning perspective, it probably seemed like a good idea to have all the smiths operating in a single location, but from a practical standpoint, the sound of a hundred different smithies occupying the same city block left her wondering how any of these people had any hearing remaining.

Darius led them towards a corner lot that was organized a bit differently than the surrounding smithies. While those tended to have a larger workspace with a small attached house, Darius’ smithy was barely larger than the house, despite being on a larger lot, with about a quarter of the land remaining empty.

“HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO HEAR US?” Beth shouted to Gavin.

The boy turned to her and cupped his ear. “WHAT?”

“I SAID, HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO…” her voice trailed off when they stepped onto Darius’ land and she found herself yelling in relative silence.

“What just happened?” she asked, looking back to the street. The typical city sounds still surrounded them, but the clanging of metal being hammered had vanished.

Darius grinned. “Blacksmiths have a Skill to cut down the noise, but that ain’t much help for the family. The wife’s got a touch o’ the fae in her, though, an’ this is a little bit o’ the magic she was able to put together. It annoys the magefolk something fierce, but with me bein’ the only blacksmith in Palmyre that can forge rainmetal, they put up with it.”

“Rainmetal?” Beth asked.

“Aye. They mine it down south—I was actually on a run to restock my supply when I bumped into yer son. Holds magic incredibly well but hard ta work with. I got drunk in a bar with a jackal-headed fellow in my younger years and woke up with a hangover and a demon of a quest. Took me the better part of ten years, but I eventually learned how tah forge the stuff.”

“You haven’t taught anyone else?” Peter asked.

“Sure, I’m teachin’ me boy!” he said with a big grin.

Gavin’s jaw dropped and his face flushed in a grin that was the spitting image of his father. “You’re goin’ to teach me to work rainmetal?”

“O’ course, yeh daft lad!” Darius said. “Just as soon as yeh get to Master with yer Blacksmithing Skill.”

Gavin looked crushed. “But da! That’ll take years!”

“’Course it will!” Darius said. “Yeh’ll probably have yer own kids by the time I start teachin’ yeh. I try before then and all you’ll be doin’ is workin’ yer arm—the metal won’t budge for less than a Master.”

Gavin responded by plopping down on a stool and crossing his arms, deliberately not looking at his father, eliciting a chuckle from Darius.

“Where is Rosie, anyway?” Beth asked, looking around the place. “With Eliza out of town, I don’t know any women in this city. I was hoping I might chat with her for a bit.”

“Aye, yeh’ll have to wait for that. She’s visitin’ some family, as it were, so yer stuck with me. Anythin’ I can do for you folks?”

“We do have a couple of questions,” she said, looking at Peter.

“More than a couple,” he agreed.

“That’s true,” Beth agreed. “Our most immediate concern is a simple one, though. Our house doesn’t have any furniture.”

“Ah, I can see how that’d be a problem,” Darius said. Then he gave her a wink. “And what do yah think of the location?”

She frowned. “It was a surprise, to say the least.”

Darius’ laugh boomed through the shop. “I’ll bet it was! Livin’ on the Circle o’ Chance will keep life interestin’, that’s for sure. As for furniture, well, sorry to say that’s goin’ to cost you. No way to avoid it.”

Beth nodded. It was hardly a surprising answer, so she took off her pack and pulled out her grandfather’s ancient silverware.

“We do have this to sell,” she said, handing it over. “What do you think? I don’t know how much silver is worth.”

Darius inspected the cutlery with a keen eye, taking in the minute details. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he headed into the forge and returned with a magnet. He tapped it on one of the knives a few times before nodding to himself.

“Aye…” he said without taking his eyes off the heirloom. “Precious metals ain’t my specialty, but best I can tell, this is as close to pure as yeh’ll get with cutlery.”

“That’s great news!” Beth said. She hadn’t mentioned it, but she was worried one of her ancestors might have overstated the purity. “Can you sell the silver?”

Darius finally looked up at them. “Aye, I could, but yeh’d be fools to sell this for the silver. Most of the value in these pieces is in the craftsmanship. It’s some brilliant work yeh have here. It ain’t a full set, but one o’ the Families would happily take it off your hands. Probably save it as a display piece an’ get a silversmith to make a matching set to eat with. There’s nothin’ the Families love more than showin’ off somethin’ nobody else has.”

He gestured with the fork he was holding. “You want me to handle the sale? I won’t be able to get you the kinda deal a specialist would, but you show up with this an’ they’ll have a lot of questions for yeh about where it came from.”

“I would love that,” Beth said, with Peter nodding in agreement. “Will it be enough to buy our furniture?”

“Aye, and then some. Yeh ain’t the ‘employee’ of a Family, though, so yeh’ll pay a tax. That’ll eat up a good chunk o’ the proceeds, unfortunately.”

Beth couldn’t help but notice how Darius pronounced ‘employee,’ but Peter seemed oblivious.

“What if I did work for one of the Families?” he asked, leaning forward.

Darius raised an eyebrow. “If you did,” he said with a dry laugh, “then I’d say yeh made a huge mistake.”