The smithy was behind the Highland Cask, because of course it was. A small gardened courtyard opened up out back with the furnace and bellows roofed but open to the air. Workbenches were arrayed about, some sheltered while others were open to the elements.

Bron proudly displayed his bare and hairy chest only protected in a leather apron. Sweat and soot bedaubed him as he pounded away at the anvil with a red hot piece of steel. Engrossed in his work, they left him be.

He and Kay moved through the smithy, finding Bren working on a bench in the shop area. Before her, was the unmistakable profile of a crossbow in an advanced state of disassembly.

Jon noted the long wooden tube, sticking out the front of the bow. Except this one ended with a foot stirrup, for cranking, he supposed.

“An Air Crossbow!” Kay was the first to comment. Jon rolled his eyes; he really should ask if Kay slept with her bows. Afterwards, he’d dive into that uncomfortable discussion about the Alpha birds and bees before Ril jumped her.

Bren stopped her work and looked back from the store area.

“Why, that it is Madam Luren! You two realise the store entrance is from over there don’ cha?” Bren pointed to an entrance opening to a side street running next to the cask.

“My bad, I asked Bretha, and she just pointed through the tavern.”

“Very well, wot might I do for the ‘Master’ and his mistress then.”

“Even you? Wasn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Oh, silver can be a hefty motivator. And I seem to recall a lot was flowing that night. ‘Twas the eve of Nendinae as well.”

“‘Nen’ what?”

“The eighth day of the week is that of leisure,” tutored Kay. “The Nendinae as called by the elves of the southern sea. I understand with the luxury of your people’s seven-day week and two days of rest; this must be unfamiliar to you.”

Bren raised her brows. “Your people only work five of every seven! How do they manage gettin anything don?”

“Short answer: magic; long answer: the Industrial Revolution and labour unions.”

“‘Short’ it is then.”

“Smart girl,” said Jon.

“So, what might I assist you with? Or should I get Pa fer ya?”

“Nope, believe it or not, we came for your expert opinion Bren.” The butch girl rocked back in minor surprise.

“Wha exactly would you need to know of me?”

“I hear you’re a bad-ass Air mage, and you can help us with the origin of this arrow.”

Kay passed her the item in question.

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a bad mage. That’s a touch harsh, wouldn’t you say?”

Kay assisted, “‘bad-ass’ means quite good in Jon’s arcane lexicon. Please forgive his turn of phrase. He’s an idiot.” She sent dismissive side-nod his way and swished her ears.

“What she said.” It was best to let Kay handle the arrow stuff; Jon sauntered away to browse the store.

It was well stocked with weapons, armour, and tools on tables or mounted on walls and racks. That was because it was a fucking smith’s shop. What did he expect? Persian rugs?

It was a bit musty inside, and with no illumination save for the afternoon sun attempting to angle its way in through the trees, the ambient light was not great. Scratch that, it was shit.

Bren had an oil lamp she appeared to use sparingly while she worked at the counter and attended the store. At least he knew of one way to pay back the Smiths for bringing his shit into their lives: illumination.

He would tinker with a solution when he had a chance. Currently, he was looking for something else for a certain dazzling someone.

A dusty and drab looking helm was perched on a pole in a corner. It was styled similar to the old Corinthian helms made famous in Spartan films. Most Elgelican guards were wearing the same basic design. Lacking the bristles, it was simply rounded on top.

The eye slits were large ovular and angled like a comical alien caricature. The nose piece diverged from most designs, being instead fused with the rest of the helm. Practical mouth and ear slits extended downward. But, most importantly, it was gashed, dented, and rusted all to kak.

Only the fact that is was made with iron a little too thick to be practical had warded it through years, perhaps decades, of abuse. In short, it was a fuming dung heap of crap. Perfect!

He had been ignoring Bren and Kay’s conversation up to this point, and he continued to do so.

“Yo, Bren how much for that helm?”

Bren paused for a second “I’m sorry, me daft ears heard you ask for that piece of scrap on a pole. What might you be wishing to buy?”

“Jon, do you mind? I’m asking about the arrow, remember?”

Acting affectedly flabbergasted he replied “Oh, helloo? Paying customer here!” And then deadpan to Bren, “Yeah, I want the helm.”

“You want the helm? Forgive me for saying, but I doubt I could pay anyone to take it, much less buy it. Are you gods honest sure?”

“Absolutely, every second, I only want it more. Look at that green staining! I don’t even know what that could be from, and I’m somewhat of an expert on metals.”

“Jon, this is no time for your farcical foolery. Just buy a normal gods’ damned helm.”

“Nah, I’m dead serious. That one was destined for the task I’ve set before it.”

The shop was quiet. Bron’s pounding could be heard methodically in the back.

“Four Silver.”

“Are you out of your gods’ damned mind Mr Kel! That’s the price of a freshly forged and fitted helm! The interior of that shite is but bare metal.”

“Love the way you swear. Daddy’s girl, I see. No fittings are even better, saves me the trouble of ripping them out. Five Silver.”

“Dear lords, you must be touched in the head! Let me get Pa to handle this insanity.”

“Ten Silver if you seal the deal yourself.” That gob-smacked the girl; she just stared open-mouthed.

Slamming ten silver on the counter, he took the helm without further discussion. Even Kay seemed shocked. Clearly, he had been going easy on her of late. The seconds drifted into a minute of mute stares.

Lee saved him, “Ril’s up.”

God fucking damn it! Full dive shock, and she barely gave them ten hours.

“Kay, I’ll go ahead and deal with this. You finish up getting the low-down and get back to the Bunker ASAP.”

He heard her exasperated sigh behind him as he left. “Ignore him, Bren. ‘Tis not worth your sanity…”

Returning to their tavern room he was back in the bunker in no time.