The blacksmith had a shop on the outskirts of town. It didn’t take long to walk there, and Meg filled me in with a constant stream of gossip and commentary on the shops and houses we walked past. She felt a little younger than eighteen just then, but I guess she was just a small town girl in a world that didn’t do much to help women mature in some ways. It was charming, like almost everything else about her. I just smiled and listened to her talk.

The shop had a nice solid curl of smoke coming up from a chimney set in the back of it, and I could hear the sound of metal ringing. But up front, there was a door like most of the other shops in town. A rail with a trough in front looked familiar enough from Westerns in my old world. Beside the shop was another shed-looking sort of building which was full of heaped charcoal (or regular coal, I couldn’t see it clearly enough under the heavy overhang to tell the difference.) There was what looked like a barn door to the side of the regular door. It was flung open and as we got closer I could see a large man banging on a piece of metalwork.

His anvil didn’t look like an Earth anvil. Well, the only Earth anvils I really knew about were from movies and Looney Tunes cartoons. But it was more like a big block of iron with multiple… extensions? Things that stuck out to the sides. The hammer and tongs he was using looked pretty ordinary, though.

When we were almost to the door, I realized that I could hear a note, even over the clanging of the hammer. I paused, with Meg taking another step and then looking up curiously when she noticed that I had stopped.

F… no, F#.

My new perfect pitch informed me that the note was F-sharp, or F# in standard notation. It seemed to be coming from the man who was whacking the bejeezus out of whatever it was he had on the anvil. How I heard it over that racket, I had no idea. I looked at Meg just in time to see her blink. She stepped to my side and spoke into my ear urgently.

“Master Chris… I feel it,” she said, just loud enough to overcome the ringing. “I feel him singing the gift of Metal. Is that because I’m a…” She swallowed. “A Song Mage now?” I lowered my own head to reply in her ear.

“Got me,” I said. “I heard it, right before you did, I think. But I have no idea if that’s because we’re Song Mages or for some other reason. Can Song Mages usually hear others singing?”

“I have no idea,” she replied. “They don’t teach us regular folk about everything Song Mages can do.”

“Guess we’ll learn by doing,” I said with a smile. I walked to the regular door of the shop, which was very heavy and had metal strips reinforcing it, and pulled. It opened smoothly enough. With Meg hot on my heels, I went in.

There was a middle-aged woman with long dark hair and big dark eyes, heavyset but not unattractive, behind a counter. Behind her on the wall were several weapons of different types, with some plain spears in a barrel to one side. On the other walls were hammers and shovels and more utilitarian things. She looked up as we came in, and gestured at me to shut the door.

When I did, the sound of hammering was greatly reduced. There was no door directly from the shop area to the place where the anvil and, presumably, the forge and things were. The walls were heavy brick, and the place felt like a little fortress.

Makes sense, I thought. Bricks don’t burn, and these weapons are probably pretty valuable, so this helps prevent both fire and theft. I smiled and raised my hand in greeting to the woman.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Chris Erikson. I’m a traveler and I’ve lost my baggage. I was hoping to buy a new weapon.”

I heard Meg gasp next to me.

“Hello, Mrs. Smith,” she said before the woman could answer. “Master Chris asked me to bring him here to find a new blade, I hope you can help him.” I turned to Meg and saw she had a look on her face that was half exasperation, half… I don’t know, warning? Obviously she was trying to tip the woman off that she shouldn’t be too familiar.

“Good afternoon, Chris. Hello, Meg,” she said, in a pleasant voice. “It’s nice to…” Then, it clicked. She looked at me and her big dark eyes became huge dark eyes. I sighed inside.

“Master Mage!” she nearly shouted, then visibly controlled herself. “I’m so terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to…” She was talking so fast her tongue was twisting, but I opened my mouth and she instantly stopped.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Smith. Obviously you’ve heard there’s a Song Mage in town.” I smiled and she looked like she was about to faint in terror. “I’m from a long way away. We don’t make such a fuss about Song Mages. It’s okay. I’m not the least bit offended.”

Mrs. Smith… Another copout, writers! … let out a long shuddering breath before replying, “That’s so kind of you, Master Mage. Thank you for coming to our humble shop. How can I help you?”

‘Humble shop?’ I thought to myself and almost snorted out loud. Even William didn’t kiss up that hard. Although I guess she’s a woman and it seems like they have to put up with a lot, magic or no magic. I knew it was pointless to try to get her to be less formal now that Meg had spilled the beans, so I just smiled again and nodded.

“I have a little knife here…” I said, pointing to my belt. This made me think of something. “Anyway, I was hoping to get something a little more… I mean, a little better for self-defense?” The questioning tone made her eyes get big again. “But first, could you look at this one and see if it needs any sharpening or anything?” I hadn’t actually used the belt knife for anything, and I didn’t really know that much about it other than that it looked well made and had been decently sharp so far as I could tell.

I pulled the knife out of the sheath and put it on the counter. The woman nervously picked it up and lowered her eyes to it, turning it this way and that, thumping it with her fingernail, and I don’t even know what all. After a moment, she looked up at me with an impressed expression.

“This is very plain but it’s a master’s work, and in perfect condition,” she said respectfully. “My husband has been a smith for thirty years and it’s as good or better than anything he could do. Where did you get it, if I might ask? There’s no maker’s mark.” She suddenly realized she was being all curious at a Song Mage and started to look panicked, but I smiled once more and answered her in a casual voice.

“Oh, I’ve had it a while,” I said vaguely. “It was a gift.” Technically true. A gift from… yeah. Can’t even say a gift from the Gods. Next step up. “Glad to hear it’s okay.”

“My husband could tell you better,” she said. “He has the gift of Metal, and a strong one too.” She looked a little proud, then remembered who I was… again… and looked penitent. “Begging your pardon, Master Mage.”

“I’m sure he’s a fine smith,” I said. Is she worried I’m going to be upset she bragged on her husband’s magic to a Song Mage? How does anybody get anything done if you have to kiss up like this all the time? I guess it’s a good thing Song Mages are so rare. “Anyway, thank you.” I took the knife back gently and put it back on my belt, then looked up at the weapons on the wall with interest.

“My husband can make nearly any kind of sword or dagger,” Mrs. Smith said tentatively. “Those are just what we have ready. He’d be honored to make one to your liking, Master Mage.”

“Thank you,” I said, “But I’m not an expert anyway. This is more of a backup thing. Just something good and sturdy will be fine, not too complicated to use.” No, I do not need a custom sword with jewels all over it.

A knife with a blade a little more than a foot long on the wall suddenly caught my eye. It had a triangular blade and a wooden handle with what looked like a silver pommel on the end. (Of course I know what the parts of knives are called, I’m a nerd.) It looked vaguely familiar.

Some kind of dagger… like, a Viking one? Some weird Middle English name. Sax? Scrax? I stared at it for a second, rooting around in my head for the word. Scramasax? Yeah, I think that’s it.

The scramasax was very simple - the blade was maybe an inch and a half, two inches wide at the base, tapering to a sharp point. There was no real hilt, though the handle flared enough that I thought you could probably keep a pretty good grip on it. It wasn’t as big as Baldy’s knife-ish sword, but it wasn’t much smaller. It seemed like something you could do some damage with but that wouldn’t weigh you down like a spear or a big steel sword.

“What’s that?” I said, pointing at it. “That looks like it might be good.”

“It’s a dagger, Master Mage,” said Mrs. Smith, with a tiny echo of the Tone in her voice. Apparently they didn’t go for fancy blade names around here. She got it down, along with a leather scabbard hanging on a peg next to it. Then she set it on the counter and stepped back. “Please examine it. It’s simple, but my husband’s work is always of the very best quality.”

I looked at Meg, and she nodded at me encouragingly. So I picked up the knife and held it in my hand, feeling the weight of it. It was surprisingly heavy. The handle fit my hand quite well and the wood had a little texture, enough to keep it from turning easily in my grip.

Tempting as it was to try to swing it around like an action hero, I was afraid I’d just look like an idiot. After I was sure it fit my hand and wasn’t too heavy, I very gingerly checked the edge and found that while it was sharp, it wasn’t like razor sharp. From my nerdy reading, I knew that you didn’t want a super sharp edge on a fighting knife, because it would get dull too fast and might even stick where a thicker edge would not.

“This seems like it would work pretty well,” I said. “Is there anything I should know about it?”

Mrs Smith looked nonplussed at this.

“It’s… a knife, Master Mage.” Then she realized she was supposed to be doing a sales pitch. “My husband has sung the metal, so it should almost never rust, and it will be nearly impossible to break.” A little pride slipped into her voice. “You can see how strong the handle is.” The pride got a little bigger. “I have the gift of Wood, and I make them myself. The handle is very dense and has a fine grip on it that will last a long time.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, giving her an impressed look. She blinked and then blushed. “It really does seem to be a good knife, and it’s not fancy, which is exactly what I want. I like to keep a low profile.” I sure have to explain that a lot around here. “How much?”

Her eyes widened at how quickly I expressed interest. Obviously she expected a hoity-toity Song Mage to require a lot more kissing up, maybe look at every single blade in the place before deigning to take an interest in anything and then demand it for… well, not a song, that would be too much. Cheap, anyway. This place needs some work, I thought to myself, and not for the first time.

“I… ah…” She was thinking fast, it appeared. “A… silver?” Her voice had a faintly apologetic tone, as if she was sorry she couldn’t give it to me for a copper and a ball of lint or something.

Over to you, Meg, I thought to myself, and gave my partner in Song Magery a meaningful look. She came over to me and looked the knife up and down.

“We couldn’t buy a kitchen knife that big and that nice for a silver, Mrs. Smith,” she said politely but firmly. “Master Chris is an honest man and he expects to pay for good work.”

This got the biggest rise out of Mrs. Smith since she’d called me by my first name. She looked horrified. Head shaking wildly, she answered in a voice with more than a little fear in it.

“Of course he is! I meant no offense, Master Mage! Thank you for your generosity, I…” She immediately clammed up again when I raised my hand and started to speak.

“I took no offense, Mrs. Smith,” I said calmly. “I don’t know what the Song Mages around here are like, but where I’m from everybody is expected to treat others fairly. This is a very nice knife and very well-made. Tell me a fair price for it or I won’t take it at all.”

The poor woman looked like she was about to faint. I was almost starting to think maybe I should be a little more of an asshole if only to reduce the chances I started giving people heart attacks. I didn’t push, I just tried to look patient and encouraging. Several deep breaths later, she was able to answer me.

“Two silvers fifty,” she said with a slightly shaky voice. “I’d be honored to sell it to you for that, Master Mage, thank you for your kindness.”

I looked at Meg again and she gave me a sort of shrug-nod, as if to say, ‘What do I know about daggers, but it’s at least not ridiculous?’ Once again, the more I learned about this world the more confusing I found the whole money thing. That’s not even as much as the bag, but it has refined metal and two different magic users worked on it!

“Okay,” I said, “It’s a deal.” I still had three silver in my pocket, and she handed me fifty copper out of a very sturdy metal box that was attached to the counter with iron straps. Then she came around and started to help me put the scabbard on my belt… but once again remembered that I was a Song Mage and froze up, apparently afraid of touching me.

“I’d be grateful if you’d show me the best way to put this on my belt, ma’am,” I said. Then I winced as her jaw dropped. I forgot about the ‘ma’am’ thing, I thought too late. Whatever was up with that, I needed to stop doing it until I figured it out.

“I… yes, Master Mage,” she stammered. The scabbard had a loop and a tie that worked together to hold the dagger at an angle, making it easier to draw. It wasn’t complicated, but there was some fumbling, mostly because Mrs. Smith was doing it with her fingertips so she could stay as far away from me as physically possible.

“Thank you, m… Mrs. Smith,” I said. The dagger looked quite dashing on my belt, I thought. I gave her a friendly smile.

After retreating behind the counter like someone was chasing her, she smiled back tentatively and said, “You’re welcome, Master Mage. I hope it serves you well. I’m honored you chose to buy it from us.”

“I’m sure it will.” Then I paused. I have no idea how to use a dagger for anything. Or how to take care of it. Or anything. “Do I need a whetstone or anything?”

“It will stay sharp for a long, long time, Master Mage,” she said. “And you’d wear a whetstone down to nothing trying to sharpen it without the gift of Metal.” It was her turn to pause. “I mean, if you have the gift…” Mrs. Smith seemed torn between being nosy and not wanting to assume what my gifts were.

“Good to know. I’ll figure it out. How about how to use it? Any tips?” She’s a pretty healthy woman and she’s around weapons all day long, right? Maybe she’d know…

“I… no, Master Mage. I wouldn’t dare.” Her utter and obvious confusion at this question overcame her nervousness.

“The smith give lessons or anything?” I mean, he makes the things, he must know how to use them…

“No, Master Mage,” she said, trying and mostly succeeding to sound less incredulous. “My husband’s just a smith, not a warrior.”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry, dumb question.” Stupid realistic fantasy world, I thought to myself, though I managed not to roll my eyes.

“No no no,” she said hastily. “I’m so sorry we can’t help you, Master Mage, I just…” She didn’t really seem to know where to go with that.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Keeper was in the army. I can ask him for some pointers.”

“Keeper’s a fine man,” she said, looking relieved. “Please tell him and your aunt I said hello, Meg.”

“I will, Mrs. Smith,” said Meg with an amused smile.

Watching the poor woman walk around like she was afraid I’d Song Mage her at any second for saying the wrong thing was kind of bringing me down, so I thanked her again and we left. She looked even more relieved to see the back of us. I’d have been insulted if I hadn’t known exactly why she was so frightened.

“Okay, Meg,” I said. “I think that’s plenty of shopping for one day.”

She laughed and said, “I’ve never seen anyone spend so much money at one time, ever, Master Chris. Even when the Duke comes and buys a round for the house, it’s nothing like so much money.”

“Hey, I needed stuff,” I said defensively. “I’m not just out here blowing cash.”

Meg blinked, and for a second she looked like she was going to apologize. Then it was my turn to feel relieved, because she just laughed again. Mrs. Smith might still be afraid of me, but Meg was learning not to be, and I felt so glad to see it.

Laughing together, we headed back to the Merchant’s Rest.