It turned out that to reforge something into a talisman, you needed a forge. And not any forge - The Most Ancient Forge.

“Hello Mike,” Mortimer called as the party entered the weird building made almost entirely of dark metal. Each of their steps would probably echo for miles, if not for the already present overwhelming noise. Mary felt her sweating record was going to be broken again really soon - this place felt way, way hotter than the desert outside.

There were a few (metal) chairs, and something that looked like a counter, with cash register and all - except it was completely made of metal and was placed unusually close to the ground. All the inner walls consisted of hundreds of moving parts, mostly gears and chains. Other devices, resembling keypads and levers, probably controlled the other contraptions. And every single one of them was in constant motion.

“Mortimer!” A really short man crawled out of a hole in the machinery. He was maybe half as tall as Mary, and the heroine's height was no basketball player's dream. The man had short but muscled legs and arms, a disproportionally large head - and even more disproportionally large beard. He wore a t-shirt that was probably white a few years ago, and a pair of oil-stained jeans, which he used to wipe the grease off his hands before extending one to Mortimer. It was mostly symbolic since neither jeans nor hands benefited from the brief contact, but it was the gesture that counted. Or that's what Mary thought, anyway, since Mortimer took the hand without hesitation. “How are you doing, mate?”

“Could have been worse, given the circumstances. I'm sure you've heard of the battle.”

“Ah, yes, yes, that was terrible. Terrible! Poor Nico...” The man shook his head, and finally noticed Paolo and Mary, who stayed to the back. “Paolo! Is it the time for your sword's routine checkup? I'd have sworn it was going to be the next week. Damned fey, I swear every time I show up at their party, I end up missing a week or two, and then I have to spend at least one more to figure out which ones they've taken...”

“Don't worry, Mike, it is due another week,” Paolo said, unusually tense and making no attempt to come closer to their host. “We've got other problems.”

“Does it have something to do with the princess that came with you?” The smith winked at Mary. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, milady? Those miscreants rarely bring beauties of your caliber to my humble settlement.”

“I'm Mary,” said the girl whose cheeks grew noticeably warmer. “But I am no lady.”

“Ah, Mary. Of course, I should have known. But I could swear that in all my years, I have not seen another who could have rivalled your presence, and ...”

“Mike!” Mortimer barked. “Enough.”

“Come on, Morty, you know what I-”

“Exactly. That's why I'm warning you not to. And don't call me Morty.”

“Eh. You're no fun,” Mike shook his head and went behind a steel counter next to the entrance, and Mary could see an obvious hint of a smile while he did so. “So, what can I do for you today?”

“Um... I need a talisman, I think? I was told that these can... help with it, somehow?” She rattled the armour she materialised out of a goblin pockets earlier.

“Oh, that is excellent! Let me show you around our Brutus Saint's Academy's Most Ancient Dwarven Forge!” The man jumped from excitement and waved for them to follow.

Mary was a bit worried by Paolo's expression, but both he and Mortimer were already walking, so she didn't have much choice but to follow.

“You're so lucky you've come today. It is the first anniversary of this forge - you'll get a hefty discount for the services.” Their guide talked with such power, that Mary could clearly hear him above all the noise the machinery was making.

“And by that, you mean the two percent off you offer so often that it is already included in the listed price?” Mortimer asked dryly.

“Well, yes, of course. But this time, there's quite an occasion for that - it's been exactly thirty days ago since we've set these furnaces on fire for the very first time.” He mimicked wiping a tear from his eye. “I'm sorry, I'm so sentimental...”

“Wait,” Mary asked. “Haven't you just said that it was the most ancient forge?”

“Well, yes, yes, of course! The last forge went up in flames when some idiot tried to experiment with fire spells to forge a blade in his own magic. It turned out that he didn't even know the spells he'd have to use, and tried doing everything on the fly. Can you believe that guy? Anyway, since someone replaced our competitor's forge cooling water with one from the crystal streams of the Rock's Peaks last week, we hold the sole claim to being the Most Ancient Dwarven Forge in the entire Brutus Saint's Academy!”

“So wait... the absolute age of the forge doesn't matter, as long as there are no older ones around still working?”

“Why, of course! How crazy it would be for adventurers to lose access to proper smithing services just because a forge burned down. That'd be nuts!”

Mary decided to drop the topic. A moment later, they arrived at... something. And that something was about Mary's height, and four her widths. But for all she tried, the heroine couldn't grasp what it was. The machine, if you could call it that, seemed to consist of one big hole on top, one significantly smaller on the bottom, and everything else spinning around the middle. And said everything was quite diverse - although some parts looked like gears, there were also hammers, screwdrivers, saws, forks, knives... Oddly, there wasn't a single spoon in the mixture.

“So, a talisman you've said, haven't you?” the little man said. “I don't suppose I could talk you into an idol? You've clearly got enough raw material for a decent idol job.” He gestured towards the armour pieces that were growing heavier with every moment in Mary's arms.

“I'm sorry, but could you explain the difference?” Mary asked.

“Well, of course, milady. For you - everything.” Some of Mortimer's shining eyes rolled, sending tiny shadows dancing on the walls. “Talismans need a chart, like those in Math's textbook. You know Math, of course? Great, finally an informed customer! You'd be surprised what a barbaric lot we have to serve most of the time... But anyway, other than that, a talisman could take many forms - from a ring, through a lucky sock, up to an earring made from a metal spike. Amulets, on the other hand, are strictly restricted to necklaces, and they need a detailed map carved or painted on the inside to function. Idols, well... Any tiny sculpture would work, I guess, as long as there is a complicated enough story written on the surface.”

“So, as you see, you want a talisman,” Paolo said. There was also an unspoken 'and to get out of here' hiding in the tone of that sentence.

“They all work the same way, but talismans are the most flexible in terms of the form, amulets are annoying to remember about after gathering too much stuff around your neck, and idols are... idols,” Mortimer shrugged.

It looked too simple, but... “I'll take a talisman, then. A ring, maybe?”

“It pains my heart, but the client is always right. Especially one of such beauty,” the man winked at her. He then started working magic with the controls using gestures roughly resembling a drunken passage on the piano. After a while, he picked out a couple of worn textbooks. “Pick something nice for yourself.”

'Math 101', 'Economy and statistics for the almost gifted', 'The art of presentation'...

Yeah, maybe she should have gone for the amulet. After sifting through the books for five minutes, Mary decided to go with a simple chart of multiple overlapping sine functions, which looked almost like a nest of snakes.

“Ah, an excellent choice, milady.” The smith performed a short sonata on the controls. “Now, just feed the armour to the machine.”

“Sorry, come again?”

“You know, throw it in? To the top hole.”

Less than an hour later, the three heroes left The Most Ancient Dwarven Forge of the Brutus Saint's Academy lighter by a set of plate armour and vaguely familiar colourful coin, but heavier by the tiny ring gently shining on the heroine's finger. Mary would probably enjoy having a new piece of jewellery a lot more if three-quarters of her brain weren't completely busy trying to forget the sound made by the weird machine after it was fed the armour. But however she tried, she would forever remember what could have only been burping, and even hours of intense thought late into the night would not cover all of its possible consequences.