Chord listened carefully to my report. He sat in thought, drumming his fingers on the small table that had become our conference site for the last week or so.

"I will nail down some sort of trade agreement with them tomorrow," he said, "even if it's for dirt. Something, so I can spread word that the Nublin are a valuable addition, a welcome aid. We have only a week before we are off to Corbell. I do not want to return and face some damn confrontation here. Any thoughts?" I mentioned my need to increase stocks of malachite ore to replenish our dwindling copper supplies. Chord smiled

"Yes, that's a good thought. We don't know what they may have with them for trade, but they certainly mine. I could propose trading some of their labor for ready-made supplies--give their colony a quicker start. Also, the sight of a few industrious souls working away here above the keep would help to assure the residents as to their intentions. We will be short-handed here anyway, while we fulfill our obligations in Corbell." Chord's smile increased. "Wayland can't tithe or draft the Nublin."

The forge was busy. A few bike frames stacked against one wall indicated that Seth was still finding time to make more. The cycles continued to sell, and the forge was recouping its iron markers rapidly - too rapidly. A couple of buckets-full of the markers sat behind the service counter. I was not the only person to notice this. Several of the townies' eyes strayed to the buckets as they completed their trades. I motioned to one of the boys and set him off with one of the pails to the tower to see Harold

Deciding to make a trip to the village, I filled my pouch from the other bucket. Some more oil was needed, and I thought to stop by the tailor's and outfit myself better for the trip to Corbell. The walk to town was a minor revelation. The earthen path was becoming scored with the tracks of metal bike wheels. Two examples passed me, rushing in the opposite direction, off towards the farms, goods strapped high into the cycle's overfilled baskets.

The village seemed a bit busier than I remembered it, and several colorful new stalls now crowded the central lane. There were more women on the street than before, although this could have been because of the time of day.

Two young men, both astride cycles, were drawn up by the lane's side in animated conversation. I noticed that red painted designs decorated the wheel hubs of one of the bikes, and that the other had its hubs rouged to a brilliant shine. The wooden frame of the first had also been re-carved to include some fanciful inlays. This startled me for some reason. Then I chuckled and continued up the store-lined street.

I stopped by Tenaman's shop to see after the extra oil. The vendor looked up as I entered, coming out from behind his wooden counter to greet me. The husky fellow beamed and shook my hand. "Well met, well met, good Smith! I'd been thinking to stop by the forge this week! William, yes?"

I took the man's hand and nodded. "Mr. Tenaman, as I remember. I meant to ask after the hinges I sent before. Were they all right?"

Tenaman ran one hand through his thinning hair. "Yes, the hinges. Worked fine, fine. How are your supplies holding up?"

"As a matter of fact, I stopped by to order more oil," I said. "I brought some markers with me. Will you accept them on the forge's behalf?"

"Of course, of course. No problem at all. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about them, as happens. Have you a moment?"

I shrugged. "Sure, what can I tell you about them?"

"Oh, it's no problem with the tokens. Not at all. I was hoping I might convince you to make more. Been a real boon to business hereabouts. Was thinking maybe you could make me a few with my oil-barrel mark on them. I'd make you a fair trade in oil and salt for the work. What do you think?"

"I think you should talk with Mage Chord first, Master Tenamen. It's his forge and in this case, I think that would be wise. As for quantity, the forge is already issuing more." I explained my new arrangement with the carpenter and briefly, the importance of keeping a stable token value.

He blanched when I explained the concept of a bank-run and mentioned Seth's problem with customer's recent attempts to re-evaluate their worth. "The forge's tokens are traded well within our means to cover their value in goods," I concluded, "therefore the issues remain small. I don't think the forge and carpenter's shop could cover the needs of the whole town, without problems erupting."

Tenamen blew out his cheeks and agreed. "More to this stuff than I had considered, William. Perhaps I should bring it up at the trade council meeting this week. Could be we might need to establish a consortium to back these tokens equitably an' safely before we all go making our own. You are quite right, I will consult with Chord first and get his thoughts on it. Thank you, William. How much oil did you need again?"

I completed the purchase, then left to seek the tailor's stall.

The shop was located off the main lane of the village, down a side path, and constituted the bottom half of his residence. Formerly, by the looks, an old storehouse, re-imagined with some eclectic home carpentry to serve as both shop and quarters.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The way was narrow, fronted on both sides by utilitarian structures. Brown, unpainted buildings mostly concerned with storage. There was also some crowded housing for itinerant workers, periodically needed to aid the nearby farms during harvest, and the bones of some inactive public office. Certain times of the year this area would be bustling, but not now.

A rat flicked through a spreading crack in the boarded front of one building as I passed. A slight wind stuttered along the narrow way. Above, clouds flew, interrupting the light, hiding, and then revealing the contents of deeper corners and crevasses. There was no foot traffic here, just a couple of roughly dressed townies, possibly carters, though I saw no goods being shuttled into any of the nearby buildings.

I shouldered past the pair on my way to the shop. One looked up briefly, and then lowered his gaze to my belt line. Glancing down, I realized that the heavy sack of coins I carried there had attracted his gaze. The two returned to their whispered conversations, however, so I gave them no further attention and made for the tailor's, where a small wooden plaque swung heavily over the entrance.

A stick-thin, older fellow bounced up from his chair as I entered. The man's name was Cresk. I remembered that much from my former, and unsuccessful, visit here. Smiling and ducking his head, he approached - a barrel-full of nervous energy that belied his years.

"Sir Drake! So happy to see you again! I am so sorry about your last visit. Mage Chord has sent word that your needs can be attended to. All is settled. What may I do for you?"

"Just what we were discussing before, Mr. Cresk. You can call me William. I will be traveling soon, and thought to get outfitted. Say, a half-dozen shirts, matching pants, and the rest. Two sets appropriate for travel, two of working clothes, a couple of belts, and the rest presentable for city wear. A good pair of boots if you can manage it. I'd need them within the week though, delivered to the keep. The boots to go with me now if you have some ready to hand that are not too stiff. I can trade for forge markers, if that's all right, so you won't need to bother Chord directly."

"Certainly, sir. Leave all to Cresk. City clothes, Master Drake? Court dress, perhaps?"

Cresk continued to chatter and ask questions as he looped me about with a knotted line, taking my measure. He questioned me about color and styles. Quickly feeling out my unconcern for most such matters, he smoothly segued into questions about comfort, and had me raising my arms and twisting around while his line flashed back and forth.

Finally he brought out a few partially completed things for me to settle on, made some suggestions, and produced three pairs of very nice boots in my size. I picked a particularly supple pair of brown deerskin, and, at his suggestion, one additional pair of black polished ones he insisted were more appropriate for court, which he would deliver with the rest when ready. I asked about T-shirts, having to explain myself, picking at the sad example I wore. Cresk mumbled and fingered the stretchy material.

"I have nothing of the like, sir, but perhaps something similar in linen, I could make, T'would be costly though." We settled on price for three linen tees, to be added to the order. I pulled on the soft boots, left my old ragged footwear with him, and took my leave.

The two men I had seen were still loitering up the pathway, as before. I picked up my pace, as it was getting late. They turned away from me as I came on, not talking now, but seeming to suddenly find the grain of the buildings wood walls to be of compelling interest. I found the pose a bit strained, and my eyes narrowed, right hand lifting to my belt, and the Roundel I still carried. As I brushed past, I turned my head slightly, in time to see a club and a nasty looking dagger come into view.

Stepping sideways and pulling back quickly, I dodged a head clubbing, only to confront a thrust at my chest from the knife wielder. I pulled the Roundel from my belt , and knocked the thrust away with it, happy the wielder was no longer in a position to plunge the knife into my back, as he had intended. The two were on me instantly, hands and weapons seemingly everywhere as I danced back from the attack, fending them off and looking for an opening.

A chill anger overtook me. I easily outweighed the both of them together, and their clumsy attempt to back me against one of the flat-walled buildings was futile. I jabbed at the knife wielder, and when he jumped away, quickly swung the roundel backhanded against the skull of the second attacker.

I had put the full force of my rage into the swing, and the club wielder's attempt to block it was wasted effort. The thick blade of the Roundel smashed against his head just above an ear with a grisly thump. Bleeding profusely from the cuts it made, he continued to move in the direction of my swing, fetching up against the building's wall; then sagged to the ground.

The backstabber had meanwhile attacked, and I felt his cold steel enter me, angling deep into my side, ending up against a floating rib. I twisted away, blood flowing thickly from the wound. Searing jolts of pain lanced up my chest. I jabbed again with the Roundel, this time at his arm, causing him to jerk it away from the sharp tip. As he did, I grabbed his blade hand, and buried my point in his belly, pushing him away.

The robber collapsed, his buttocks hitting the lane with a jolt. A startled look crossed his features, then his eyes squeezed shut, and he rolled to his side. I glanced at the Roundel. It was covered from tip to guard in red. Strangely, my first thought was that I could not shove it back in my belt in its present condition.

I knelt and scraped it in the packed earth of the passage. The white lancing pain again redirected my attention. I dropped the blade, now both bloody and muddied, and tore off my shirt, packing it against the welling wound in my side. I picked the Roundel up and staggered back to the tailor's shop.

The details are unimportant at this point. I will just note that the tailor's basic skills were put to good, if painful, use, and that I eventually left wearing a few more purchases than I had intended to make. The New Deerskin boots turned out to be amazingly difficult to clean of large bloodstains. The substitute shirt was a bad match for my well-worn Levis. Lastly, the proper authorities were fetched, and the alley received a welcome, if unscheduled, cleanup. I thanked the tailor and left, slowly but determinedly making my way back towards the forge. I am quite certain I blacked out no more than twice during that trip.