Chapter 6
Cutter had just come into town to get some iron from the smith. He’d take it back to the farm and forge it himself into high quality blade steel, make himself a bunch of new blades, and sell them during the festival this coming fall. He did it every year. People loved his knives. Apparently they were becoming somewhat famous, and he was making enough money off the blades that he didn’t really need to farm enough to sell. Which he liked, because he HATED farming. He’d brought the boy with him for the first time. Figured he’d introduce the kid to the smith so he can see where the iron for the steel comes from and get a feel for the business a little. The kid didn’t seem to care much about forging blades though, he just liked to fight. Cutter sighed, not that he himself was any different at that age, but he still needs to know the basics.
When they got into town, they'd headed straight for the smithy, parking the cart out front with their horse still hitched up. After all, they'd be leaving as soon as they loaded up the iron.
Cutter liked Anvil, the town’s smith. He was a no nonsense man who knew his trade backwards and forwards, a massive man with muscle that could pound metal all day everyday and generally did just that. When Cutter came in without knocking the smith merely looked up, gave him a nod, and told him to wait while he finished up. Anvil’s overly large son was holding a piece of red hot metal with some tongs while Anvil hammered away tirelessly. Hard to believe that kid was born the same day as Knick, he’s twice his size.
Looks like Anvil’s making a knife of his own. Cutter could tell at a glance that it wouldn’t be anywhere near as nice as the ones he made himself, but it’d do fine for one of these backwater hicks that couldn’t afford one of Cutter’s.
Cutter leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed and settled in for a wait. Anvil liked him, but he wouldn’t interrupt a project mid swing for anyone. Cutter’s grandson, Knick, watched interestedly for a bit before quickly becoming bored. “So it’s like one of yours only worse? What’s the point of that?” the boy rudely asked him, having taken up an identical pose leaning against the wall next to him.
Cutter glared down at the boy. “Knick, If you have enough energy to be rude to my friend, you have enough energy to train. Out back. Now. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve practiced your throws. When you’re done I expect to find you practicing dangerous student stance when I come get ya.” The boy’s shoulders slumped, and he grumpily made his way out the back door. “Sorry ‘bout that Anvil. Boy is good with a blade, but shit with words.”
Anvil gave a small smile without taking his eyes off his work, his arm never slowed. “That’s as may be, but he ain’t wrong. Never could figure out how you do it, but your knives ARE better than mine,” His deep voice responded. The boy holding the tongs glanced up at his father with obvious shock on his face. “What’re you looking so surprised about, kid? Cutter makes the best blades I’ve ever seen. Nobody can be the best at everything.” The boy lowered his face, chastened. Cutter just grinned. High praise coming from Anvil wasn’t something one heard every day.
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Cutter continued leaning against the wall, unmoving, and watched as Anvil finished up the knife. A nice little piece of iron. It’d do fine in a pinch, but, as Knick had noted, it was worse than the blades Cutter made. Just as Anvil was quenching the blade, Knick stumbled back in from the back door, clutching his balls and wiping at his very dirty face. “The fuck happened to you, boy?” Cutter demanded
“I just got robbed by some thief out back. He stole my blade.” Knick’s voice quavered on the edge of tears as he explained. Cutter smoothly left the wall, quickly made his way to the back door and looked out. The yard was empty.
“Well, did you at least make him bleed for it, boy?” Cutter asked, irritated.
“No,” responded the boy. “He was faster than I expected, and he tricked me.”
“What’d he look like?” asked Anvil without looking away from the nearly finished knife he was filing down.
Knick glanced up at his grandfather glaring down at him, and immediately gave a complete detailed report of the fight as well as an accurate description of his smelly little attacker.
Cutter stared at the boy, and then he started laughing. The more he thought about it, the funnier it was, and the harder he laughed. Cutter had been training this boy to fight with a blade since he could hold one, but he hadn’t started teaching him dirty tricks yet. That was more advanced than he’d thought the boy was ready for. Apparently the kid he’d fought with had used three dirty tricks in a row and completely floored the boy. Then he’d robbed him of his precious apprentice blade and run off before the boy even knew what had happened.
Knick looked up at his grandfather, obviously angry now. “What’s so funny?!” he demanded.
Cutter looked down at the boy with a wide grin. “Well, you got what you deserved, didn’t you? What else was he supposed to do when you threatened to kill him, eh? And to top it off he made you look like an idiot just like he said he would. I’ve never met this thief of yours, but I like him already!” He started laughing again.
Anvil looked thoughtful as he held the blade up to a beam of light angling through the sole window, inspecting his work. “Sounds like that whoreson bastard from Smudge’s that’s always hanging around.” He glanced over at his son. “I told you to stop feeding strays, Hammer. They always come back for more.”
“Smudge’s huh? That shitheap? Well, as much as I hate that place, I find myself in the mood for a drink.” Cutter smiled happily.
Anvil turned with a worried look on his face. “Just take it easy on the booze, my friend. You remember what happened last time.”
Cutter just kept grinning, “Oh, I think I can get my business done with just the one drink. Don’t want any more of that horsepiss Jeck serves than I can help anyway.” He turned and started walking to the door. “ You stay here Knick. I’ll be back soon enough, and you don’t actually need a blade to practice dangerous student pose out back, now do you?”
“But-!” began the boy. Cutter cut him off with the dangerous look glinting in his eye. “No, Grandfather,” Knick replied meekly as he made his way dejectedly out the back. Cutter made his own way out the front, breaking into a jaunty whistle as he walked cheerfully down the street to meet a thief.