occasions he was tempted to go to the medic tent and try to see her, but each time he talked himself out of it. All of his excuses seemed pointless or trite. Deep down he knew he just wanted to see her. I’m such an idiot, he told himself, and in the back of his mind he heard his grandfather’s voice agreeing with him.
Almost a week passed before his next big shock. His platoon had just mustered for the morning roll call when Sergeant Nash called his name just before releasing the squads for their first duties of the day. “Cartwright. You’re relieved of duty this morning. See me for your assignment.” Then the sergeant addressed them once more, “Dismissed.”
Will waited, worried he was about to be punished for something else, though he couldn’t think of anything he might have done—this time. The sergeant gave him an appraising look before speaking. “Go into Branscombe and see the armorer there. His name is Andrew Harless. He’s expecting you.”
“Sir?”
“Did I stutter, soldier?” barked the sergeant. “Get moving.”
Doing as he was told, Will started to leave, but Sergeant Nash added one parting remark, “Cartwright, I don’t care who your friends are, if you screw up or make trouble for my men, I will bust your ass.”
Will stopped and saluted, thumping his fist over his heart. “Understood, sir!” Sergeant Nash stared at him for a few seconds longer then walked away. What the hell is going on this time? he wondered.
Half an hour later, he was standing in front of the smithy, feeling conspicuous. The man there sent him to a second building behind the main smithy, which apparently didn’t deal directly with weapons and armor. The other building was open in the front with two small forges operating and a number of apprentices busy working on a variety of tasks. Harless turned out to be a short, heavy-set man with a pronounced lack of hair. Not only was he bald, but part of one of his eyebrows was missing due to a past scar.
“Who’re you?” asked the master armorer, hardly bothering to glance up at him.
“William Cartwright, sir,” said Will. “I was told to see you.”
The smith cleared his throat and then spit on the ground before answering. “Oh, you.” Straightening up, he called to one of his assistants, then directed Will to go with the man. “He’ll take your measurements.” A second later, the armorer returned to his work, apparently having banished Will from his awareness.
Will didn’t move. “Excuse me, sir. What’s all this about?”
The armorer sighed deeply, as though frustrated beyond all endurance. Will almost flinched when his eyes focused on him once more. “Fucking aristocrats,” said the smith. “Not only do they want everything done yesterday, they want a nice chat as well. I’m not a goddamn tailor, and I certainly ain’t a babysitter.”
“I’m not an aristocrat,” said Will.
“I know that, otherwise I’d be kissing your ass instead of cussing you, dumbass,” spat the armorer. “Follow Jeremy and let him get your measurements. We need ‘em if we’re to make anything that fits you.”
Will noticed the aforementioned Jeremy giving him a sympathetic look. Closing his mouth, he went with the apprentice, who promptly instructed him to strip. “Everything?” asked Will.
“Everything above the waist,” said Jeremy. Will did as he was told. The apprentice looked over his gambeson carefully before setting it to one side and walking away. He returned a few minutes later with a similar coat, though this one was slit along the sides with laces to secure it. He helped Will put it on before pulling the laces tight and producing a long string with knots tied in it at regular intervals.
He measured Will’s body in a bewildering number of places, his waist, torso, shoulders, biceps, forearms, and more. As he did, the apprentice armorer chalked his findings on a piece of grey slate. When he had finished, he helped Will remove the padded coat and gave him back his gambeson. “We’ll send a note when it’s ready, probably next week.”
“When what is ready?” asked Will.
The apprentice gave him a strange look. “Your mail shirt.”
“I didn’t ask for one,” stated Will. “How much does it cost?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Usually around twelve to fourteen gold, though we charge more for rush jobs like this. That’s just a guess, mind you. I don’t handle the money. You’d have to talk to Master Harless if he didn’t give you a price yet.”
Will goggled at the man. “I don’t have that kind of