place for what she imagined would be a long tale best told in private. "Then we'll get you a sword, a short saber, or anything manageable."

Leesil shook his head. "I don't have time to learn a sword, and it doesn't fit my ways. I've something planned I think will work, but I need a weapon maker who's skilled and fast. Hopefully one with apprentices or journeymen to work on it all at once."

"We don't have that kind of money," Magiere insisted.

"I don't need money." He handed her back the pouch, minus the copper to pay their porters.

"Leesil—" Magiere began.

"I've some things I can barter with," he rebuked. "It'll all be perfectly aboveboard."

Magiere already imagined ways he might procure funding for the purchase, but she was too eager to get away from the throngs of people.

"Get it done and catch up to me before… Where are we going?"

Leesil turned about. "Vatz, we need an inn that's clean, cheap, out of the way, but fairly close to the castle grounds."

The boy didn't hesitate. "Easy enough. The Burdock. My boys know the way."

"And you're coming with me," Leesil added, then looked to Magiere. "I'll meet you in time, before we go to the council—promise." With that, he waved Vatz to follow and hurried off.

Alone amid the milling dock crowds, Magiere felt exposed. Whatever Leesil needed to arm himself for the coming days wasn't anything she could try to deny him. Hopefully it wouldn't end with some outraged smith pounding on their door with the city guard in tow. There was little left to do but get to the inn and wait for him.

The pier boys were ready but stood suppressing snickering laughter for some reason. She looked about for her own pack.

Out ahead was Pint, or what she could see of him, her pack hoisted up like a bearer. As he teetered blindly back and forth under its bulk, his head had disappeared in the sagging mass that dropped down to his shoulders.

"Give me that!" She snatched the pack off of him. "And get moving."

Pint wobbled as his burden suddenly vanished, and spun completely around before his short legs righted themselves. He grinned, all fat cheeks and scrunching eyes, and scurried off to lead the way.

"Four copper pennies," Magiere muttered, as she followed, "to be a nursemaid."

Leesil harbored doubts whether what he had planned could be accomplished in an absurdly short time. As he stood in the smith's outer timber stall, with Vatz leaning impatiently against the entry, he peered through the archways to the work area of the smithy. What he saw gave him hope.

Rear doors at the room's back were opened for light, but most illumination came from the glowing forges, casting the interior and its occupants in a sweltering glow. The place was big enough to house Miiska's own smithy in the forge room alone. A half dozen men and women worked forges and fire pits. Benches and tools and materials were spread everywhere, and the air was baked with the smell of metal and coal.

Leesil turned toward the back stalls. Through a door, he saw several more people at a table polishing, sharpening, and finishing spear- and arrowheads, swords, and other armaments. Vatz had more than adequately filled his request for a particular kind of weapon maker. Leesil fished in his shirt and withdrew a folded parchment and an old scarf wrapped around an object the length of his forearm.

Out of the workroom came a man who barely fit through the archway, a solid column of flesh with legs and arms like ship beams. Between smears of soot, sweat glistened across his skin. Even his long leather apron seemed to perspire.

"Master Balgavi at your service," the man pronounced with a heavy, rolling voice as he wiped his hands on an over-smudged rag. "What can I do you for today?"

"I have job for you, something unique, and I need it fast," Leesil said. "Can you handle it?"

The smith shrugged. "If you make it worth putting aside other work, as I don't lose business just to do new business. If I put enough of my people on it, we can make most any steel weapon. In as little as a few weeks, you'll—"

"No, not weeks," Leesil cut in. "Days."

Balgavi's mouth slackened as his singed brows wrinkled, and for a moment Leesil wondered if he was about to be tossed into the street.

"You haven't got that much coin," the smith growled.

"I've got something worth that, and more," Leesil replied. "Can you do