Chapter 21: Hands of the Artisan II
[THE SILVER SEAT - White Hand Precinct No. 7]
“So, what do you think?” asked Muse.
They were in the practice room of the precinct. Wooden training weapons lined the walls, but they were nothing compared to the sword in Cain’s hand at the moment.
“It’s incredible,” said Cain. “It’s light, but just enough heft to cause some damage on a downswing. Perfect balance, too, but you can tell that this isn’t some custom weapon. It’s designed for mass-production, not tailored for somebody in particular. Are you sure you want me to be handling evidence, by the way?”
“Ehh, it's not getting scratched up. Doesn't matter what ya do to it. That’s what we’s was thinkin’ too,” said Alonzo. “Was meanin’ to take it down to a weaponsmith I know today, see if he can’t get a read on the thing. ‘Til you two chuckleheads showed up.”
“Well,” smiled Muse. “Don’t let us stop you from doing so! We’ll just invite ourselves along then!”
Alonzo growled.
“Youse better not get in the way,” said Alonzo. He turned around, and walked out of the armoury. “Meet me in front in five and bring the sword! Gotta finish my cigar first.”
“You know that stuff will kill you!”
“Nunna ya beeswax, little girl!”
Muse grinned as the wolf beastman walked off, she then turned to face Cain.
“Hey, did you use Control Scheme when you were swinging that sword around earlier?”
“Yeah, for one or two moves, why?” asked Cain.
“Because,” she said conspiratorially. “I saw your eyes go black on a few attacks.”
Cain stopped.
That been a possibility?
“Not a big deal! I don’t think the inspector noticed, but thought you should know. I know certain spells and enchantments can get disturbed by essence spikes and the like. Or it could be your body rejecting it because you Players are weird like that. But just keep it in mind.”
Cain nodded. That was good information. Just in case, he should ask Ronove what other possibilities there were for disrupting the glamour. He should really look into how magic worked in this world, preferably sooner rather than later. Information was power.
[THE SILVER SEAT - Vandamme’s House of Blades]
The three of them stood in front of a shabby store with broken signage - Vandamme’s House of Blades, it said. They were in a dingy back alley. The way here had been roundabout indeed - they had to get out of the carriage a good while back, and enter what had been essentially an urban maze.
Up the stairs, across the street, down the stairs, then turn right. Left once you saw the pipe, and down once more. If Alonzo hadn’t been guiding them, Cain was sure they never would’ve made it this far even if they had written instructions.
How could anybody afford to sell weapons in such a strange location? Cain wondered to himself. It seemed like too much of an extra challenge. They certainly weren’t getting any walking traffic here.
“Youse kids be on your best behaviour,” said Alonzo. “Don’t be rude.”
“Of course!” said Muse. “I’ll be the perfect lady.”
“Like hell. You got that mischievous energy. Take a hint from the wide-eyed one and try not to cause any trouble now.”
Cain was about to object being called the wide-eyed one but... Okay yeah, it was pretty accurate. That had basically been his default mode since they had entered the Silver Seat. But he couldln't help it, there was just so much to see!
A chime rang as they entered the workshop. It was... what you expected out of a small forgotten workshop in a small forgotten part of the city, really. Relatively clean, and dark. Lit only by a few candles kept in lamps, it was morose and dreary despite the warmth of spring outside.
Weapons of all sorts covered the walls and shelves. They weren’t just the ordinary ones either, Cain discovered. Strange polearms with fascinating shapes, blades made of things other than metal. It looked as if the shop's proprietor had a penchant for oddities.
A crescent moon blade that Cain had seen before in Chinese games, a pair of nunchuks. One of those Aztec swords with obsidian slotted into a wooden rod. Fascinating weapons all about the place that stood out from the almost mundane swords and axes he had seen so far.
And over there, behind the counter, was an incredibly old and weathered-looking dwarf. Scars ran down his body, especially his hands. Cain shuddered just looking at them.
“My man, Vincent Vandamme,” said Alonzo with a smile. “Boss.”
“Back again, you filthy mutt,” said Vandamme, flipping through his book. “What do you want? I’ve got no money to lend you, just look at this place.”
The words were acerbic, but the tone was friendly and gentle. It made for quite a contrast, to be honest.
Alonzo looked about.
“You still makin’ weird crap like this?” he asked, rapping his knuckles against one of the strange-looking polearms. A monk’s spade, Cain realized. “Ain’t nobody in the city who knows how to use this. Get back to forgin’ swords and spears. The White Hands will buy ‘em off ya, I guarantee.”
“Those days of forging for other people are behind me,” said Vandamme softly. “You know that.”
Alonzo sighed. It was the first time that Cain and Muse had seen the man’s gruff exterior soften somewhat.
“How you doin’ money-wise? You doin’ okay, boss?”
“It’s not bad,” said the dwarf, continuing to flip through his book. His hands moved with dexterity despite the damage that had obviously been wrought on them. “I get a few customers a week. Kids who want to show off, I sell them the cheaper stuff. Old ladies and young wives who want their kitchen knife sharpened. It’s enough for a shop in a place like this.”
The look on Alonzo’s face was unreadable. He turned to the weapons on the wall, browsing, before coming across a longsword. He lifted his hand and ran it down the blade, almost caressing it.
He turned to Vandamme, looking as if he wanted to say something. Then he bit his tongue, and said something else instead.
“We got somethin’ we need ya to look at, boss.”
He motioned over to Cain, who unwrapped the wooden sword he had been carrying. Alonzo had taken the opportunity to make him his pack mule, telling him he might as well make himself useful.
“It’s a murder weapon.”
“...Bring it over here, let me see,” said Vandamme, closing up his book and putting it to the side. He brought out a set of tools, and from them took what looked like a jewelry loupe out.
Cain did as he was told, and gently set the weapon down on the countertop, on top of the wrappings that it had been covered in. The moment the sword touched the surface, Vandamme was on top of it with his loupe in front of his eyes.
“This wood... Yes... Origins, probably from one of the east provinces. The heft and balance...”
It was as if the dwarf were lost in his own little world. Cain backed off and let him do his thing, retreating back to where Muse had been standing. For the first time they entered the store, he noticed her expression.
It was the expression of somebody who had something they forgot right on the tip of their tongue. Frustration and curiosity combined into an impressive sight.
“What’s wrong?” asked Cain.
“Oh, it’s just...” said Muse. “Vincent Vandamme, Vincent Vandamme... I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere. Definitely something I’ve heard from one of the senior Barknights...”
Cain let her ponder, not saying a thing as he watched the dwarf in question work. It was like a sneeze, the best thing he could do was not bother her and let her figure it out, or the frustration was going to annoy her for the entire day.
Alonzo was also watching, although unlike Cain’s look of curiosity and wonder it instead came from a source of familiarity and was tinged with something bittersweet.
“Fascinating,” said Vandamme as he put his loupe down. “Are you sure this is a murder weapon?”
“An eyewitness confirmed it, and the way we found it sure made it look like one,” replied Alonzo.
Vandamme tapped the weapon with his finger.
“This piece is physically flawless,” said Vandamme. “Not even in my prime could I have made something like this, and there’s a certain quality to it... It must be enchanted.”
“Not even you in your prime?”
Cain noticed Alonzo’s aghast expression; it was as if somebody had told him that the sun rose from the west every morning. Whatever the man had thought of them, he clearly placed Vandamme and his expertise highly.
“Hands are imperfect, as are minds. No matter how hard one tries, they leave imperfections in their work. This piece does not have that. None of the markings of creation. No hints of sanding, no openings for it to have been put together, no minute carving detail. It was as if it sprang wholly formed out of the aether.”
Vandamme’s eyes were glittering as he looked at it.
“And it is as if it were completely unused. Not a nick nor a scratch. If you hadn’t said otherwise I would’ve assumed that it came out of the workshop just this moment,” said Vandamme. “...Some sort of high quality enchantment has been put on this to retain its form, but I can’t detect it. Whatever it is, it is far beyond my abilities and nothing I have ever seen before.”
“So... no artisanal signature then.”
“An artisan of this skill level does not exist in the Silver Seat,” agreed Vandamme. “This sword is beyond the ken of mortals, and passes into the realm of the Divinities. If the creator applied their skills to metal instead of wood... I daresay the result would be worth being called a national treasure.”
Alonzo growled.
“Not what I was hopin’ to hear,” said the beastman. “Shit, that doesn’t narrow down our leads at all. I was hopin’ we could talk to the craftsman, see if we could get a list of buyers...”
He shook his head, before turning back to Cain and Muse.
“Nothin’ to do about it. I’m goin’ back to the precinct,” said Alonzo. “Gonna try and figure out where to go from here. Hopefully the boys have some leads. You two bozos do what you want after you bring the sword back for me.”
Cain nodded, and wrapped up the wooden blade. He and Muse walked out of the store. Alonzo followed quickly after, before sniffing something in the air and turning around.
“Is that meat, old man? Always thought you weren’t a fan of the stuff,” said Alonzo with a grin. “What, you feedin’ animals in your shop now?”
“Something like that. There’s a stray hanging around,” replied Vandamme, who had returned to his book. “Poor thing looks hurt, so I’ve been trying to take care of it.”
Alonzo shook his head.
“You never change.”
The old dwarf returned to his book as the knights left his shop.
[THE SILVER SEAT - Southside of the River]
“Here lad, a little something for you.”
Nameen looked at Vandamme coldly, before curling in on himself and pushing himself deeper into the corner. The space underneath the bridge was cold and filled with alcoves, but he was safe. Nobody other than the dwarf could find him here.
The old dwarf moved forward slowly and carefully, before pulling out a plate of hot food and putting it on the ground. It had a little bit of everything, as if the one who had picked it out had been unsure of the recipient’s tastes.
Then the dwarf pointedly moved away, and swung his legs over the edge of the platform looking over the river. He pulled out his own food, a wrap of some kind with vegetables inside, before beginning to eat in silence.
His back was turned to Nameen.
“I... I don’t get hungry.”
Why did he say that?
“I-I mean, I can get food on my own!”
“That’s good,” said the dwarf nonchalantly. “Being independent is a good thing at your age.”
No more talk. Silence. Just the sound of the old dwarf chewing away on his wrap absentmindedly, enjoying the view from the platform.
Nameen followed his gaze. The north side of the city was a wondrous sight. Glittering buildings, refined greenery. Like he had seen in pictures in the old world in magazines. Picture perfect, is what it was called.
A far cry from where they were now, in the dingy darkness underneath the bridge.
Nameen looked at the food sitting a few steps away from where he was. He wasn’t hungry - he didn’t need to eat. But the steam that was radiating off of it...
When he had been at the Night Market, there had been too much dread in him to pay attention to the food around him. The smells and sights turned to ash - he had simply been looking for the opportunity to slip his guards’ attention and get away.
But now he realized how cold he was, and how warm the meal in front of him seemed.
The dwarf got up, and Nameen recoiled.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He watched as Vandamme walked away, and for the first time, noticed the old dwarf’s limp.
“Enjoy the food, lad.”
And he was gone.
Nameen remembered the direction he walked off in.
The next morning, when Vandamme opened his shop, he found a small plate in front of it, licked completely clean.
