Chronicles of Waylon's Crossing - 2. Chance Meeting

Kynan had a broken sword. What was he going to do with a broken sword? He stared at the dead man at his feet, scowling. The queen was not going to be happy with him that he'd killed this particular bounty. Great. What a wonderful day. He resisted the urge to kick the corpse and instead rooted through his pockets. A bit of cash, but nothing of note. He scanned the dark storeroom. He couldn't just leave the man dead, he had to cover his tracks, so if not robbery, then what? Not fire, he'd set off half the street if he did that. What kind of store was this, anyway?

Oh, right. Candles. He made wax candles and sold incense. There was nothing burning now, but the scents were heavy in the air. Gah! Looked like fire was going to be it, then, unless he wanted to haul the body elsewhere. Sure would be nice if he could summon fire like Karadur could; the Hunter could incinerate his corpses without touching anything else. Of course, that's why he was sent on those kinds of missions. Kynan was better at live capture. Drat again the chandler's slight mystical abilities that made the queen desire his work and protected him against Kynan's charms.

He drummed his fingers on the counter. The queen was not going to be happy.

"Mister, I suggest you explain yourself," said a calm, authoritative voice from behind him. Kynan felt the hard edge of steel press against his jacket. He groaned. This was just perfect. He hated kiling a member of the City Watch. Swat one and you had the rest of them on you like a swarm of wasps.

"This isn't what you think," Kynan said evenly, keeping his hands in view on the counter.

"Oh?" replied the watchman. "Looks like murder to me."

"I found the man," said Kynan smoothly. "He was already dead."

"Yeah, and I suppose that empty sheath of yours has nothing to do with the blade broken off in my buddy's chest."

"Of course not." He sighed. "Look, you don't know me, and you obviously don't know Luke that well, either. I'm going to give you this one chance to lower your blade and walk out of here."

"Or what?"

Kynan whirled, kicking the man's legs out from under him and batting the sword away. He caught the edge in his jacket anyway, fingering the gaping tear with irritation before staring down at the cop. He was younger than he'd expected, with dark hair and eyes and a drooping moustache. He scowled and reached for the sword. Kynan stepped on the blade and drew his knife. The wide, curving blade caught the policeman's eyes as Kynan rotated the hilt to catch the moonlight. He waited.

"Uh," said the watchman, "I guess I got here too late to catch the perp."

"How wise," Kynan replied. "You might just live long enough to make detective. Now get out of here."

He huffed a sigh as the kid took off and slid the knife back into its sheath at his back. He picked up the policeman's sword and slid that into the scabbard at his waist. In a few short minutes he had the chandler dragged into the back storeroom and, coughing, ducked out of the building as the flames shot up towards the roof.

The watchman's sword jingled in Kynan's scabbard as he made tracks for home. As he'd expected, the queen was furious and gave him a tongue-lashing. She'd wanted to get the secrets of the chandler's incense. That night Kynan did not sleep by her door in the position of honor, but returned instead to the tiny cubby he hid in when he wasn't on missions or in the queen's chambers. She must have been in a good mood, for he'd escaped with only a little humiliation rather than a beating.

Once he'd settled, Kynan drew out the new sword and examined it. The blade was smaller than his original, and very light. Too light to really be of use to him, but he liked the feel of the hilt in his hand. The sword was very well-balanced and was still new enough that only the barest of scratches marred its fine surface. Placing his hands carefully along its length, Kynan closed his eyes to concentrate on the sword. He could pick up four distinct auras: the cop, a faint other trace, and two very similar, stronger presences. They must be the makers of the sword. He gathered the scent towards him, breathed it in, and relaxed into the dreamscape.

Stepping out into the city, he took a deep breath, holding the scents in his mind, searching, searching. There was something in the fire, of hot iron and steam, and also a steadying calm, but underneath that was a jostling energy, an impatience that warred with amusement. Kynan loped through the city streets, searching, listening and sniffing for the sounds and tastes of the forge, the hammers and the hiss of steam.

Eager now, he returned to the smith's dream below, prowling around that dream to move in and out of the shop. When he felt reasonably sure of the shop and its location, Kynan backed out of the dreamscape.

He dragged himself into his bed with a groan of stiff muscles. Now he could sleep, but not for long, his excitement would not be contained. Grabbing his sword, Kynan pulled on his worn and torn jacket and hit the streets of the city. He found the place easily by the smoke and steam pouring out of the chimney stacks. He grinned, jiggling up and down on his toes as he reached for the doorknob. He opened the door and went in.

The outer room was neater than he'd envisioned, with samples and product for sale. An older man, with black hair sprinkled with gray, appeared in the hallway behind the counter in response to the bells on the door. Kynan gave a surepitious sniff, but he couldn't tell if this was the werewolf from his dream.

"Good day, sir," said the smith. "And what might I be able to help you with today?"

Kynan moved forward to lay the blade on the counter. "Are you the maker of this sword?"

"I am." The smith picked up the small sword and studied it with a frown. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Oh, no, it belongs to a ... friend. I would like to commission another."

"I see," murmured the smith. He looked up at Kynan and his frown deepened slightly. The stranger still wore his sunglasses, even in the darkness of the shop.

"So, can you?" Kynan asked. He gestured to the sword, "Make me one?"

"Of course, of course." He set the sword down and came around the counter. "Take off your coat." He went to a collection of steel poles in a corner and came back with a few for Kynan to hold.

He discarded the first set with a grunt of surprise. Kynan was stronger than he'd expected. When he was satisfied with the weight and length, he had Kynan perform for him, slashing and parrying and jabbing. That was then followed with measurements of hand and grip and arm and shoulder. Kynan endured all the tests with amusement. He kept looking around, but the noise from the back and the horse smell completely masked anyone else's presence.

"There, that'll do," said the smith finally. "I'll have it ready for you in a week."

"Price?"

They leaned upon the counter and haggled. Just as they went to shake on the deal, a blast from the back made the whole place shake, items falling from the walls and a great cloud of smoke billowing into the main room. The smith swore.

"Alan!" he shouted, running towards the back.

Kynan followed. Standing next to the forge, covered head to foot in soot, his hair standing straight up, stood a human child. He jumped up and down, a packet of something in his hand.

"It worked! It worked!" he cheered.

"How many times have I told you not to toss your concoctions into the forge?" roared the smith. He grabbed the boys ear and shook him.

"Ow! Ow! But, Papa! It works! Boom! Did you see that? Ow, ow! Ow! Did you see?"

Kynan had to clutch the doorjam to keep from falling over with laughter. All the chastizing in the world was not going ot wipe the big grin off the kid's face.

"No more experiments!" yelled the smith, and the boy winced under the tight grip on his ear. "Out! Out!"

Kynan slumped against an empty space along the wall, doubled over with mirth. When the smith turned his scowl on him, Kynan could only laugh harder. The kid meanwhile had not yet stopped jabbering about his invention and the smith, after a long moment, gave it up himself and laughed, releasing his son.

Kynan followed the boy back into the main shop. "What were you working on?" he asked.

"Oh, just something."

"Would it have anything to do with this?" Kynan pulled out a badly rendered drawing of what he remembered from the dream.

He grabbed it, staring, then turned a suspicous frown on Kynan, totally spoiled by the fact he still looked like he'd just crawled out of a chimney. "How did you know about this?" he demanded.

"I've seen something of its like," replied Kynan, shrugging, hard-pressed to contain his excitement. So this was the little werewolf!

"Can you make me one?"

"Crimey! Don' be encouragin' the boy," sighed the smith, coming up beside them. He sighed. "Kynan, meet my son, Alan. Alan, this gent has just commissioned a sword."

Alan glanced back down at the drawing. "So what do you want a gun for?"

Kynan grinned. "Because they're neat! Don't you agree?"

The smith sighed, grabbing what he'd come for and leaving again.

Alan was nodding absently. "I could make one, I suppose, but --"

Kynan dropped a small sack onto the counter. "Consider this a downpayment," he said, opening the drawstring and dumping out a handful of tiny gems. They glittered blues and greens and reds. Alan gasped.

"You got a deal, mister!"

Kynan extended his hand with a grin. "I'll contact you in a couple weeks to see what progress you've made. I promise another sack like this if I'm satisfied."

Alan shook his hand, surprising Kynan with the strength of his grip. "You bet!"

Laughing, Kynan ruffled the blackened hair and took himself from the shop. He whistled as he strode down the street, silently thanking a particular chandler for the serendipitous affairs which had crossed his path with a green cop and a sword. Ah, what a good day!