What's This!?

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 21st June 2006

Characters: Mariss, Larstad
Description: Mariss delivers a tray to Larstad, and gets quizzed for the favour.
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 12, day 1 of Turn 3

Mariss knocked clumsily on the door, hampered by the tray in her hands. Having escaped the Ladies' Solar she had promptly fallen into Zelanka's clutches, who had conscripted her into helping deliver lunch trays. It wasn't quite what she'd planned for her afternoon.

There was no answer, so Mariss knocked again, then pushed the door open. The door had the symbol for a Smith on it so she knew it was the right place. Personally, she found the presence of a hammered brass symbol to be a little pretentious, and when she caught a glimpse of the interior her impression was confirmed. It was a wonderland of books and hides, little metal sculptures and small models of machines and gadgets. Her mouth fell open as she stepped over the threshold and looked around.

It was too much to take in. There was a brass telescope in the corner, and a star chart tacked up on the wall beside it.
Navigational tools, a lone leather glove, a tangle of cogs and rods set in a gleaming metal carapace, pliers, a desk overflowing with hides covered in miles and miles of tight, small writing. A spool of copper wire. A box of nails. A runner shoe. A book lying open on a small side table showing a faded blueprint of a mill with a waterwheel. Mariss found a corner for the tray, and feeling slightly guilty, picked up a small brass gadget and was quickly absorbed.

"Er hmm." The Steward's daughter jumped and spun to face the man leaning laconically on the door jam. "You're here to deliver lunch, girl, not gawk. Don't touch something if you don't know what it is!"

Mariss felt her cheeks flame bright red, and she gently set down what she'd picked up. "Sorry, Journeyman. I didn't mean to pry."

"You could have broken something." Larstad pushed away from the wall and strode over to where his lunch lay, ignoring the fact that pretty much everything in the room was made of metal, and save for some of the instruments, were more likely to scar the floor than break if dropped. He picked the dome off the plate and frowned at the contents. "And you can tell the cooks that this is the _last_ time that they'll ever serve me beet soup again, if they know whats good for them."

"Of course." Mariss dropped a quick curtsey, then headed for the door, but not before sneaking another look at the Smith in his wonderland. Tall, rakish, scarred and more than a little intimidating... his height and his mane of dark, wild hair made her think of a half-tamed runner ready to fly at her with its sharp hooves and yellowed teeth. She hated being intimidated by anyone.
"It's part of an axel for a buggy," she muttered just as she put her hand on the door knob.

"Pardon me?" Larstad looked up sharply.

Mariss looked over her shoulder, then quickly away. She felt pinned.
"I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did. Repeat it, girl."

"I said, what I held was part of an axel for a buggy. And my name isn't 'girl'," she said, finding courage in anger, "It's Mariss. I'm Steward Cyrek's daughter."

Larstad was quiet a moment, then pointed at a strange, conical contraption made with rods and a central axel. "And this?"

Mariss frowned. "The rotating axis of a windmill."

The Smith's frown deepened, and he strode over to a shelf, then gestured for her to join him. Mariss reluctantly did so, feeling small and vulnerable since he was so tall. He seemed to radiate a barely contained energy; she wondered if he fidgeted. He picked up what looked like a pair of long handled pliers and held them for her to inspect. "What's this?"

Mariss wracked her brain. "Uh... I- tongs?"

"What _kind_ of tongs?" "For- for farrier work." She glanced up at him nervously; Larstad's dark eyes pinned her in place. He wasn't satisfied, so she tried again. "Umm.. for farrier work, with hot shoes?"

The Journeyman was silent a moment, then put the tongs aside.
"They're called hot-fitting tongs. Most farriers can hot-fit their own runners' shoes, but Smiths are trained to do it at the Hall. What about this?" He picked up an odd mess of tubes and levers and handed it to Mariss. It was heavy. She turned it over, then handed it back to him. "I don't know."

"Part of the insides of a flamethrower." He took it back from her, then gave her another long look. "All right. Get out. And tell that cook that the next bowl of beet soup she gives me is going right across the nearest public carpet. Understand?"

"Yes, Journeyman." Mariss backed up a step, curtsied, then quickly left before the Smith could give her another impromptu test. She didn't relax until the door had swung shut behind her, and she was alone in the hall.
**What an odd man...** The hall echoed slightly as she hurried along it, back toward the relative safety of the kitchens. **Perhaps he's as weirded out by a woman knowing what those things are as Shadux was. I wonder if he'll try to get me in trouble for it...** She glanced behind her as if the Smith was lurking in the shadows, watching her walk. Then she shivered. **Ridiculous.**

But she couldn't help but wonder what that had been all about...

Last updated on the June 22nd 2006

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