Page 20 of The Wolf in My Tavern

The man nods to my father then, drawing his hood forward over his head, he slips out into the street.

“What did that bastard want?” I ask my father the moment the shifter disappears from view. I drop the sword I’ve just finished into the growing pile beside me, and, grabbing a fresh metal bar, I shove it in the forge to begin heating. “They don’t carry weapons. What would they want with a blacksmith?”

My father raises his brows.

I realize I am being unnaturally heated about this. The metal Pa was working with cooled while they spoke, and he shoves it into the forge beside mine before turning to me.

At least it wasn’t the other shifter, that big bastard who is always eyeballing Ada. If one of them had to come here, I’d rather it was his companion, Drake.

“They heard we had contacts among the city guardsmen. Wanted to know who they could trust.”

“Did he tell you what his business was?”

My father shrugs. “Not specifics. I’ve been in this game long enough to know not to pry into another man’s business.”

“Did you tell him what he wanted?”

“Aye,” my father says.

“So you trust him, then?” I sound belligerent, yet I cannot tone it down.

“I do.” His eyes turn distant, a look I usually associate with him thinking about my mother.

I frown. What would make him think about my mother now? Do I remind him of her in some way? “And why do you trust him?”

“There are yet more conversations that you and I must have, Callum. We’ve been busy with this shipment of swords. It seems that no sooner have we finished one job than another comes in—which I am not complaining about, mind you. I promise you, though, I’ll make time for us to talk. It’s not a matter to speak upon lightly, though, nor is it a quick discussion that should be broached in haste. Once we start, well, there is no going back.” He indicates the pile of raw materials ready for us to craft into swords. “And right now, we’ve not got time for more than a swift pint and food at the end of the day.”

It is not difficult work when the weapon design is simple, like these are, but they need many and are paying us handsomely for this reason. No craftsman turns down work unless he must; it is better to save a little coin for the times when work slows, as it inevitably does each year as we move deeper into winter. And yet I want to know this big secret that he is keeping—the one that grows bigger every day.

“I understand, Pa,” I say slowly, unable to shake off the notion that somehow these unfolding events are tied together… maybe with his past. “Has this got something to do with my mother?”

He is tending to the heating metal, and although he doesn’t answer, his head swings around in a way that is telling.

My frown deepens. “What does this have to do with Ma?”

The shop door opens, and another customer enters. This one is smartly dressed and is accompanied by his own guard.

A conversation ensues with my father about a sword he wishes to commission. The customer is a fancy lord or merchant with quality clothes and shiny boots. He does not have a local accent; perhaps he is traveling through.

I check his heating sword and my own raw metal. His half-finished one is hot enough, so I take that out and begin to work it. The quicker I get this done, the quicker I will learn the secrets that I now suspect involve my mother in some way. Maybe the shifters, too. My father must have lived or worked closely with such as them, at some point, for him to recognize their kind when they first entered the tavern those many weeks ago. And further, he trusts them enough to offer up the name of the city guard.

It feels like the pieces of a giant puzzle are being revealed one by one. Only, they are being cast down randomly and, further, many pieces are missing.

Even if I had all the pieces, I’m not convinced it would make sense.

I remain unsettled. The one bright light is that it is Friday again, and on a Friday night, we go to The Green Man, and I can sneak some time with Ada.

I return the sword to the forge, waiting for it to begin to glow as my father carries on chatting to the fancy lordling about his fancy sword.

Fuck. I’m obsessed with Ada. She’s all I think about. It has been three days since I last saw her, slipping away a couple of evenings ago while my father was finishing off. She was busy, too, and only had a few minutes.

We shared a kiss… Well, it might have progressed to me lifting her skirts and feasting on her slick pussy until she came for me, gushing over my waiting tongue.

I continue working the metal, beating it into shape, while glancing over at my father. He is still deep in discussion with the lord, who is providing great detail on the sword he wants, the timelines, and the costs.

My father is polite. He knows how to speak to men, be they lowly or high. He has always had that way, I realize.

As the lord finally agrees on terms and passes over a bag of coins before taking his leave, I turn to my father expectantly. He left my final question unanswered, and I feel I deserve an answer to that much, at least.

---