Page 33 of Stockman's Stormcloud

Eleven

Struggling to keep up with the sprightly octogenarian carrying water coolers, food coolers, and a few shotguns, Dex dragged his dumb oxygen cart down the rock-paved path, through the many flourishing vegetable garden beds, made from old water tanks, tractor tyres, and cattle troughs, tucked away behind the caretaker’s cottage.

On the right stood the stables, where Bree and Charlie kept some beautiful stockhorses. Dex loved riding horses and had noticed Bree riding a different stockhorse every morning—most likely to keep their stockhorses active—when he’d go running as part of his training.

It was just another reminder of why he missed being outside.

Dragging off his oxygen mask, he inhaled the fresh crisp morning air that mingled with the sweet soil from the garden brimming with corn, sunflowers, melons and various other vegetables.

They pushed through another wrought-iron gate to the concrete path that led to the sheds and into the blacksmith’s shop, where a large stone chimney rose from the silent brick forge, blackened from years of fire to heat the iron.

As a man who had his own mechanical workshop, Dex recognised the blacksmith’s workshop was divided into four areas: the machining area, the forging area, the assembly, and the stock area.

Beastly sized anvils, planers, various vices, some serious grinding stones, even a large lathe, and a row of work toolswere neatly hung across the wall. But resting on a bench was a serious set of blacksmith hammers that’d make even someone like Thor envious.

The assortment of tools continued through to differing types of aged blacksmithing tongs, built to last. They hung from a steel bar wrapped around an old tree stump. And yet more blackened tools hung from a long steel bar that had an enormous dragon’s head on the end. ‘That’s cool.’

‘Bree does them.’ Charlie gave a nod of approval as he led them through the shed. ‘That kid’s got plenty of people wantin’ to buy her hand-forged fire pokers. Come Christmas time she’s flat out makin’ personalised fire pokers for people who get their initials on it. We joke about it, callin’ it the city folks’ branding irons. They’re popular for country weddings, you know.’ Charlie slowed down to point at the large workbench holding assorted fire pokers, some had skull heads, others had vines twisted along the stem and various letters on the end.

But leaning against the bench was an enormous wooden spear with a metal tip. ‘What is this?’ Dex could barely pick up the end, his fractured rib wouldn’t allow it.

‘A jousting stick.’ Charlie poked up the brim of his hat. ‘Bree’s got these fellas who do cosplay. No, not that, it’s called LARPing.’

Dex snorted out a laugh as he tried to catch his breath. He’d never expected to hear someone like Charlie say that word. ‘Do you know what LARP means?’

‘Yeah. Bree told me it’s…’ Charlie scratched his white hair, then readjusted his hat. ‘It stands for live action role play.’

Dex struggled to keep a straight face. ‘Which means?’

‘A bunch of people who dress up and wear these smancy medieval costumes and play their parts like in real life. Bree’s got a huge list of customers. And she gets flooded with orders when they doDungeon and Dragons,JRR Tolkien, orGame of Thronesevents.’

‘For what?’

‘Bree’s got us making their swords, shields, and the metal tips for their jousting sticks.’

Dex’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Do you ever use them?’

‘My granddaughter’s got this old dummy out back that we charge at like a couple of yahoos on horses.’ Charlie grinned, and the shine in his grey eyes was undeniable.

‘Sounds like fun.’ Dex wanted in.

‘It is. Although, I felt like a flamin’ idiot the first time Bree got me to try it out. Now we call ittesting the merchandisebefore we send them out, to check the weight and balance is right.’ Charlie grinned while scratching at his ruddy chin. ‘Gotta hand it to the kid. She knows how to play, but she’s smart enough to tap into a business that keeps our trade alive. We’ve got orders stacked up for the next six months.’ But then Charlie pointed to the rest of the toys.

The tyres on the stupid oxygen trolley squeaked as Dex dragged it behind him, as his eyes widened at the workbench full of swords, shields, jousting sticks all in various stages of creation. There were even some fancy daggers.

‘These are great.’ His fingers ran over the cold steel blade of the large dagger. The workmanship was exceptional. He couldn’t even find the joining seams, as if it was carved from one piece of steel.

There was also a sword almost as tall as he was. What sucked was he struggled to pick the damned thing up without feeling breathless.

‘That’s the King’s sword. Used for knighting ceremonies and whatnot.’ Charlie lifted it up for Dex. The sword was straight steel, with a detailed pattern etched into the handle where jewels were being inserted at different intervals along the hilt.

‘But that’s my favourite.’ Charlie pointed to a massive steel sculpture of a bull’s skull with long horns. It commanded attention, taking up an enormous chunk of the shed wall. ‘My granddaughter made me that for my birthday. She was about twelve, I reckon.’

‘It’s incredible.’ It was something you’d expect to find in a museum, nothanging from the back wall of a blacksmith’s shed.

Bree had said nothing, letting Dex and his brothers assume the caretakers made horseshoes and cattle brands all day. Not iron sculptures and medieval swords. The cunning witch. It made him wonder what else she kept hidden in plain sight. ‘Does Bree sell sculptures, too?’

‘Some. Not as big as that one, though. She does cattle, buffalo, goats, deer, too. Calls herself an artisan blacksmith, repurposing old steel parts.’ The old man shrugged. ‘The blacksmithing trade isn’t what it used to be, but it keeps her busy in between making legacy cattle brands, while keeping an eye on me.’

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