Chapter 2 (2/2)

Musing on the topic, Julian suddenly recalls that in that town within the foothills, there had seemingly been a smithy. In his previous life, Julian had even commissioned some interesting trinkets there. Though seventy years had pa.s.sed, he imagines that few changes would take place in such a small-town place. Even if the original blacksmith had pa.s.sed due to age, his descendants should have inherited his skills and the store.

It is best to act without delay. Julian has no such habit of procrastinating on his decisions. Luckily, the old coachman who had brought him here had a spot of conscience, and left behind a horse for the youth. With no reticence, Julian mounts the horse, traveling through the mountain trails to arrive in the small town.

Julian’s appearance unexpectedly becomes the focus of the entire settlement.

As a locale in the remoteness of the mountains, the towns.h.i.+p of Sunset isn’t altogether considered separate from the rest of the world, but neither is there much traffic. In this kind of place, where the sight of an outsider is scarce, any strange face becomes a hotly discussed topic du jour. This is the reason that Julian became a centre of attention as soon as he had entered the town.

“Look, that’s him, the new master of that castle.”

“Poor guy, he’s so young…”

“By the Holy Grace above … what has the world come to …”

Pity, fear, sorrow, confusion, curiosity; gazes of every kind are cast on Julian before swiftly withdrawn. Julian doesn’t mind their stares, riding in leisure towards the location of the blacksmith in his memory. This kind of town is rarely traveled, but on the other hand is also rarely altered. Though seventy years had pa.s.sed, he can still see many familiar buildings on the street; even the tilt in the Rose Tavern’s signage is the same slant, unaffected by the pa.s.sage of time. It almost seemed like the town itself was frozen in time, untouched and unchanging.

Naturally, Julian finds the blacksmith in question very quickly. Compared to seven decades ago, several new changes have been added: the well-worn wooden door has received a layer of copper, and the signboard, replaced with one of new peachwood.

Standing at the door, Julian inhales and exhales lightly, appreciating the warmth from within and the scent of metalworking. A smile creeps onto his visage as he pushes open the door, and walks inside.

Then, Julian is stunned.

There is an idiom that one must not judge a book by its cover.

Only today does Julian fully appreciate its true meaning.

From its outward appearance, the smith is little different; understandably, Julian expects the same of its interior. He didn’t forecast that the situation would be like a duck paddling in water – all the motion is beneath the surface.

The weapons, s.h.i.+elds, armor that hung on the walls in Julian’s memory had all disappeared. Replacing them were pitchforks, hoes, and rows upon rows of dazzlingly brilliant … kitchen knives.

Rather than a smithy, it would be better to call this place a farm supply proprietor.

Julian stares blankly behind the knives and pitchforks, at a figure who is hammering away at his anvil and forge … and is momentarily at a loss for words.

[1] I finally get to make the name bamboozle swap. Finally.

[2] The ius primae noctis, also called the droit du seigneur; if you don't know what this is, consider the Wikipedia entry. Yes, it's largely fictional, but oh well.

[3] Historically I'm not sure if this was necessarily the case. However, n.o.ble (royal is the souped up version I s'pose) b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were usually treated fairly well by their biological parent otherwise; the princ.i.p.al inheritance was out of the question, but some nice presents once in a while was just fine. Consider the twenty-odd illegitimate children of Henry I, for example.

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