Powell sat behind the counter, straightening slightly when he saw us.
“Good afternoon,” I said with forced politeness. “Is my knife ready?”
Powell grunted. “It’s right here.”
He reached under the counter and pulled it out.
The hilt was similar to my current knife, a simple, dark wood. The blade itself, however, had an air of artistry mine did not. If my original belt knife had been a weapon masquerading as a tool, then this was a tool masquerading as a sleek dagger. It wasn’t a dagger, but I suspected the back would take an edge easily and it could become one.
Sam walked past me and picked the knife up. The frown on his face gave me hope that I wouldn’t have to say anything. Letting him inspect the blade, I pulled coins out of my purse, paying Powell. “Thank you.”
Sam looked from the knife, to me, to the door leading into the forge. We could hear the steady strokes of a hammer, and I didn’t think Sam would dismiss that out of hand. Not right now. But I wasn’t sure what exactly had roused his suspicions so quickly. Certainly, I had hoped he’d wonder at the difference in quality between the throwing daggers Powell had made him and the knife Alan hadmade me, but I expected to have to nudge him before he entertained the idea that they had been made by different hands.
Sam kept a hold of the knife until we exited the smithy. Then he handed it to me. “I wouldn’t have expected you to order something like this.”
“All I ordered was a new belt knife.” I looked at it more closely, marveling at the balance. It wasn’t disguised like my other knife, but this one was of even finer quality.
Sam reached out and tapped the blade just below the hilt. “This seems like an odd detail to include if you didn’t request it. I certainly wouldn’t expect Powell to add it on his own.”
I lifted the blade closer to my face. I had to tilt it to see what Sam had noticed. It looked like a maker’s mark, a design etched into the blade, except it was so faint I feared a good polishing might wipe it completely away. I recognized the form of the lines as soon as I spotted them, even before I angled it perfectly to see the entire design. Alan had carved a tiny rose into the blade.
“No, I don’t think Powell would have added that. But if you are right and Powell is rubbish at making blades, then he wasn’t the smith for this project, was he? Because this is an excellent knife.” I tested the balance once more. “In fact, I suspect this knife might be perfect for throwing, unlike your daggers. Want to test it?”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “How do you know about the throwing daggers?”
I could only talk around the issue so far. Since this question wasn’t specifically about making anything, I decided it was better to be blunt and matter-of-fact. “I asked Alan.”
I moved away from the smithy and Sam fell in step next to me. He looked thoughtful. “Alan.”
“Alan,” I agreed. “Now, what can we use as a target?”
“The boys usually have a few hay bales set up as archery targets between the Plower and Brynson farms.”
“I didn’t think anyone in Skorsa hunted.”
“Generally speaking, no one does these days. But archery is one of the traditional contests at the Midsummer Festival.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Sam glanced across the square toward the village hall, then up at the sky to check the angle of the sun. “We need to hurry, otherwise you are the one who will be explaining to my father why I am late.”
Eighteen
Alan
???
“A throwing knife?”
Mina’s greeting when I parted the branches of the willow and joined her that evening made me chuckle. She had the knife I had made her out and was idly tossing it in the air and catching it, the move far more practiced than I would have expected. I watched her for a few moments before moving closer. “You figured that out fast.”
“The balance was too perfect for anything else.” She caught the knife one last time, then slid it into the sheath at her waist. “I think Sam is putting everything together.”
I settled on the ground next to her. “That would explain the strange look he gave me when I walked past him on my way here. How did you manage that?”
Mina dropped her head into her hands. “Affenala save me. Sam saw you walking toward the stream?”
I frowned. “I was barely out the door, but he saw me walk this direction.”
