“Then how can you presume to tell me where to put this support?”
The man looked like he wanted to stuff Richard in the forge and melt him down.
“Offhand, I don’t know, exactly. Something just tells me that—”
“You had better be the man with the iron.”
“I am,” Richard said, glad to change the subject and wishing he had kept his mouth shut in the first place. He had only been trying to help. “Where would—”
“Where have you been all day? I was told it would be here first thing this morning. What did you do? Sleep till noon?”
“Ah, no, sir. We went right to the foundry first thing. Ishaq sent me right there at dawn. But the man at the foundry was having problems because—”
“I’m not interested. You said you had the iron. It’s already late enough. Get it unloaded.”
Richard looked around. Every spot seemed occupied.
“Where would you like it?”
The master blacksmith glared around at the crammed room as if he expected some of the piles to get up and move for him. They didn’t.
“If you’d have been here when you were supposed to be here, you could have put it out there, just inside the door in the outer supply room. Now they brought that big rock sled that needs welding, so you will have to put the iron in the back. Next time, get out of bed earlier.”
Richard was trying to be polite, but he was losing his patience with being castigated because the blacksmith was having a troubled day.
“Ishaq made it quite clear that you were to get iron today, and he sent me to see to it. I have your iron. I don’t see anyone else able to deliver on such short notice.”
The hand with the chalkboard lowered. The full attention of the man’s glower focused on Richard for the first time. Men who had heard Richard’s words scurried off to attend to important work farther away.
“How much iron did you bring?”
“Fifty bars, eight feet.”
The man let out an angry breath. “I ordered a hundred. I don’t know why they sent an idiot with a wagon when—”
“Do you want to hear the way it is, or do you want to yell at someone? If you just want to spout off to no point and no useful end, then go right ahead as I’m not much injured by ranting, but when you finally want to hear the truth of the way things are, just let me know and I’ll give it.”
The blacksmith peered silently for a moment, a bull bewildered by a bumblebee. “What’s your name?”
“Richard Cypher.”
“So, what’s the truth of the way things are, Richard Cypher?”
“The foundry wanted to fill the order. They have bar stock stacked to the rafters. They can’t get it delivered. They wanted to let me have the whole order, but a transport inspector stationed there wouldn’t let us have the whole hundred bars because the other transport companies are supposed to get their equal loads, but their wagons are broken down.”
“So Ishaq’s wagons aren’t allowed to take more than their fair share, and fifty was their allotment.”
“That’s right,” Richard said. “At least until the other companies can move some more goods.”
The blacksmith nodded. “The foundry is dying to sell me all the iron I can use, but I can’t get it here. I’m not allowed to transport it—to put transport workers, like you, out of work.”
“Were it up to me,” Richard said. “I’d go back for another load today, but they told me they couldn’t give me any more until next week at the earliest. I’d suggest you get every transport company you can find to deliver you a wagonload. That way, you’ll have a better chance to get what you need.”
The blacksmith smiled for the first time. It was amusement at the foolishness of Richard’s idea. “Don’t you suppose I already thought of that? I’ve got orders in with them all. Ishaq is the only one with equipment at the moment. The rest are all having wagon problems, horse problems, or worker problems.”
“At least I have fifty bars for you.”
“That will only keep me going the rest of the day and for the morning.” The blacksmith turned. “This way. I’ll show you where you can stack it.”
He led Richard through the congested workshop, among the confusion of work and material. They went through a door and down a short connecting hall. The noise fell away behind. They entered a quiet building in back, attached, but set off on its own. The blacksmith unhooked a line attached at a cleat and let down a trapdoor covering a window in the roof.
Light cascaded down into the center of the large room, where stood a huge block of marble. Richard stood staring at the stunning stone heart of a mountain.
It seemed completely out of place in a blacksmith’s workshop. There were tall doors at the far end, where the monolith had been brought in on skids. The rest of the room had space left open all around the towering stone. Chisels of every sort and various-size mallets stuck u
p from slots along the pitch black walls.
“You can put the bars here, on the side. Be careful when you bring them in.”
Richard blinked. He had almost forgotten the man was there with him. Still he stared at the lustrous quality of the stone before him. “I’ll be careful,” he said without looking at the blacksmith. “I won’t bang it into the stone.”
As the man started to leave, Richard asked, “I told you my name. What’s yours?”
“Cascella.”
“Is there more to it?”
“Yes. Mister. See that you use it all.”
Richard smiled as he followed the man out. “Yes, sir, Mr. Cascella. Ah, mind if I ask what this is?”
The blacksmith slowed to a stop and turned back. He gazed at the marble standing in the light as if it were a woman he loved.
“This is none of your business, that’s what it is.”
Richard nodded. “I only asked because it’s a beautiful piece of stone. I’ve never seen marble before it was a statue or made into something.”
Mr. Cascella watched Richard watching the stone. “There’s marble all over this site. Thousands of tons of it. This is just one small piece. Now, get my shorted order of iron unloaded.”
By the time Richard was done, he was soaked in sweat, and filthy, not only from the iron bars, but from the soot of the blacksmith’s shop. He asked if he could use some of the water in a rain barrel that the men were using to wash in as they were getting ready to leave for the day. They told him to go ahead.
When he finished, Richard found Mr. Cascella back at the chalkboard, alone in the suddenly silent shop, making corrections to the drawing and writing numbers down the side.