Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

It was a terrible business, but you couldn’t have a garden unless you got your hands dirty first.

The blacksmith’s shop, up on the side of a hill overlooking the colossal undertaking, was the largest she had ever seen. With a project of this scale, it was understandable. She stood outside while Ishaq hurried in to fetch the blacksmith for her.

The sounds of hammers ringing on steel, the smells of the forge, the smoke, the oils, the acid, the brine, all brought back a flood of memories of her father’s shop. For a brief moment, Nicci’s heart beat faster—she was a girl again. She almost expected to see her father come out and smile at her with that wondrous energy of his showing in his blue eyes.

Instead, a brawny man stepped out of the shadows into the daylight. He wore no smile, but a menacing glare. At first, she thought he was bald. Then she saw that his full head of hair was simply cropped close to his scalp. Some of her father’s men who worked with hot iron did the same. His scowl would have set any other woman back three paces.

He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked through the milky sunlight toward her, appraising her eyes more carefully than most men—other than Richard. His thick leather apron was speckled with hundreds of tiny burn marks.

“Mrs. Cypher?”

Ishaq backed away, contenting himself to be a shadow.

“That’s right. I’m Richard’s wife.”

“Funny, Richard never really spoke of you. I guess I just assumed he had a wife, but he never said—”

“Richard has been taken into custody.”

The scowl changed in an instant to wide-eyed concern. “Richard’s been arrested? For what?”

“Apparently, for the most base of crimes: cheating people.”

“Cheating people? Richard? They’re out of their minds.”

“I’m afraid not. He is guilty. I have the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

Ishaq swooped in close, unable to contain himself any longer. “Richard’s money. The money he made.”

“Made!” Nicci’s shout drove Ishaq back a step. “You mean the money he stole.”

The blacksmith’s scowl had returned. “Stole? Who do you think he stole this money from? Who are his accusers? Where are his victims?”

“Well, you are one.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid you were one of his victims. I’m here to return your money. I can’t use stolen money to rescue a criminal from his just punishment. Richard will have to pay the price for his crime. The Order will see that he does.”

The blacksmith tossed his towel aside and planted his fists on his hips. “Richard never stole one silver penny from anyone—least of all, me! He earned his money.”

“He cheated you.”

“He sold me iron and steel. I need iron and steel to make things for the Retreat. Brother Narev comes in here and growls at me to get things made, but he doesn’t deliver me the iron from which I must make them. Richard does. Until Richard came along, I nearly got buried in the sky myself, because Ishaq, here, couldn’t get me enough iron and steel.”

“I couldn’t! The committee only gives me permission to bring what I bring. I would be buried in the sky myself if I bring more than I have permission to bring. Everybody at the transport company watches me. They report me to the workers’ group if I spit wrong.”

“So,” Nicci said, folding her arms, “Richard has you over your own brine barrel. He brings you iron at night and you have no choice but to pay him his price, and he knows it. He makes all this gold by gouging you. That’s how he got rich—by overcharging you. That’s the worst kind of thievery.”

The blacksmith frowned at her as if she were daft.

“Richard sells me iron and steel for a lot less than I can buy it through the regular transport companies—like from Ishaq.”

“I charge what the committee on fair pricing tells me! I have no say!”

“That’s just crazy,” Nicci said to the blacksmith, ignoring Ishaq.

“No, it’s smart. You see, the foundries produce more than they can sell, because they can’t get it moved. Their furnaces have to be heated whether they make one ton or ten. They need to make enough iron to make the heat worth it, to pay their workers, and to keep their furnaces going. If they don’t buy enough ore, the mines close and then the foundry can’t get any ore at all. They can’t exist if they can’t get raw materials. But the Order won’t let Ishaq, and those like him, move as much as the foundries need moved. The Order takes weeks to decide on the simplest request. They consider every imaginable person who they fancy might conceivably be hurt if Ishaq were to move the load. The foundries were desperate. They offered to sell their extra to Richard at less money—”

“So they are cheated in Richard’s scheme, too!”

“No, because Richard takes it, they sell more, so it costs them less to make. They make more money than they would have otherwise. Richard sells it to me for less than I have to pay from the regular transport companies, because he buys it for less.”

Nicci threw her hands up in disgust. “And to top it off, he is putting working men out of jobs. He’s the worst sort of criminal—making his profit off the backs of the poor, the needy, and the workers!”

“What?” Ishaq protested. “I can’t get enough people to work, and I can’t get enough permits to haul the goods people need. Richard puts no one out of work—he helps create more business for everybody. The foundries he hauls for have each hired more men since they are able to sell through Richard.”

“That’s right,” the blacksmith said.

“But, you just don’t see it,” Nicci insisted as she raked back her hair. “He’s pulled the wool over your eyes. He’s cheating you—milking you dry. You’re getting poor because Richard—”

“Don’t you get it, Mrs. Cypher? Richard has made half a dozen foundries money. They are working now only because of Richard. He moves their goods when they need them moved, not when they can finally get some asinine permit with seals all over it. Richard has, by himself, enabled a whole string of charcoal makers to earn a living supplying those foundries, along with a number of miners and any number of other people. And me? Richard has made me more money than I ever thought I’d make.

“Richard has made us all rich by doing something that is desperately needed, and doing it better than others can do it. He has kept us all working. Not the Order and their committees, boards, and groups—Richard.

“I’ve been able to keep men on because of Richard. He never says it can’t be done; he figures a way to do it. In the process, he has earned the trust of every man he deals with. His word is as good as that gold.

“Why, even Brother Narev told Richard to do what needed doing to get me the iron I needed. Richard told him he would. The palace wouldn’t be this far along if not for Richard keeping everyone going with what he gets for us, when we need it.

“The Order owes Richard a debt of gratitude, not torture and punishment. He has helped the Order by doing what they need done. Those piers standing out there would not be built yet, if Richard hadn’t found me the iron to make the bracing ties. Those carvings on the palace walls down there would not be done if he hadn’t gotten me the steel I needed to make the tools to carve them. The goods down there are only moved in by wheels turning on iron bands I make to repair them because Richard got me the steel. Richard has done more to raise that palace up out of the ground than any other single man. Besides that, he’s made friends doing it.”

Nicci couldn’t make it work in her head. It had to be true; she remembered that Richard had met Brother Narev. How could someone make so much money, help the Order, and have the people he deals with still trust him?

“But he has made all this profit…”

The blacksmith shook his head as if she were a snake among them. “‘Profit’ is a dirty word only to the leeches of the world. They want it seen as evil, so they can more easily snatch what they did not earn.”

The frown returned as

the blacksmith leaned toward her. His voice became as hot as the iron he worked.

“What I want to know, Mrs. Cypher, is why Richard is in some stinking prison being tortured to give a confession, while his wife is standing here acting a fool over him earning money and making us all happy and rich in the process?”

Nicci felt a lump rising in her throat. “I can’t pay the fine until tomorrow night.”

“Until I met you, I never thought Richard ever made a mistake.” The man pulled his leather apron off over his head and heaved it at the wall of his shop. “With that kind of money, we can bargain him out sooner. I hope it’s soon enough. Ishaq, are you with me?”

“Of course. They know me. I’m trusted. I go, too.”

“Give me the money,” the blacksmith commanded.

Nicci dropped it into his upturned palm without even thinking about it. Richard wasn’t really a thief. It was a wonder. She didn’t know how, but these people were all happy with him. He made them all rich. It didn’t make any sense to her.

“Please, if you can help, I’d be indebted to you.”