Smith

by Wade Adrian

  Baron scoffed as Smith shook his head. “These aren’t factory made, so it just happening to be the perfect length is pretty much impossible. Some cord I can tie up to one end and measure to the other before trimming it is the usual method for each and every one.”

  “Mmm.” Baron nodded.

  Bishop started for the door. “I’m sure someone has something that will suffice. Let me go ask around.” He vanished outside without waiting for a response.

  Stevens chuckled a bit. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in awhile.”

  Baron lifted the bow high and placed it over his shoulders. He pulled down on each side with one hand. “I didn’t believe it, but this thing might actually work.” He handed it back to Smith. “Weaker than my draw, but probably plenty for a man watching the gate.”

  Smith set it down on the bench and wandered over to the tool chest. He found a round file, but it was narrower than he would like. It would work but it would take longer. Kind of normal for the shop, when he thought about it.

  There was no vice to speak of, at least not that he had found yet. He set the bow down with one siyah sticking out over the side of the bench and stepped on the bow to keep it in place while he filed a notch into the front of the siyah. “I’ll need to borrow an arrow for testing, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Baron unhooked the quiver and set it down on the workbench. “I’ll let you fire it first. Your creation.”

  A very polite way of saying he didn’t want to be the guy to get hit in the face when it snapped like a twig.

  No faith. Tsk tsk.

  It was alright. That was the standard response. It can’t be done! Wait, you did it. Well it won’t work! Oh, hey, it works. Fancy that.

  All in all it had taken maybe an hour. Most of that time had been heating, running the heat gun back and forth to get an even temperature, or waiting for it to cool. The actual working bits were pretty quick. In fact, time was of the essence when it was cooling down. In that regard, it really was like smithing.

  Heh. Bow-smithing.

  He was still cutting the notch into the second siyah when Bishop returned. His arms were loaded with spools.

  “Alright, got this stuff. And this stuff. This yellow stuff, too…”

  Smith glanced up and went back to what he was doing. His wasn’t a task to hand off to anyone else. To shallow wouldn’t work. Too deep wouldn’t work. Without a working bow to point to, no one else would get it right. Even Baron’s bow was different.

  The end design was a sort of Mongolian themed bow. Siyahs weren’t a common trait in European bows, but he lacked the means to make curved bow limbs. Maybe when he found an old metal pot to bend them around or something, but that had always had a much higher chance of splitting the material. The flat siyahs just worked better for this.

  He glanced up at Baron. “Pick one, would you? Usual guidelines. As little stretching as possible, water proof is ideal, etcetera.”

  Baron nodded and started looking at the things Bishop had brought. He ruled almost all of them out at a glance.

  Nice to have someone around who knew what they were doing.

  When Smith had the bow ready, only two options were left. A cord they had sold as para-cord that was not para-cord, and some stuff that felt like it had been waxed or something. It would take multiple strands of the waxy stuff to make a string, but that wasn’t unusual. It made for a waterproof string, assuming you took care of it. It would take more time than he had at the moment, though. The other stuff was an outer braided layer over internal strings. It didn’t have much give to it. Good enough. Fake para-cord it was.

  He tied the first end and looped it around one siyah behind his foot as he stood, then bent the bow around his other leg, pulling the cord tight and measuring the distance between the string and handle with his fist and extended thumb.

  Not exactly precise measurements, but it wasn’t easy to get out a measuring tape while you were bending a bow by hand.

  He made a mark on the cord, marking repeatedly with the pencil, then let the bow straighten. He gave the mark an extra two inches for the sake of knot tying, and tried it a few times to get it just right before he trimmed off the excess cord.

  There might be plenty of PVC for a number of these, but the string wouldn’t make it through more than five or six. They’d need more, or an alternative.

  Still. Bow.

  He compared the siyahs by looking down along the string. “Seems straight…”

  He pulled the bow back. It was heavier than he had anticipated. Letting it return slowly was a bit of a chore, but dry firing a bow was practically sacrilegious. It introduced pressure and needlessly chanced causing cracks. The energy that was supposed to be propelling the arrow would instead make its way back into the bow. Bad idea.

  “Got a target? Could use some test firing.”

  Bishop nodded. “Absolutely. We’ve got some straw over by the livestock.”

  The ranch, of sorts, was on the opposite side of the fenced in ground from the farm. His shop was against the back fence on the farm’s side of the world. Smith supposed he was their neighbor now.

  Still odd to think it was his building… they must be pretty desperate for help. Well of course they were. They’d let him in.

  Impressed with his tricks as they might be, he still knew there were better smiths out there. Better fletchers. Better bowyers.

  But maybe not a better bow smith. That title might be his.

  The ranch side of the world was mostly a collection of fences. They didn’t have any horses, but the place had plenty of pigs and chickens, as well as a handful of cows and a few goats. No wonder things prowled the fence at night. The place must smell like a buffet to them.

  None of the animals seemed at all interested in him or his pristine white bow that still had lettering on it. The lot number, the day it was made, and the diameter. Repeated all the way down. Back in the day he had cared enough to sand them. He’d just paint this one once he was sure it worked.

  A little crowd had gathered behind them as they walked over. Others were moving this way. Apparently their little procession was noteworthy.

  “Maybe I’ll rig up my own archery target. Probably better than bugging these people every time I get one done.”

  Bishop shrugged. “Up to you. Most of the ground around the shop is probably yours to play with. Since they used to work on cars in there the ground isn’t really fit for planting. Oil, antifreeze, that sort of thing.”

  Baron shaded his eyes as he looked at the target. It was about thirty yards out. Not far at all to a decent archer. “I’d like there to be one, too. Let me train hunters to shoot somewhere safe.”

  Smith didn’t have many illusions about his archery. It had been awhile, and it was a skill that could and did rust. “Decent” was the best he could hope for.

  Baron offered an arrow and Smith took it with a nod. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t break it.”

  “You give me entirely too much credit.” He took a slow breath as he lifted the bow, drawing the arrow back with three fingers. The front of the arrow was resting on the index knuckle of his left hand. An arrow rest wouldn’t be a bad idea, but right now it just needed to not break in two. If it did, there would clearly be no reason to keep working on it.

  The bow creaked a little as he aimed at the hay. No big deal. They did that sometimes…

  He tried to steady his aim. All he wanted to do was hit it.

  The growing crowd was a little distracting. While the animals didn’t give a damn what he was doing, it seemed like a lot of people did. Then again, this was new and novel. Exciting.

  He should have sold tickets.

  His mind chided him. He’d screw up the shot. Look like a fool.

  Fortunately that really didn’t matter. His job was to make the thing, not to use it. They had people for that.

  The arrow whistled away when he released the string.

  It struck the target about a f
oot up from the ground, which was about a foot down from where he had been aiming.

  There were some mumbles amongst the crowd, and a few chuckles.

  But someone was clapping. It wasn’t hard to find her. Mary smiled a bit as she held her applauding hands high.

  Well, at least someone liked him. Now he just needed to save the rest of them from making stupid decisions, one at a time. It would only take a few months.

  “Huh.” Baron scratched at his beard. “Well, I’m happy to have been wrong.” He held out his hand and Smith gladly handed over the bow.

  The far more experienced and practiced archer gave it a few practice stretches before loading it. His first shot hit a little low as well, but he adjusted with the second and hit it in the center.

  More applause joined in now.

  He hit the target at the center with the next ten shots until his littler quiver was empty. Cheers picked up with each arrow that hit.

  Baron held the bow up, turning it over in his hands. He seemed oblivious to the celebration behind him. “Huh. Definitely a lighter pull, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work.” He handed it back to Smith. “Good job.”

  “Excellent job.” Bishop was grinning ear to ear. “To think of what we can do with those.”

  Smith shrugged. “Shoot things, mostly. I guess some strength training.”

  “Pshaw. Better defense. More hunters. Unique and worthwhile items to trade.”

  “Well I’m happy you’re happy.”

  “Oh, indeed.” Bishop nodded. “And so are they.” He pointed at the crowd. They had died down a bit, and were mostly talking amongst themselves now. A lot of them still pointed his way from time to time. “You might hold a record for the shortest term between walking in the gates and being well regarded. Your council position might show up sooner than I thought.”

  Baron grunted. “Good. Need some more level heads around here.” He continued to ignore the crowds. “Get me a few bits of that cord. Just little knots. I’ll hand them out to the scouts and hunters, see if we can’t get more. Probably something they’ve passed up in the past.”

  The hunter was a good guy. Practical. Smith liked him.

  The others were, well… at least they were happy.

  13

  Smith ate his lunch quietly while seated under a tree in the square. Everyone else was making more than enough noise. Apparently his bow was pretty impressive.

  It wasn’t even the best one he had made. It worked, but that was a pretty low bar to him. He could do better. He had done better. Back when things weren’t crazy and he had all the time and tools he needed for his silly hobbies.

  He tried not to listen to the chatter. It was loud. Irritating.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like it here. He wanted to be here. Really. Food, warmth, and safety. All good things. It was just… strange. People outside weren’t like this anymore. He’d given up on holding a conversation that wasn’t about his next meal, or trying to talk someone out of shooting him. Here meals just appeared. They had people whose sole job was to see to that.

  Sensible. Logical. And yet crazy.

  He should be overjoyed… but it grated on him. They were acting like everything was normal. Like things were fine.

  Maybe that was the only way they could get by. Just… doing their best and trying to ignore how messed up everything was.

  Part of him wished he could do it, too… but it wasn’t in him. Not yet.

  “I know that look. That’s the look of a man that’s seen a bit too much.”

  Baron’s raspy voice was a surprise. Smith hadn’t noticed the hunter approach, let alone sit down off to his right.

  Smith shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it. I wasn’t kidding, you know. You spent a year out there, that alone would get you on my team. Hell, I’d like to know how you did it.”

  “I climbed a lot of trees. Hard on the shoes.”

  “I know that trick. Most predators can’t or wont follow. We outfit our people accordingly. But there has to be more to it.”

  Smith pushed bits of potato around his plate. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright.”

  “Sure. I get it. I’ll give you time to settle in.”

  Smith scoffed. “Not sure I will.”

  “You will. Takes time.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I want to. I mean, the place is fine. I like it. But if I get accustomed to walls, to three meals, to other people watching out for me… that’s probably when something will make it in anyway and I won’t see it coming.”

  Baron… chuckled. It was an odd sound. The man had been serious to a fault. “Like I said, seen a bit too much. I won’t pry, but I will say this place is something you’ve seen now, too. It’s here. It’s real. It works. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t keep coming back.” Smith heard him climb back to his feet. Either he was less distracted now, or the man didn’t bother trying to be quiet. “You do good work. That’s all that matters to me. I’ll keep doing my job on your behalf if you keep doing yours on mine. That’s how it works here.”

  Smith nodded a few times. “That makes sense.”

  “It does. Makes a lot more sense than what’s outside those fences.”

  “I hope so…” Smith glanced around, but Baron was gone. “I see someone was a fan of Batman.”

  He climbed to his feet as well, his plate in hand. It wasn’t empty this time, but he didn’t think a few leftover scraps would offend anyone. He started for the kitchens but stopped in his tracks when he almost ran into Mary.

  She held the fingertips of her right hand up by her lips before moving the hand down to point at Smith.

  He had never really encountered sign language before. “Sorry, I don’t understand. Just looks like you’re Italian and you enjoyed your meal. I mean, it wasn’t bad food, but I don’t think that’s what you’re going for.”

  She smiled a bit as she shook her head. She had a little notepad in her pocket. She scribbled: “Thank you,” and held it up.

  “Cool. You’re welcome, I guess. Don’t know what I did, though.”

  She drew a line across “Thank you,” and added: “Last night.”

  “Oh. Right. Don’t worry about it. Happy to help.”

  A soft horn call caught the young woman’s ear, her head turning slightly. Others around the square dressed in overalls were standing and gathering their plates.

  So, lunch for the farm hands was over, and they had a horn just for signaling that. Huh.

  A low toned bell wasn’t far behind. Others climbed from their seats. There would be a run on the kitchen to turn plates in at this rate.

  A soft poke at his shoulder drew his eyes back to the front. Mary wore a small smile as she waved and put her notepad away in the big pocket on the front of her overalls.

  “I think I got that one.” He waved back. “Have a nice afternoon.”

  She wandered off with the other farm hands, but looked back at him and waved again before she disappeared around a corner.

  “Already making friends. That’s good.” Bishop took the plate out of Smith’s hands and started for the kitchen.

  Smith matched his pace. “I guess so. I thought you said you didn’t set work hours.”

  “I don’t, but the division heads are free to do so. They’re pretty reasonable most of the time, as long as quotas are met. There have been a few long hauls to make sure things kept running, but it’s rare.” He set the plate amongst the others on the tables the kitchen staff was already busing. “Might be one coming up, unfortunately. Heading into winter, and all. Need to make sure the harvest is big enough to last and the livestock are prepared. We rely more on the hunters then. In the spring and summer they work more to cultivate the animals outside, keep their numbers under control.”

  “I think most of this is over my head.”

  Bishop smiled a bit. “And I couldn’t make a bow, even though I watched you do it. We’ll call it a draw.” He sat at one of the swiftly emptying
tables and invited Smith to join him with a wave. “So, what are your plans for the afternoon?”

  “Probably get that bow painted up. See if I can find some stick tape or something.”

  “Stick tape?”

  “Hockey stick. Kind of… cloth tape, I guess. The siyahs, the bits on the end of the limb where the string hooks on, won’t keep paint very well. The string will rub it off. The tape will last longer, but is only necessary in a few spots. Makes for a good grip on the handle, too.”

  “I see.” Bishop tapped a finger against his chin. “Only thing of the sort I can think of is medical tape. We can go see the medic, if you like.”

  Smith shook his head. “No, thanks. Work to do. Can probably get another one made up today, and he probably needs that stuff more than I do.”

  Bishop held up his hands. “Hey, don’t let me stop you. I’ll ask around for cloth tape.”

  Smith nodded as he stood up. “Thanks.”

  People were moving all over the place. He recognized most of them from the meals at this point. Maybe in a week or two this would just be normal, and he could stop walking around with a hand resting on the handle of his knife. That would be nice.

  The shop was empty when Smith got back. It seemed weird to have his little crowd gone, but they had things to do. So did he.

  Besides, the quiet was nice. He could work without trying to explain everything he did.

  It took him a minute to rearrange things, but he got the generator set up close to the bench so he could turn it on and off quickly, and had the clamps and forms laid out, ready to go.

  A little more speed and precision was involved, and there was a greater chance of failure, but he heated and pressed the first limb of the second bow himself. He didn’t technically need help, it just made things smoother. Most of the work he would do in this shop would undoubtedly be done alone.

  While the first limb was cooling he heated up the excess he had cut off the first bow to shorten it and used the small pieces to form arrow rests that curved up from the handle. He spun one of the rejected cords around to hold it in place on the first bow. It seemed to work, though he wouldn’t be able to say for sure until he could test it.