Inherited Danger

by Brian Rathbone

  * * *

  In the oppressive heat of the forge building, the cold and snow seemed a distant dream. Sweat rolled into Strom's eyes as they waited for the molten blob within the crucible to reach what Gustad considered the optimal consistency.

  "Do you really think we can do this?" Osbourne asked.

  "Don't know," Strom said. "Milo said we just need steady hands, and I suppose we have that."

  "So much work has gone into making the glass; I don't want to ruin it."

  "No worries, my boy," Milo said from across the room. "You boys are just what we need to achieve the perfect pour. Practice it may take, but you will succeed, of that I am confident."

  "See," Strom said. "Milo believes in us."

  "Yeah," Osbourne said, his voice barely above a whisper, "but that's coming from someone who sets himself on fire at least once a day."

  "He hasn't gone up in flames today," Strom countered.

  "The day is young yet."

  Gustad bent down to peer into the small opening in the furnace, admiring the molten glass in the crucible. "I believe we are ready to pour," he said. "Remember, the key is slow and steady, and you must increase the rate of your pour as you reach the bottom of the crucible. Understand?" Strom and Osbourne nodded, though Strom wondered if his confidence were misplaced. He certainly had no reason to believe he and Osbourne were capable of a task that required such precision, but he was determined to try. "Steady now," Gustad said as they slowly eased the crucible out of the furnace, their arms hidden within long, thick, leather gloves.

  Despite their efforts, hot coals clung to the crucible and fell to the floor. "Don't let any coals drop into the mold," Milo said, his eyes wide with excitement.

  "Hurry now," Gustad said. "We must not let the glass cool. Begin the pour. Slow and steady, boys. Slow and steady."

  Strom tried to keep his hands from trembling, but the pressure was on him. Osbourne's task was simply to balance the long pouring rod while Strom regulated the rate of the pour. Slowly he began to tip the crucible. Like heated tree sap, the molten glass oozed from the crucible, and Strom tried to ignore the sweat that was seeping into his eyes.

  "Easy, now. Nice and slow," Milo said, moving closer to inspect the pour, his long robes gliding across the floor.

  "Increase the flow," Gustad said after most of the glass had left the crucible; only a small amount remained. "Steady now. Steady."

  Squinting, Strom tried his best, but his eyes burned, and the crucible wobbled slightly.

  "Blast!" Gustad said. "So very close. You nearly had it. Put the pouring rod and crucible on the rack."

  After replacing the rod, Strom turned and shook his head. "Milo," he said.

  Milo ignored him as he examined the glass cooling in the mold. "Not bad," he said. "Almost as good as what we've accomplished on our own--only a few bubbles. If only my hands did not shake with age, we could have had this done a dozen times."

  "Milo," Strom said more forcefully while trying to catch up with the monk who now paced the floor.

  "I wonder if we should change the shape of the crucible so we don't have to increase the rate of pour so dramatically--"

  "Milo!"

  "What is it, m'boy?" Milo asked, suddenly sniffing the air.

  "You're on fire again."