Metallic clangs echoed noisily off the stone walls as an adult dwarf hammered mercilessly on a long thin strip of metal. Rotating the metal rod so that the flattened side was now facing up, the hammering began anew. On and on the dwarf pounded away on the anvil. Hefting the heavy black hammer easily, the dwarf paused to wipe his forearm along his sweaty brow. Giving the strip of metal an angry scowl, and a rather fierce shake, the hammering began again.
A young dwarf child appeared in the shopkeeper’s doorway, arms laden with scrolls and books. Depositing the load on a table already covered with metal shavings, small hammers, and several tiny files, the child quietly watched as his father continued to pound the same piece of metal over and over. After waiting a few moments, the child cleared his throat. The relentless clanging finally ceased.
“Is it finished?”
Silence.
“How does it look?”
“Terrible.”
“May I see it?”
“No. There’s nothing worth looking at. I’ve already melted it back down.”
“Didn’t you say you’d get a second opinion before any drastic action was taken?”
“Trust me, it was terrible.”
“Still having trouble with the hammers?”
“Really? What gave you that idea?”
The child stooped to pick up several small hammers that were on the floor.
“I doubt these fell off the table of their own accord,” the boy thoughtfully observed, ignoring his father’s sarcasm. “Only the hammers found their way to the floor. No tongs, no files, and no scraps. Therefore I would deduce that you might be having difficulty with the –”
“I already know what I’m having difficulty with,” Venk snapped. Twisting around to grab one of the diminutive hammers, he gestured angrily at his son. “Look at this thing! My hand is too big to wield this properly.”
“What type of hammer is that?”
“Lukas, I know you know what type it is,” Venk said in exasperation. “I do not need you to test me to see whether or not I know their nature.”
“Father, is this hammer for planishing, embossing, raising, or riveting?”
Sighing, Venk took the tool and felt the hammer’s head. The hammer was two-sided; one head was flat and the other was domed.
“Raising.”
Lukas looked down at the hammers he was holding and selected one with two flat surfaces, one smaller than the other. He held it out to his father.
“This one is a raising hammer. That one is an embossing hammer.”
Venk studied the two hammers. “The one with the rounded end is for embossing?”
“Aye. The raising hammer should be used first, to get the silver into the shape you want it to be. The embossing hammer is used to smooth the surface.”
“That explains all the blemishes. Wizards be damned. When did you become an expert on silversmithing?”
“When I read the books that Master Maelnar recommended. All of them.”
“Books are for scholars. You learn by getting your hands dirty.”
Lukas smiled. “After six months one would think your hands would be dirty enough.”
“Do not start sounding like Athos,” his father ordered.
Changing the subject, Lukas gestured towards the table.
“I have the information you requested from the Archives. Master Argon agreed to loan us everything you wanted provided you show him how the axe turns out.”
Venk turned towards the table and started rifling through the documents. “I cannot fathom who in their right mind would want a troll skull on an axe. Wait, what is all this? Lukas, what have you brought? I asked for pictures! There’s nothing but writing here! How am I supposed to fashion a troll skull unless I have a picture?”
“Read the descriptions, father. Everything you need to know is there.”
“What I need to know is what a troll skull looks like.”
Lukas raised his eyes up off the document he was reading and settled them on his father.
“You said you fought dozens of trolls. With Uncle. How is it you do not know what their skulls look like?”
“A troll is not a creature that had to be cleaned like a fish,” Venk argued, tucking a stray wisp of his beard back into his belt. “Those cursed fiends ambushed us while we were looking for the human prince. I had no time to inspect them up close when another troll was preparing to bite my face off.”
“So you must have noticed how many teeth they had, how big their fangs were, how wide their mouths could –”
“Lukas.” Venk sighed heavily. “I was too preoccupied to notice and even if I did, I certainly would not remember. Help me. Find a suitable description in that mess which tells me how to make this accursed skull.”
“Yes, father.”
Five hours later Venk was painstakingly smoothing out the blemishes on an elongated object the size of his son’s clenched fist. It was a silver troll skull, ready to be attached to the axe handle he had completed last month. Venk beamed. This was one of his better attempts. His customer should be pleased. The original order called for a dragon skull to be on the other side of the axe, but Venk had flatly refused. Due to recent events, his attitude towards dragons had completely changed. He had told the customer that he wouldn’t dare dishonor a dragon by putting it and a troll on the same weapon. The client had finally relented, agreeing the axe would be just fine with only the troll skull on one side.
The dome of the skull shone with a mirrored finish. Two eye sockets gleamed evilly back at him. Four fangs, two upper and two lower, protruded from the closed jaws.
Grabbing the cloth he had been using to buff the silver, he applied another coat of rubbing compound to the skull and admired how the many blows from the tiny embossing hammer had practically disappeared. Perhaps Lukas was right and he should reconsider his decision to not read the books that Master Maelnar had suggested to him.
“What’s that?”
His son’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.
“Hmm?”
His son pointed at the silver object he was holding.
“What is that?” Lukas repeated, frowning at the object.
Venk proudly offered the silver skull to his son for his approval.
“That, m’boy, is a silver troll skull just like the customer wanted.”
Confused, Lukas looked up at his father.
“What were you reading?”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“Father, what were you reading?”
“What’s the problem?” Venk gruffly asked, annoyed that his son wasn’t beaming with pride.
“The troll skull is inaccurate, father.”
“Next you’ll tell me dragons don’t spit fire!”
Lukas ran his finger along the top of the troll’s cranium.
“An adult troll has a bony ridge running the length of the skull, starting at the base of the neck and ending half-way down the forehead. This skull doesn’t have that ridge. Unless the customer wants an infant troll skull, I would fix this.”
“How do you know that?”
Lukas sighed and rolled his eyes. “I read it. From the same book I gave to you.”
The child walked deliberately over to the table and reached for the open book.
“Now wait just a moment.” Venk hurried over to the small work table and yanked the book out of his son’s grasp. He gestured angrily at the page on the right. “Nowhere does it state that the skull has a ridge.”
Lukas pulled the book down lower so that he could see the descriptions for himself. With his father still holding the book, Lukas glanced down at the aforementioned paragraph.
“There is no mention of a cranial ridge in that passage,” Lukas admitted. “The problem is –”
Venk smiled. “Ha. Thought as much.”
“The problem is,” Lukas continued, ignoring his father’s outburst, “this passage refers to an infant tro
ll. The description of the adult skull is on the opposite page.”
Venk’s angry eyes jumped from the right page to the left.
“Well I’ll be a son of a...”
Sure enough, the description of the adult’s skull was there, along with mention of the infernal cranial ridge his son had reminded him about.
Lukas noticed his father’s darkening mood and hastily pointed back at the small furnace.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to fashion a cranial ridge out of more silver if you have some left in the smelter.”
With a scowl, Venk donned his thick leather gloves and pulled out the tiny pot of molten silver. His son was right, of course. It shouldn’t be too difficult to add a line of silver to...
Turning too quickly, Venk stubbed his toe on the closest table leg and lurched forward, smashing his knee into a stool. Since working with molten metal would undoubtedly set any wood furniture ablaze, all of his shop’s furniture was solid metal. His knee throbbed mercilessly. Venk hurriedly set the iron pot down on his workbench before any of the molten silver could spill out. Unfortunately, a tiny drop splashed out of the pot and arced gracefully through the air. It landed high on his son’s right shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.