Asher Converse's Arc

Chapter 8 of 30

The morning after Asher took the coin box, he carried a heavy lock to the front door. He'd traded two casks for it. The bolt was iron, thick as his thumb. He fit it to the frame and drove the screws deep. Now the grain house could shut tight when the fight came. He tested the bolt three times. It held. Tucker leaned in the doorway, watching. Tucker was the man who'd led Asher to this building in the first place, who ran the bar and took a share of the drinks. They'd fought over the money the night before. Asher had won that fight. He didn't know yet what Tucker thought of it. "A lock," Tucker said. He hooked a thumb in his belt. His chains caught the light. "Now we can keep the coin inside and the trouble out." "That's the idea," Asher said. He waited for the argument. It didn't come. Tucker crouched and ran a finger along the new bolt. "Good iron," he said. "You did right." He stood and looked at Asher straight. "You were right about the money too. A shell that locks beats a shell that's pretty and open." Asher set down his tools. "You spent the brandy money on strangers." "I did." Tucker didn't flinch. "And you called it. It's your house." He shrugged. "I'd rather have a partner who knows the difference than one who lets me run wild." Something eased in Asher's chest. He'd braced for a man who'd hold a grudge. He got a man who shook it off. "Then help me spend the rest right," Asher said. They worked through the day. Asher counted the till. He set aside what he needed for the fight, then split the shine money the way Tucker liked. With it they bought polished brass mugs. They hung a cracked mirror behind the bar that threw lamplight across the room. They bought a string of small bells for the new door, so no one entered unheard. By dusk the grain house glowed. Brass caught the light. The mirror doubled the flames. Men came in and their eyes went to the shine, then stayed for the drink. Tucker moved among them, learning names, filling mugs. Asher stood by the locked door and watched the room fill. Tucker brought him a brass mug and clinked it against his. "To a house that shines and locks," he said. "To that," Asher said. He drank. The room was full and loud and warm. The bolt sat ready in its frame. Word would spread again: the grain house was the place where the wizard's fighters met, safe behind iron, bright as a coin.