Black Bart's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The hammer hung quiet on its peg when Madame Sasha walked through the forge door. Bart knew her by reputation—sharp eyes, sharper deals, and a crew that needed arming. She carried a leather pouch that clinked with promise. Bart set down his tongs and studied her face while the boy kept pumping the bellows. She didn't look at the weapons on display or the cooling rack of finished blades. Her eyes went straight to the boy, then to the half-shaped iron glowing in the coals. "I need a training blade," she said. "Something balanced. Light enough for learning, strong enough not to break." Bart grunted and crossed his arms. Training swords were apprentice work, beneath his skill. But then he caught the look in her eyes—the same look he'd seen in the boy's face yesterday. She wasn't asking for herself. She was building something. "The boy forges it," Bart said. Sasha's eyebrow lifted. "Under your eye?" Bart nodded once. "Every strike." She set the pouch on his workbench without counting the coins. "Then we have a deal." Bart pulled the iron from the coals and handed the boy his hammer. The boy's hands shook as he gripped the worn leather handle. Bart guided his first strike, showing him how to read the metal's heat, how to listen to the ring of hammer on anvil. The boy hit too hard, then too soft, then found the rhythm. Sweat dripped down his face but he didn't stop. Bart watched Sasha watching the boy, saw her measuring not just the blade taking shape but the hands that shaped it. She understood what Bart had seen yesterday—this boy had the soul for the work. When the blade finally cooled and Bart wrapped the grip in leather, Sasha tested its weight and smiled. "He'll make a proper smith," she said. Bart picked up his master's hammer and hung it back on its peg. "He already is." Sasha paid double the agreed price and left a recruitment notice tacked to the doorframe on her way out. The galleon with flame-painted sails waited at the docks, ready to take on a new crew member who'd need that training blade. Bart turned to find the boy staring at the coins, then at the finished sword in Sasha's hands. "Why'd you make me forge it?" the boy asked. Bart selected another piece of iron from his stock and set it by the coals. "Because I don't waste metal on maybes. You proved yourself worth teaching. Now grab the bellows." The boy's grin split his face as he reached for the handle. Bart had his apprentice, and the forge had found its future.