Black Bart's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The boy was sweeping iron filings when Bart realized what metal he needed. Not the decent stock in his racks or the salvaged scraps in his bins. The spirit waiting in his master's old hammer demanded something stronger, something that would hold fire without breaking. Paulie's shop sat three docks over, marked by a crate of glowing ingots chained outside the door. The metal inside pulsed like coals in a dying fire—rare stock from places Bart didn't ask about. He pushed through the door and found Paulie counting coin behind a counter stacked with navigation charts. "The black iron," Bart said. Paulie's eyes narrowed. "That metal's not for sale. Not for coin." He set down a heavy chalice etched with symbols Bart recognized from altar work. "Forge me this. Exact pattern. Then we'll talk." Bart picked up the chalice and turned it in his hands. The engravings showed ship wheels and drowning stars—occult work meant for rituals he wanted no part of. His master had taught him to read a customer's soul through steel, but this wasn't about matching spirits to wielders. This was about feeding something hungry. He set the chalice down harder than needed. "I don't forge for gods or ghosts." Paulie shrugged and pulled the crate of black iron back toward the wall. "Then you don't get the metal." Bart stared at the glowing ingots, then at his master's hammer hanging from his belt. The boy needed proper teaching, and proper teaching needed proper steel. He picked up the chalice again and traced the ship wheel with his thumb. One job. One tool for darkness in exchange for a dozen blades of light. "I'll forge it," he said. "But the boy doesn't touch this work." Paulie smiled and pushed the crate forward. Bart loaded the black iron onto his shoulder and walked back to his forge, carrying weight that had nothing to do with metal.