Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 619 of 619

The Seraphine came home at dawn with the hold packed full. Ajax stood at the rail as the ship slid through the canal to the hidden dock. Behind the walls, his men had wine and bread waiting. But the cargo mattered more than the welcome. The god's hide, the ancient beast pelts, the pale creature's skin and teeth. All of it needed hands to turn it into goods. Ajax gave the order to unload and sent word to his craftsman. Tarron came down to the workhouse before the crates were even open. The old woolwright was tall and thin, gray hair combed back, a kind face over an open blue tunic. He had been a shepherd once, and he still read a hide the way another man read a page. He knelt by the god's skin and pressed both hands flat against it. He said nothing for a long moment. "This will hold an edge out," Tarron said. "No blade cuts it. No arrow." He looked up at Ajax. "Council coats. Long ones. Every man at your table gets one." Aldric stood at the next table with the teeth spread before him. The scholar counted them twice, then looked at Ajax. "Dozens," he said. "Each one a healer's needle. A ship's hold of coin from this jaw alone." "Then set your men to it," Ajax said. Tarron did not wait for more. He measured the god's hide with a cord, marking lengths against each name he knew. He cut the first coat that afternoon. His hands moved fast and sure, no wasted motion. By dusk the shape of it lay on the table, a long dark coat with a raised collar. He held it up. Aldric ran a thumb along the seam. "A blade won't pass that." "No," Tarron said. He set the coat down and reached for the next length. Ajax watched the old man work. This was the thing the raids had never given him. A raid ended when the fighting stopped. A hide became a coat, and a coat lasted a life. He had killed a god and hauled its skin across the sea, and now his craftsman was turning it into armor no lord could match. Over three days Tarron cut thirteen coats from the god's hide and stitched boots from the thickest scraps. Aldric drilled the teeth into needles, wrapped each in cloth, and logged them in the ledger. The pale creature's skin went to gloves and trim. Nothing was wasted. On the third night Ajax gathered his council in the hall. Each man found a coat laid across his chair. Tarron stood by the fire, arms crossed, watching them lift the dark cloth. "Wear them on the wall," Ajax said. "No blade the Crossing sells will cut them." Grayson pulled his on and turned. The coat sat like it was made for him, because it was. The cargo was goods now. Ajax had his men clothed in the skin of a god, and the vault held teeth worth a season's trade. The hold was empty, and the house stood richer than when it sailed.