XX - The Blacksmith
The word hung between them for so long that Vlad wondered if Sybil had not even heard it; that it had passed through her mind without even making an impact, so absurd was it to her relatively singular view of the world.
“Werewolf?” she finally said. The word sounded strange on her tongue, as if she struggled to speak it despite clearly being familiar with the term. “Such a horrible creature actually exists?”
Vlad could not help but smile at this. “In our short time together you have witnessed enough nightmares to satisfy several lifetimes, and yet you are taken aback by the existence of werewolves? There are other ungodly creatures in this world besides just vampyres, my apprentice. I believe I have told you this once before.”
“I suppose it does sound a bit foolish when you put it that way,” Sybil said. She allowed a brief pause. “And you intend for us to slay this werewolf, correct?”
The smile vanished from Vlad’s face. His next words felt heavy as he spoke them. “No, Night Owl. As a matter of fact, I do not.”
Sybil frowned, clearly taken aback. Much like when she first heard the word ‘werewolf’, it seemed as though her mind could not comprehend Vlad’s response. “What?” she sounded exasperated. “And why not?!”
“Because we deal in the slaying of vampyres, my apprentice,” he said, “not werewolves. While they share a number of weaknesses, such as their aversion to silver, werewolves and strigoi are two completely different beasts—and their slayings are two different tasks entirely.”
“So you have never slain a werewolf, then?”
Vlad shook his head. “Now that, I did not say. To the contrary, I have certainly slain my fair share of the beasts, when the need has arisen, and each time I have come within inches of having my throat ripped clean from my neck.” He met her gaze again. “And that was without having an apprentice to concern myself with.”
“I would not get in your way,” she said. “In fact, I’m certain we can slay the thing if we work together.”
“I am sorry, but the answer remains no, Night Owl,” he said. “Lycanthropes are simply too far out of our element for us to be able to slay one effectively. You are not ready for such a task, and we cannot go about putting ourselves at risk facing werewolves when we still have Three-Fang to consider.”
Sybil crossed her arms in front of her chest; she kept her gaze locked onto his. “And pray tell how slaying a lycanthrope differs so greatly from slaying a vampyre. They seem similar enough to me.”
“And thus you have proven how unprepared you are for such a task, Night Owl,” Vlad said. “Vampyres and werewolves could not be more different. A battle with this lycanthrope would not proceed how our bout with Vivienne did. We would be stepping into a domain that neither of us is properly suited for.”
Sybil considered his words for a few moments, though she looked entirely unconvinced. “So you would have us leave these people to their fate then, just as we did with Mr. Osmond’s caravan?”
Vlad could hear the growing frustration in his apprentice’s voice, and he knew he needed to proceed carefully. He shook his head. “No, I did not say that. Fenwick is already in good hands. Sir Godwin, despite his disdain for me, is a very capable man, and then we also have Avice. She has always been far better at slaying lycanthropes than I have; if anybody was best suited to handle this beast, it would be her.” He crossed his arms, mirroring his apprentice’s earlier stance. “In fact, I am very much surprised she has not responded to this lycanthrope threat as of yet. It is quite unlike her to leave such a menace unaddressed.”
“Perhaps there is something preventing her from facing it,” Sybil suggested, sounding calmer now. “Or perhaps she is formulating a plan to combat the threat.”
“Both possibilities,” Vlad agreed. “I suppose we shall not know until we ask her, shall we?” He nodded. “Come, it is time that we pay a visit to my old friend.”
___
A pillar of grey smoke drifted up from Avice’s forge and into the azure morning sky. It was the first time in a long, long while that Vlad was happy to see such a thick cloud of exhaust; it meant that the blacksmith was awake and had begun her day.
The Plague doctor ushered Elpis onward, and the horse carried them down the slight hill that overlooked the forge. As they approached, the familiar sound of metal clanging against metal filled Vlad’s ears, and he knew that Avice was deeply engrossed in her craft; he wondered what it was she was currently smashing into submission, and found himself excited to get to look upon her work for the first time in several years. He brought the coach to a stop in the patchy yard outside of the forge, where he and Sybil disembarked.
“The far side of the building has an open wall straight into Avice’s forge,” Vlad explained, “but she prefers all customers come in through the front. There was a time when I would circumvent this expectation, but given that it has been a long while since I’ve seen her, I think it best we follow her rules for now.”
Sybil nodded, saying nothing. They made their way toward the forge’s poorly fitted wooden door, which Vlad pushed open with little effort, and together the two of them stepped inside.
They found themselves in a small room. Metalwork wares, ranging from iron horseshoes to heavy plate armor to a wide arrangement of other accessories were displayed throughout the room resting on various shelves, tables and racks. A wooden counter was situated in front of the rear wall, itself covered in an array of items that also looked to be for sale. The head of a single, large stag was mounted on the wall above the counter, a prize from a time that had long since passed, but that Vlad recalled well—and recalled fondly. The entire space was exactly how the Plague doctor had remembered it, save for the person standing behind the counter.
The boy was young, looking to be around Sybil’s age, and was thin and frail to the point that Vlad wondered when the last time was that he had enjoyed a proper meal. His mop of sandy blond hair covered the tops of his ears, his shaggy bangs coming dangerously close to sagging into his eyes. He wore a blacksmith’s apron that looked entirely too big on him, and judging by his stature, would likely remain loose on him even once he was fully grown.
When he saw Vlad and Sybil, he smiled awkwardly but warmly. “Welcome to Avice’s forge,” he said. “Are you here to make a purchase, or is Madam Avice expecting you?”
“Both and neither, young man,” Vlad said, returning the smile. “I do not have a prior arrangement with Madam Avice, but she should certainly always anticipate a visit from her old friend Vlad Albescu.”
The boy frowned slightly at this, but quickly brought back his smile, mildly distressed as it now was. “Oh. Well, Madam Avice is rather busy at the moment, and I am afraid she cannot be taken away from her forge. Is there anything I can help you with in her absence?”
“I am afraid not, my good man,” Vlad said. He did not lose the jovial cordiality in his voice. “You see, Avice and I have a somewhat unique arrangement, and as it is she who we need, my companion and I will gladly see ourselves into her forge to greet her. No need to distract yourself from your post on our behalf.”
The boy frowned fully now. “Madam Avice does not allow anybody but the two of us in her forge. Pardon any offense, but I do not think she will take an intrusion kindly.”
“Well, in that case you can simply escort us inside, then. I must tell you that Avice would be rather cross with you if she found out you turned me away, so to save you the grief, I greatly suggest that we go to meet her posthaste.”
The boy looked uncertain, but he ultimately relented after a brief, uncomfortable wringing of his hands. “Well, alright, then. If you are certain that it is so important, then I suppose I can do as you ask.”
“Excellent.” Vlad beamed. “And if Avice ends up perturbed by the disturbance, which I greatly doubt shall come to pass, you can rest easy knowing that I will take all of the blame for the unwanted intrusion.” He gestured to the side door that would take them deeper into the building. “Lead on, then.”
The boy stepped out from behind the counter. “Very well. Right this way.”
He led Vlad and Sybil through the side door, and the three of them stepped beyond the threshold that led into the forge proper. This new space was much larger than the first room, with a similar assortment of metalworks strewn about in barrels and collected on the tops of tables, as well as a nearby workbench. Loose piles of straw covered the grey stone ground, all of them having lost their shape due to the constant foot traffic that kicked them about all day long. Troughs and buckets of water lay in their spots throughout the space, ready to be used for cooling molten metals or putting out fires in the event of an emergency. A warmth radiated from the hot, glowing furnace in the corner of the room—the source of the billowing smoke outside, which shot up through the cobblestone chimney and escaped into the sky above the building. One of the space’s walls was in fact open, just as it had always been, which allowed the cold winter breeze to waft inside where it was quickly overwhelmed by the heat of the blazing forge.
The sound of clanging metal, once muffled by the building’s wood-and-stone walls, now rang in Vlad’s ears in a way that reminded him of his many battles with his own weapons, when his silver blades clashed with the infernal claws of the undead. The source of the sound came from the nearby anvil, which was currently being worked by a tall, broad-shouldered woman who continued to hammer away at the iron blade that she was in the middle of so meticulously crafting. Sweat dripped from her short-cropped hair and dark skin, and jumped from her body with every swing of her sturdy iron hammer. Vlad looked down at her while she kneeled in front of the anvil, but at her full height, the burly woman was almost a full head taller than the shorter man. She appeared to be slightly older than the last time he had seen her, which of course was to be expected, but she certainly looked no worse for wear.
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Were that he could have said the same about himself.
“Madam Avice,” the boy said in a voice so quiet and frail that Vlad did not think the blacksmith would have heard him.
Avice, evidently having done just that, responded without turning around. “Yes, Finnian?”
“You have visitors,” Finnian said.
Avice continued to work on her unrefined blade. “Customers?”
“Customers, perhaps,” Vlad said, “but certainly an old friend.”
Avice, recognizing Vlad’s voice, stopped her work mid-swing, stood up from her kneel, and turned to face her company. She already wore a smile on her face as she turned, but that smile quickly flipped into a frown when she noticed the freshly scarring slash running along Vlad’s face. “Looking a tad worse for wear since our last meeting, are you not, Vlad Albescu?”
Vlad smiled, half in warmth toward his old friend and half from the fact that she had so effortlessly mirrored his exact thoughts on himself. “That I do,” he said, “but it certainly looks far more grizzly than it is, I can assure you.”
“I suppose I should expect nothing less from the Ibis of Alcroft.” The blacksmith crossed her arms in front of her chest, tucking the head of her hammer up under her armpit. “Should I ask how you happened to acquire that nasty little wound of yours, or will the answer only serve to further my growing concern for you?”
Vlad shrugged. “How else does a vanquisher of vampyres acquire such a wound if not from vanquishing a vampyre?”
“I would say the vampyre came rather close to vanquishing you.”
“Well thankfully it did not,” Vlad said, “and I have survived to tell the tale through the tapestry of my face while the fiendish creature’s remains lie in smithereens at the bottom of the Ardventi River.”
“To be frank,” she said, “it has been so long since I last saw you that I assumed a strigoi had finally ripped out your still-beating heart some time ago.”
Vlad shook his head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. It would appear that you will have to humor me for a time longer, yet.”
Avice turned her attention to Sybil. “And who is this lovely, young thing that you’ve unfortunately swindled into traveling with you?”
Sybil smiled awkwardly at the older woman. “My name is Sybil Fletcher. It’s nice to meet you, madam.”
“Pretty and polite,” Avice said. “You’re already proving to be infinitely more pleasant company than this old fool deserves.”
“Night Owl is my new apprentice,” Vlad said, pushing past the good-humored insults.
“Taken on a new apprentice, have you?” Avice said. She gestured to the boy. “Well, as you can see, I also have taken on an apprentice in young Finnian, here. He minds the shop so I can continuously tend to my ever-growing workload in relative peace.”
Finnian looked at Vlad, also smiling awkwardly. “Hello, sir…”
Vlad acknowledged the boy with a friendly nod, then returned his attention to Avice. “Keeping yourself busy here, are you? I suppose that has something to do with the recent killings in town.”
Avice frowned. “So you’ve heard about them already, then?”
“We’ve more than heard about them,” Vlad said. “Two more were slain just last night. We briefly joined the crowd gawking over their mutilated corpses on our way to come see you.”
“Mother above,” Avice said, shaking her head. “Yes, I am afraid the recent rash of killings has led to the people of Fenwick feeling rather unsafe. Folks are purchasing weapons more quickly than I can produce them. I am hoping to get Finn trained in the workings of the forge with great haste, but for now, it certainly helps to have him tending to the shop.”
“I suppose it would be unadvisable to tell you that we are not merely here for a social visit, then.”
The blacksmith frowned again. “Well, seeing as you are here with a new apprentice, I am assuming you’ve come seeking some fresh arms for her.”
Vlad nodded. “Shrewd as ever, my old friend. We were hoping to procure a Plague mask for her, as well as silver chainmail, and silver-tipped quarrels for her quiver. I myself will also need a new pistol, as mine was lost in our most recent battle, and I will need my own Plague mask repaired.”
He pulled his damaged mask from his belt and showed Avice the long gash along its surface that matched the one hugging his face. She sighed. “Your arrivals never make things any easier for me, do they, Ibis?”
“I am afraid not,” he said, “but they always come with great appreciation and feelings of stalwart friendship.”
“Neither of which make the work you saddle me with any easier to complete.” Avice stood in silence for a few moments as she considered his request. “I suppose I cannot turn you down, seeing as you will be hard-pressed to find another blacksmith capable of smithing the items that you need, but this request will take me some time to complete. It will have to be worked in tandem with my other load—as such, it may be several days before it is all finished.”
“Never matter,” Vlad said. “We are weary from many weeks on the road, and would not mind spending some time in Fenwick. Night Owl and I can stay at the tavern until your work is complete. Sir Godwin might not be too fond of the idea, but he will tolerate my presence for a short while at least, I am sure.”
“Why not send Sybil over to The Dusty Pumpkin with Finn to secure some beds while you and I catch up and discuss payment?”
“An excellent idea,” Vlad said. Turning to face Sybil, he removed his coin purse from his belt and presented it to her. “Take this and go secure our lodging, Night Owl. Finnian should be able to lead you to the tavern. I will find you there once Avice and I are finished here.”
Sybil accepted the purse with a nod. “Alright, Mr. Albescu.”
She and Finnian turned to leave. Vlad and Avice watched as they disappeared into the store, leaving the two old friends alone.
Avice spoke before Vlad could even turn back to face her. “What are you doing, Vlad Albescu?”
Vlad looked at her and smiled, feigning ignorance as to the true nature of her words. “Whatever do you mean? I have already explained that we have come here in order to properly equip Night Owl.”
“I understand that much,” Avice said. “What I don’t understand is why.” She paused. “I retired from slaying monsters five years ago because I felt that I was growing too old for the profession. And yet here you are, a man five years my senior, galavanting into my forge with a new apprentice and a fresh gouge across your face as if you were a man half your age. So I ask you again: what are you doing, Vlad Albescu?”
Vlad frowned. He suddenly grew quite stern, the warmth and humor lost from his demeanor and voice. “You know what I am doing, Avice. I swore not to hang up my mask until that infernal creature Three-Fang was eradicated from this world. Well, scarcely a month ago Three-Fang took Night Owl’s parents from her. I had to put them down as the poor girl watched in horror. Three-Fang’s terrible reign still persists, so I too must persist. That is all there is to it.”
“And so you took on that girl as your apprentice, so that she may carry on your foolhardy quest for revenge once you’ve either been killed or succumbed to senility. Is that it?”
“I did not force Night Owl into this life. She chose to join me. In fact, she even asked to.”
“Of course she did,” Avice said. “Her parents were slain by a nosferatu. She was frightened, confused, and alone. What else was she meant to do?”
“And so you believe I took advantage of her vulnerability in order to pass my grudge onto her shoulders,” he said. “Do you truly think so poorly of me, my friend?”
“What I think—what I know—is that you grow older by the day, and I know that you realize this as well. You are not the same man you were even ten years ago.” She looked at the damaged mask which was still in his hand. “Tell me about this strigoi who gave you your new scar. Surely it was the most aged and powerful foe that you have ever faced in order for it to land such a blow.”
Vlad allowed a long pause before he gave her the answer that he knew she was waiting for. “No. The vampyre Vivienne was formidable, but it was far from the greatest foe I’ve ever faced.”
“And yet greater foes have not injured you in the way that this Vivienne has.”
Again he allowed a pause. “And so what is your point?”
“My point, Vlad Albescu, is this: what if next time it is your throat that gets opened by an opponent you would have easily bested a decade or two ago? Worse, what if it is hers?”
“That will not happen. I am training her to be an even greater Plague doctor than I ever was.”
“Of course,” Avice said. “Great enough to one day defeat the foe that you are no longer able to.”
Vlad scowled at this. “I did not come here to be chastised by somebody who will not even protect their own village from a rampaging lycanthrope.”
Avice did not seem the least bit surprised by his words. “So you’ve come to the same conclusion as I have about these attacks, then,” she said.
“I have,” Vlad said, “and I am frankly appalled that you would allow such a scourge to go unchecked. This is the fourth attack of this nature, so I have been made to believe, and yet you do nothing to stop them.”
“I already told you that I no longer live the life of a Plague doctor. I’ve retired, which is what you should do as well, unless you wish to meet your demise in between some nightmare’s clamping jaws.”
“Fine, so you’ve stepped away from this life,” he said. “I cannot fault you that. You’ve lived your fair share of it, saved more souls than you can count. But the Avice that I knew would not stay in her forge doing nothing while a beast is tearing her people to shreds just outside her door.”
“I suppose, then, that I am not the Avice you once knew. I have responsibilities beyond my duty as a Plague doctor. I have weapons to create for the village guard, Finnian to watch after—he cannot lose me like how he lost his parents. Without me, the boy has nothing all over again, and I cannot subject him to that.”
“And with you he has a mentor who is teaching him how to turn away from the people who need him.”
“Better he flee and survive than die a fool’s death.” She allowed a pause for Vlad to respond, during which he had several things he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. When she realized she would not be receiving a response, Avice spoke again. “I will have your equipment ready as soon as I am able. Hand me your mask.”
He approached her and did as she asked. “Thank you, Avice. Now, can we put this quarreling behind us? This is hardly how I would have liked to reunite with an old friend.”
She nodded. “Very well, Ibis. It is forgotten. But understand that this will be the final time that I honor a request of this nature. I will no longer supply you with the tools that hasten you to an early grave. We are both growing far too old for this line of work, my friend—you especially.” She looked down at the damaged mask and thumbed a spot in the stiff leather where the material had been stained by Vlad’s blood. “I pray that you soon realize as much for yourself, before it is too late.”
