The Blacksmith

Twenty-six tally marks. Mack’s home was the next to collapse. Luckily, he and Daisy were outside when it happened. They were welcomed by Mr. Sky to stay in the barber’s hovel. The old blacksmith’s shop had become a common sight in Dragontown. There were few who ever held that family in disdain, myself among them for a time.

Twenty-nine marks, and Madame Piff left the temple willingly, and forced her way into Lady Hen’s quarters within the new palace. Hen did not attempt to evict her, and the temple crumbled a day later. I had seldom saw emotion in Madame Piff. Her home that was taken with her here, her business of as many decades as some had years, tumbled like a broken tree. Much of it splashed into the river and sunk below, bubbling in acid. She broke down crying.

I wrapped my feet in torn sheets before going outside. It would keep them from burning for a few minutes. I didn’t know why I wanted to speak with Mack. I thought, somehow, I owed him something. He was a blacksmith from some distant, peasant village where they called goddesses Navfa. The world had no right to make me indebted to him in any way.

This man was a constant rebel. He was there when Mr. Sky thought to throw me in the river. He’d tried to betray Bubbles on a dozen occasions- throwing himself against the walls or trying to stab the ground with tools, or pretending at other schemes that just posed a pointless annoyance. I hated him. I did hate him. Lady Hen convinced me not to, and she only ever mentioned his name in passing. I had no idea if they’d ever even spoken to each other.

I was stopped just outside of the barber’s hovel. Even Mr. Sky, who held me beside the river, knelt as he saw me. He blathered some thanks for me even being here. And finally he asked, “Do ya have somethin’ to say to me, Your Majesty?”

“I’m here for Mack,” I dismissed him out of hand.

“Ya should wait before ya see him. He got a fever in the night.”

“I see…” I shifted on my feet. The cloth I’d tugged around them had almost already burned through. “I came all the way out here, I should see him.”

“There be a miasma around the ill. Ya must be well when the last day comes, Princess,” he winked, “my life depends on it.”

I pushed past him, “There’s a miasma everywhere. Get used to it, it’ll only get worse.” Mack was laid out on the bare ground within the barber’s hovel. He was flat on his back with his limbs stretched out, the backs of his arms were seasoned with burns. The scrap of clothing around him had melted in the night, and yet he forced himself to lay still. His cheeks were sunken and pale. Daisy lay as much across his chest as she could, so that she could avoid sleeping wholly on the floor.

I knelt beside him, “Mack,” I tried to wake him. A flicker of breath left his throat. I couldn’t make out a word in it.

Mr. Sky whispered to me, “You’ll have one less to choose from tomorrow morn.”

“You’re the surgeon, Sky! Get the man some water.”

“There’s not half enough to waste on him now.”

I put my hand on Daisy’s shoulder until she stirred, “Get some for her, then. Ask her if it’s worth wasting.” I looked at her face as she opened her swollen eyes. Her cheeks were a deep red. “Have you been crying?”

“P-Princess…” She inched closer to me. “Princess, help Daddy.”

I put my hand on her cheek, just under her eye, “I’m trying, Daisy. I promise. Even if he’s not okay, he’ll be all right.” Mr. Sky just sat by and watched. I nearly shoved him as I passed. For all he was willing to concern himself with bowing and trying to win favor, he was as ready to let Mack, his friend, die. One less person for me to choose from, Mr. Sky was right, even if there was a space for him, it wouldn’t be his.

The scraps of fabric around my feet fell off as I stomped back to the new palace. I struggled to lift one of my buckets of water in my own hands, and I trudged back to the barber’s hovel. Some drops of water splashed out over the rim sizzling away on the ground. The bottoms of my feet screamed at me with each blistering step until I slammed the bucket of water down beside Mack and Daisy. Mr. Sky looked at me funny as I did. “Grab a rag!” I said through my teeth.

“Ya know how to care for a sick man, now?”

“Not in the slightest. I said to give me a rag.”

Mr. Sky handed a little piece of torn, white cloth to me. “Best I got.”

I dabbed it in the water and began cleaning out Mack’s burns, “Take it. You, do this.” He reluctantly did. I wiped the sweat from my brow. I laughed at myself. What was I doing? This kind of work was beneath me.

Mr. Sky finally agreed to carry Mack back to the palace. We set him down on the first floor, its cracked diamond ground not burning him with every moment. Daisy knelt beside him as I tried to force food down his throat. When Madame Piff saw us, she eyed Daisy sadly. She said nothing. Instead, she told me to rest while she watched for a while.

I came back downstairs in the evening, and as I did, Mack stirred. He jolted awake with a radiating life unlike he’d had all day. I ran to him, “Mack! You’re better!” I said at first, then I felt the warmth still radiating from him. His fever was higher than before. Maybe, it was the low heat that always radiated from Dragontown.

He smiled, “Princess, you helped me…” Madame Piff turned away when she saw his sudden energy. She grabbed Daisy by the arm and started upstairs.

“You’re still feverish,” I muttered, “you should get some more rest.”

“No, no…” He smiled widely, “Daisy! Come here!” He leaned against the wall and she ran over to sit beside him.

“Papa…” She wrapped her arms around his legs.

“Come upstairs, Daisy…” Madame Piff tried to coax her. Mr. Sky left, heading back for his home.

I shook my head, “He’s her father. He’s better, she should…”

“Child,” Madame Piff shook her head, “this is the last high note at the end of a song.” I felt my lungs sink in my chest. Mack was always a thorn in my side. I didn’t want him to die.

He didn’t seem to register Madame Piff’s words, and he spoke softly to Daisy. It was like he was the same as he’d always been. He went on speaking a tuneless lullaby about places he’d seen around the world. He talked about rivers of water and mountains and fields of grass that tickle your feet. Of snow, of playing with her in the snow again. He shivered. And once he coughed, he lowered again. All at once, he was tired, then sleeping. His unconscious breaths left him.

Daisy kept asking him questions like he would suddenly wake up again. Madame Piff had to drag the girl upstairs so she’d sleep. She refused to anyway, whimpering and finally coughing through the night.