Rachel

Nicodemus was annoyed with the news brought to him in the morning.  The page following the stranger hadn’t seen the need to wake him over such trivial news.  Some old blacksmith was helping the stranger make jewelry.  Tiny ringlets by the thousands forged from something called Titan’s metal.  The page surmised that the stranger was likely going to set up shop selling cheap jewelry made of this lightweight alloy of common steel.  Nicodemus fumed.  The page was an idiot and he told him so.  Whitesmiths make jewelry.  Blacksmiths make armaments.  What weapons did he forge?  There must have been weapons.  But the page was sure there were none.  He had watched them work until the forge was left for the night.  No weapons of any kind.  

Nicodemus dismissed the page, ordering him to assist in cleaning the livery stables until further notice.  Old Polonius was making chainmail.  Titanium was an alchemist’s pipe dream, but what if Polonius had discovered it’s secrets?  It would be an unsettling development.  If the Lord had known sooner, he could have arrested the stranger simply for attempting to forge weapons of superior quality to those of the King’s Officers.  This would have been a justifiable arrest given the fabled and fantastic qualities supposedly attributed to the Titan’s metal.  He could have shut down any mischief before it had started.  But it was done now, and no weapons were ever produced.  Only the makings of a suit of chainmail.  

The Lord needed to know more, but he had to operate within the limits of the law.  This was still a city of laws, no matter how often they were ignored by the knaves.  His integrity was one with the Kings.  He would send his niece Rachel to visit with old Polonius’s grandson.  She was exceedingly clever and intelligent, and not at all unpleasant to look upon.  She could reconnoiter a thousandfold times better than the sharpest wartime agent.  The only question was, where in creation would she be at this time of morning?

The End

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