Searing 16, 121
Aurin had given him a kiss, a key, and a task when he'd sent him off home in the early hours of the morning, Searing's sun already cresting the top of the buildings.
His master was away, trading in a village far enough outside the city that the trip there and back took three days, one to get there, one to trade, one to return. He should be back late this day's afternoon or early evening. Torin had been left in charge of the shop, along with the older blacksmith apprentice boys and the cook. The cook was the one everyone was afraid of enough not to get into trouble while the runesmith was away. Torin was known to grow stormclouds around his head when anyone bullied the younger apprentices and had never raised a hand or a voice to any in the three-quarters of a year since he'd been sent to finish his education.
He'd fought hard to finish what there was to be done the afternoon before, leaving himself only a few hours work for that morning. The master never left large workloads while he was away, knowing they were unlikely to be finished without his watchful eye on his apprentices. This practice left Torin with more time on his hands. Sometimes he used it to show useful things to the younger blacksmiths or the one other runesmith apprentice, or take work over from anyone who was behind. This was the first time he'd left the area entirely, trusting that anyone who was going to get into trouble would have done so during the first two days.
When he got back to the shop he grabbed some breakfast, ravenous as always, and then headed to his own little workshop, a combination of blacksmithy and runeforge that he quite liked. He hoped to set his own workspace up like this when he got his own place, even though it was considered an apprentice set-up he was used to it and efficient in it.
Stripping down to his breeches and tying his hair back with a leather cord he carefully took the key he'd been given from the little pocket in his satchel and set it on his workbench. He did not activate the aether forge, he wouldn't need it for this job, instead, he moved to the forge and began to stoke it. The coals never truly went out unless they were slowly cooling the forge for a cleaning once or twice a year. He worked the bellows, added fuel as needed, worked them more, until the heat felt right against his bare skin. He checked the color to be sure but he already knew it was the right temperature. Competence felt good, even in so elemental a skill for his profession as heating a forge to the specific temperature. Fetching two stone cups he filled one about an inch deep in tin shavings and the other with the shavings he'd saved from when he'd made the pendants from ash steel. Pulling on his set of heavy leather gloves he took tongs and placed both cups into the holders the forge had to heat them.
When that was done he pulled the gloves back off and sat on the stool at his bench. Opening the little box of fine clay he made a mold of the key Aurin had entrusted him with. He inspected it carefully, decided it hadn't taken the teeth well enough he pushed the cold out with his thumbs and tried again. When he felt it was as close as he could get he got his gloves and took the mold out to the kiln. The clay would fire for several hours and the metal in the forge would heat to liquid.
While those worked he put on his leather apron and gloves and got the remaining small tasks left by his teacher. There were nails to make, a surprisingly difficult task to do just right. If nails weren't made properly they wouldn't pierce, if they weren't soft enough they would shatter when hit by a hammer, if they were too soft they would bend instead of penetrating.
He checked the heat of the forge, pumped the bellows a few times till it was up again, then pulled the tools he'd need off the walls. Hammer, tongs, hardy, metal punch, file, nail header, and iron for the nails. He checked his supply of flux and made sure his oil bowl was full enough for quenching.
This done he laid his tools out where he could reach them easily and used the tongs to place the wrought iron into the forge. Moving around the forge he began to pump in earnest, wrought iron needed to be heated white-hot to make nails. If it wasn't white-hot, surface gooey, and almost liquid, the grain of the metal would shear apart and splinter. It took time to heat the metal that high, care to keep the heat steady once it was high enough. The process soothed and comforted the large apprentice.
He stepped out only once, to check the clay he'd left in the kiln. It was baking well, so he returned to his primary job.
The nails took hours, as they should, and his skin was a sheen of slick sweat by the time he was setting the last of them into the quenching bowl. Stepping back he found his shirt and used it to wipe down his face and arms. It would be soaked when he put it back on anyway. Thoughts of the tailor who had so carefully made him his new shirts gave him a twinge of guilt but he would be able to afford clothes from then on unless something went badly wrong in his life. Setting the shirt aside again he took his tongs and went out to fetch his finished clay mold.
Setting it on his warm anvil he inspected the two halves. The lines were well, he wouldn't know for sure until he tried it though. Leaving it to cool he removed his leathers and went to go have his midday meal.
When he returned he inspected it again, with just his hands this time, comparing it to the key. He couldn't find anything that would prevent him and his small files from making an identical copy of the original. Perhaps he should have gone to ask advice from Sivan before starting but he didn't have the time. The key needed to be back to his man by the evening meal so he could get back into his home.
Retrieving and donning his leathers he bound the mold until it was tight, poured water into it to make sure no liquid would spill from it, and then set it aside to dry while he checked the two cups, one now filled with bright silvery metal, the other darker of the same. Satisfaction crossed his face in a smile and he went to properly box the cooled nails for the customer who would arrive for them the next day. When he was sure the clay mold was dry he pulled the first cup, the one filled with molten tin, from the forge with his tongs and carefully filled the mold to its top. Leaving it to cool he made the rounds of the other boys' workplaces, checking on their projects, reminding them that the runesmith would be back in a matter of a few hours and if they had anything left they best get it done. He stopped in the general workspace that the novices used and went over the mending of a pot with them. It was something most already knew, as it was one of the easier tasks, but he reminded them about keeping the forge heat steady so the metal would remain entirely liquid before it was poured. He watched the three boys there work through it once each, praising and correcting them as needed.
Tin cooled quickly so by the time their pots were done he knew his key would be. Unbinding the mold, using his gloves just in case, he was pleased when the soft metal fell easily from it. He inspected it, compared it to the original, and grinned to himself. He wouldn't take the time to file it so it would fit in the lock, in fact, he would smash it flat with his hammer before the day was done, not wanting a copy laying around, even in the scrape bucket. For now though, he put it beside the original on his workbench and rebound the mold. He tested it with water again, left it to dry again, and checked the ash steel. It was starting to solidify around the edges so he added fuel to the forge and bellowed it back to the correct temperature. It was a silly mistake to make. Some metals didn't do well being left in changing heats. Ash steel was hardy, hence he was using it, but it still made him feel stupid.
When the metal had returned to fully liquid and the mold bone-dry, he repeated the pouring process.
Stepping out of the forge for some air he activated his pendant and had a little chat with Aurin. The grin that always seemed to cover his face when he heard his bad man's voice through the magic he himself had crafted for that purpose was especially bright in his soot and grime-covered face. No one would guess he'd had a proper bath at a bathhouse only the night before.
When their short time was out he went about straightening all the mess he'd made with the nails, setting his work area to rights. When the ash steel was cool he removed it from the mold, pride in his eyes as he inspected the key. Once he was sure, he set it aside and repeated the process, using the last of the melted ash steal. It didn't quite fill the mold all the way to spilling over but having a barely noticeably shorter handle wouldn't hurt. He put enough fuel in the forge to keep it going till the next morning and banked it down, set it to burn slow. Hanging up his apron he pulled his shirt on, sat at his bench with his smallest files, and began to file and polish the first ash steel key. He stopped often to compare it to the original until he could hold them together and not tell the difference.
By then the second ash steel key was cooled so he pulled it out of the mold. As he placed it down on the bench for its own turn with the files he heard sounds from the yard and leaned around the wall to see the runesmith returning with donkeys laden with raw materials. Boys were bustling here and there under his direction, untying things and taking them where they were told. Torin too stood, stretching his back out from how he'd been hunching to do the file work. When he got his own workplace he would have the bench made taller, or adjustable maybe? The thought had merit but he put it away for later as he went to help with the packages.
