Chapter 51: Chapter 51: A busy-body controls our life. Secret talons hold the strings. Bureaucrats are frogs

The familiar sound of metal being bent into shape echoes around the tower, floating upwards together with the thick fumes, cast out of the spitting furnace. The wavy heat of a rising draft carries it all up towards the ceiling.

 

It has taken a while, but they’re starting to finally use the charcoal not just for heating, but for forging as well.

 

Hineni stops his work for a moment, looking over towards Rhine. The boy is lugging wood around, refilling the charcoal-kiln, after having emptied out the latest batch into their growing heap of the stuff. Hineni has to admit, it really was a great idea that Rhine had.

 

Sweat drips down his own forehead, beading out from the places where his skin can still form it. The forge, which is always hot, is now far hotter than usual. Even for himself, he finds it unusually troublesome in here today. The charcoal burns far, far hotter than the usual forest wood that they had been using. Especially since Hineni is pretty sure that he had overfed the forge.

 

“We’ll get some water in a few minutes,” says Hineni, turning back towards his work, lifting the hammer again.

 

“I’m fine!” says Rhine. Wood thuds loudly as it's dropped onto a stack. Hineni can hear a crackling and a sparking, as the new wood begins to burn, mixing in with the half-charcoal mix, which fuels the kiln. “This is nothing.”

 

The door to the forge opens, Sockel peaks in. The elf has her hair tied back in an unusually tight and high bun. Her dress-shirt is covered in sweat, half-unbuttoned and her face is red and damp. “What’s with the heat?” she asks, wincing and shielding her face with her hand as the scorching temperatures of the forge press out through the now opened door. “I already wedged the front door open, but it’s brutal out here,” she says, tugging on her wet collar.

 

Hineni sighs, he hadn’t thought about the heat carrying through the rest of the house. He rubs his forehead, thinking for a moment. Should they just open some of the windows in the forge tower?

 

- Probably.

 

Hineni returns to his work, pointing at the ladder leaned against the tower wall. “Open a window, would you?” he asks.

 

“Huh?” asks Sockel. “I work the desk, open it yourself,” she replies. “Anyway, nobody is stepping one foot onto that death-trap.”

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“It’s not a death-trap,” replies Hineni. “It passed inspection, just like the rest of the house.”

 

Sockel tsks, rolling her eyes. “I’m talking about that ladder,” she says. “Not the forge.”

 

“The ladder?” Hineni turns to look past the reaching, lashing tendrils of flame, which are trying to claw their way out of the furnace. He eyes the long ladder up and down a few times, before turning back towards Sockel. “It’s a perfectly normal ladder, Sockel.”

 

“Please,” she replies. “I bet that thing is older than you are,” she replies.

 

“Hey,” says Rhine, wiping away a sweaty strand of blue hair. “How old are you?” he asks.

 

Sockel lifts an eyebrow, staring at the boy for a moment. She lifts a finger, pointing at him. “Old enough to know that nobody is climbing on that ladder.”

 

“…What?” asks Hineni.

 

Sockel sighs, shaking her head. The elf steps into the forge after all, pulling out a small notepad from her pocket, snatching a pen from the workbench as she scribbles something down. She tears out the note, folding it over at the top and hangs it off of one of the ladder’s rungs.

 

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