‘I doubt Snell knows any of that, Uncle. Just that children are dragged into this shop and they don’t come back out.’’Must look that way.’
Bellam smiled. ‘Oh, it does, Uncle, it does.’
‘Not seen him in days.’
Barathol just nodded, then walked over to the cask of water to wash the grime off his forearms and hands. Chaur sat on a crate nearby, eating some local fruit with a yellow skin and pink, fleshy insides. Juice dribbled down his stubbled chin.
Scillara gave him a bright smile as she wandered into the front room. The air smelled brittle and acrid, the way it does in smithies, and she thought now that, from this moment on, the scent would accompany her every recollection of Barathol, this large man with the gentle eyes. ‘Had any more trouble with the Guilds?’ she asked.
He dried himself off and flung the cloth to one side. ‘They’re making it hard, but I expected that. We’re surviving.’
‘So I see.’ She kicked at a heap of iron rods. ‘New order?’
‘Swords. The arrival of the Malazan embassy’s garrison has triggered a new fad among the nobles. Imperial longswords. Gave trouble to most of the local sword-smiths.’ He shrugged. ‘Not me, of course.’
Scillara settled down in the lone chair and began scraping out her pipe. ‘What’s so special about Malazan longswords?’
‘The very opposite, actually. The local makers haven’t quite worked out that they have to reverse engineer to get them right.’
‘Reverse engineer?’
‘The Malazan longsword’s basic design and manufacture is originally Untan, from the imperial mainland. Three centuries old, at least, maybe older. The empire still uses the Untan foundries and they’re a conservative bunch.’
‘Well, if the damned things do what they’re supposed to do, why make changes?’
‘That seems to be the thinking, yes. The locals have gone mad folding and refolding, trying to capture that rough solidity, but the Untan smiths are in the habit of working iron not hot enough. It’s also red iron that they’re using-the Untan Hills are rotten with it even though it’s rare everywhere else.’ He paused, watching as she lit her pipe. ‘This can’t be of any real interest to you, Scillara.’