Sixty-One Nails Part 48

"Topaz! Come here!"

The dog backed slowly towards her, never taking its eyes from us, still growling deeply.

"Is this the right place?" It was difficult to have a conversation through the gates and across the yard, but she showed no sign of wanting to open the gates with the dogs acting so strangely.

"This is Highsmiths' farm, yes," she admitted, still watching the dog.

"Could we speak to Mr Highsmith?" I asked, across the divide.

"What about?" She made no move towards us.

"We need to speak with him about an urgent matter, something we would like him to do."

"And what sort of thing would that be?" Suspicion tinted her tone.

"We need him to do some ironwork," Blackbird added. "I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

"Have we come to the wrong place then?" I asked. "No, He's here. But he doesn't do commissions any more. He's getting on, you see. "

"He'll do this one," Blackbird a.s.serted.

Another figure appeared from one of the sheds around the courtyard. This one had the universal blue coveralls farmers wear. His were dark with grease and he had the look of a man that had been in the middle of fixing something and had been interrupted. "What's the matter with the dogs, Meg?" He walked over to her, wiping his hands down his thighs. "They rucked up when these people came calling and then Tasha here came bursting into the kitchen and hid under the table, growling at the door, silly dog." Nevertheless she reached down and stroked the dog's ears, rea.s.suring her.

"Topaz, heel!" The larger dog turned and trotted back to his master, then stood by his legs, still rumbling at us. He walked forward. "Can I help you with something?"

"We've come to see Mr Highsmith, about some ironwork," I repeated.

"I don't do ironwork no more, and my Dad's getting too old to take on work. Maybe I can recommend someone to you?"

"No, I'm afraid it's you we need to do it. It's specialist work."

"As I say I don't do ironwork anymore. There's no money in it."

"This isn't for money, although I dare say there'll be payment," said Blackbird. "This is about two knives, one blunt and one sharp."

That clearly hit a chord, because his manner changed. "Meg, go and get Dad, will you? And take the dog with you. Lock her in the back kitchen. "

"But Jeff-"

"Just go and get him, would you, please?"

She walked off, clearly not happy with the situation, but following his instructions. He walked a little closer, setting the dog barking again until he hushed it with a word.

"What kind of work is it you're wanting?"

"It's one of the knives. It's broken in two. Someone dropped it a while ago and no one's been able to fix it. "

"Cold iron, is it?"

"We're not sure. We don't get too close to it." That brought a grim smile to his lips.

"You'd better come in, but I'll lock the dog up first."

"Don't worry, he won't bite us. We'll be fine," Blackbird a.s.sured him.

"I was thinking of the dog."

He walked the dog back to the house, leaving us standing outside the gate. He was only inside for a minute or two and then he walked back out accompanied by another man. They were from the same mould, these two, the same shoulders, the same wide set walk so that they ambled rather than strode. Even though the older man was now thin-haired and grey, you could see the muscles that still burdened his frame.

The younger man lowered his head and explained something to him quietly as they walked across the yard in the gathering dusk, becoming silent as they came within earshot. He came forward and walked to the gate, drawing back a long bolt so the gate could swing open wide enough to admit us.

"You'd better come in." He was reluctant to admit us, but he did it anyway. We stepped through, wary of the iron on either side of us.

"This is my dad, Ben Highsmith. I'm Jeff."

"I am called Blackbird, and this is Rabbit." The animal names sounded strange in the context of an introduction, but the old man just nodded as if he expected something like that.

They didn't offer to shake hands or make any other welcome, but led the way to the farmhouse. I followed after Blackbird until we reached the door of the kitchen. Blackbird halted at the door.

"Come in. I'll put the kettle on and we can talk business." The old man's voice was like his son's but hoa.r.s.er, lived in.

"Sorry, would you mind?" She nodded towards the beam over the doorway.

Hanging there was a huge iron horse shoe with its open end down, like a magnet. Even from behind Blackbird I could feel the waves coming off it. He picked it off the nail and took it inside. We followed to watch him carefully balance it on the beam over the door from the kitchen into the rest of the house.

He turned to see us watching him. "No offence meant. "

"None taken," Blackbird responded.

He opened the door and yelled through the gap. "Meg, get James down here, will you?"

"He's on PlayStation." The reply came from up the stairs beyond the door.

"Tell him to come down."

"He's on PlayStation." She repeated it as if that explained why he wasn't coming.

"One minute," he remarked, and went through the door, closing it behind him.

The kitchen was well fitted out with modern appliances and a big range cooker at one end, all lit by modern spotlights over the work surfaces. Jeff filled the kettle and set it on one of the rings to boil. He indicated the big kitchen table and we took a seat at one end. One of the dogs barked behind another door, presumably a utility room of some sort.

There was something about the house that made me uncomfortable. The kitchen was modern and well equipped without being at odds with the age of the house. It all looked very cosy and tasteful, but I felt I couldn't rest there. There was something about it that jangled my nerves and set my teeth on edge. The door to the house re-opened and a sullen teenager in a black T-s.h.i.+rt ill.u.s.trated with paintsplashed writing came through, followed by the old man.

"This is my grandson, James. James, this is Blackbird and that's Rabbit."

"Funny names," the boy remarked.

"Mind your manners, especially with their kind."

The lad muttered something under his breath and went to sit down at the other end of the table. "James here is a modern lad. He sees no use in spending time at the forge and learning how to make iron turn to his will. He likes computers, don't you, James?" This was clearly a long-standing dispute.

"Dad, let the boy be," the father interrupted in a tired voice.

"Show him." The old man's request was directed at Blackbird.

"You want us to show him the knife?" Blackbird asked.

"No. I want you to show him why the Highsmiths have been the High Smiths to the Seven Courts for nigh on a thousand years. Things have changed, I know, and the boy needs to go his own way." He nodded an acceptance to his own son. "But I want him to learn the ways of iron first and for him to know why he must learn them. I want him to have something to tell his grandchildren. Come to that..." He went back to the door. "Just wait a second, will you?"

He opened the door and yelled through. "Meg? Lisa? Come into the kitchen. There's something you've got to see."

"Dad, I don't want the girls involved," Jeff insisted. "Don't you? Lisa's spent more time in the forge with me than James ever did. You say I've got to let the boy have his way? Well that's fine, but someone's got to carry on the line."

"The women have never been part of it, Dad. You know that."

"Not true. They just haven't been part of it for a very long time, but you keep telling me times have changed and we have to adapt. Well, I'm adaptin'." He folded his arms across his broad chest.

The woman from the yard appeared in the doorway. Behind her was a girl about the same age as my own daughter, with fair hair tinted honey-blonde in a way that made you think it was the outdoors that had bleached it, not chemicals. She had a rangy quality you see in long distance runners. Against her mother's plumpness she looked lean.

Now they were together I could see that the boy took after his mother. He had the same down-turned mouth and thickness of hair. The girl took after her father and grandfather. She would be tall, lean and fair, though probably without the thickness of muscle.

"What's this all about, Ben? These people upset the dogs and yet you bring them in and set them at my kitchen table and then you pull us all in here. No offence meant, but I tell it like it is." This last was addressed to us.

"I apologise for interrupting your evening, Mrs Highsmith," Blackbird responded. "And we're grateful for your hospitality, but our need is urgent." She acknowledged Blackbird's apology with a nod but then focused back on her father-in-law. "Well, Ben? "

"The Highsmiths have been on this land for almost a thousand years, Meg. You joined the family fifteen year ago, and you've been a daughter to me, you know that. But there are secrets in this family that have been kept for all of that time. "