Girl – Part 01
Lisa’s mornings started early.
The workshop where she worked, Atelier Liza, had a separate building—a smithy, where the forging took place. This was also where Lisa lived and slept.
The smithy was not that big. Most of the space was taken up by the furnace, a workbench for filing, hammers both small and large, pincers, chisels, lever bars, and a coal box for storing used charcoal. Despite keeping the windows open, the thick scent of iron and charcoal lingered. It was in this tight space that Lisa set up a small, portable cot each night and made it her bed.
As the sun rose, turning the blueish dawn to white, Lisa abruptly sat up. She had a habit of voicing the sound of her own waking. She stretched, peered out the window, and smiled to herself.
“Another fine day.”
Lisa didn’t own pajamas, so she always slept in her underwear. This morning, too, she wore only her panties. Barely dressed, she folded her cot and leaned it against the wall, then headed to the back of the smithy. She rummaged through a pile of tools, pulled out a small clothing chest, picked out an outfit, put on a shirt, and slipped into her work clothes. She rolled up her sleeves, splashed her face with water from a basin, and gave her bed hair a quick fix. All set for another busy day.
“All right,” she muttered, slapping her cheeks to pump herself up. Despite the warming weather, the mornings were still chilly. She grabbed a wooden bucket and dashed outside. After a brief jog, she reached the well by the fields.
This was the Seventh District of the Independent Trade City of Housman. Primarily municipal farmland, the district lay on the city’s outskirts near the Ashen Woods, where the main water supply didn’t quite reach. So every morning, Lisa fetched water from the well.
An elderly woman Lisa knew well was already there, bowing her head and muttering prayers. Lisa waited quietly behind her until she finished.
The woman unclasped the pendant around her neck, holding the chain in her hand and raising it above the well. The small stone at the end of the chain began to dampen, eventually releasing a single drop that fell into the well with a plop. This was a daily practice for residents of the Seventh District, a Prayer Pact to purify the well water using the jewel steel in the woman’s pendant.
“Good morning!”
“Ah, good morning. I’ve just finished my prayer, so go ahead.”
“Thank you!”
They exchanged cheerful greetings, as they did every morning.
Lisa made several trips between the smithy and the well, hauling water back and forth. Once she had enough, she moved on to laundry. The nature of smithing meant lots of dirty clothes, including Luke’s, which she washed alongside her own undergarments. Charcoal stains clung stubbornly to fabric, and as Lisa scrubbed, the water quickly turned black. Seeing the remaining stains, she made a mental note to experiment with a better detergent.
She hung the laundry by the smithy. Even with the Ashen Woods nearby, the ash didn’t reach the city, making it safe to dry clothes outside. The area also got plenty of sunlight, so they dried quickly.
After laundry came breakfast prep—but by then, the sun was already high. The chores she had done so far were already tiring. Lisa drank a cup of water in one gulp and took a short break.
She pulled out a chair, sat outside, and opened her mouth towards the sun, basking in the morning light. She waved to the chirping birds with a carefree smile on her face. Then, she stayed still.
…
…
“Okay!”
Her eyes sparkled with renewed energy. She bolted upright, knocking the chair over, and sprinted off, balancing an empty basket on her head. Momentum was key.
She visited a farmhouse at the edge of the fields. The house, its walls made of woven branches coated in cattle manure, straw, and clay, was where she got her supplies. Freshly baked bread, freshly laid eggs, and vegetables too damaged to sell filled her basket to the brim.
“Thank you so much!”
“It’s nothing, dear. Just help out during the next harvest, okay? And could I ask for another knife?”
“Of course. I’ll let Luke know. Thanks a lot!”
Farmers started their days long before Lisa. By the time she was out, they were already hard at work in the fields. Carrying the basket on her shoulder, Lisa waved cheerfully at the workers.
Lisa returned not to the smithy but to the main house. It consisted of a living room just by the entrance, Luke’s bedroom, and a kitchen. She passed through the living room and headed to the kitchen sink. She stacked firewood and kindling in the small stone stove, lit the fire, and placed a frying pan on the trivet to heat. In the city, people typically lit fires using Prayer Pacts, but in this workshop, everything was done manually, making morning prep a bit more tedious.
“Now, for the next step.”
Luke’s knife and Lisa’s eyes gleamed. On a small counter, she sliced two loaves of bread in half and chopped up some vegetables, dividing everything into two portions. She added a little oil to the heated pan and cracked in the eggs. She then placed the fried eggs on the sliced bread, topped it with vegetables, and sandwiched them together. She used the remaining heat in the stove to boil water and brewed tea from leaves she had foraged in the forest.
She carried the kitchen chairs and table into the living room, then set down the sandwiches and tea. All freshly made, and they looked delicious. Lisa’s stomach growled.
“Wake up! Breakfast is ready. It looks yummy, and I’m hungry!”
She banged on the bedroom door. She knew better than to enter the room, so knocking from the outside had become her routine. Today, there was no response, so she pounded a little harder. Not that she was that eager to eat—well, maybe just a little.
Eventually, the door creaked open.
“…”
Luke Ainsworth stumbled out, still half-asleep. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and his eyes were bleary. He shoved his hand into his rumpled clothes and scratched his chest. Luke was notoriously bad at waking up.
“Good morning! Let’s have breakfast!”
“…”
They sat at the table. Lisa wolfed down her food, while Luke slowly nibbled on his bread. They ate in silence. Luke wasn’t much of a talker in the mornings, and Lisa, familiar with his morning mood, didn’t bother trying to start a conversation. She simply swung her legs back and forth, barely reaching the floor.
After finishing breakfast, Lisa washed the dishes and began sweeping up around the house. Meanwhile, Luke washed his face, finally looking more awake.
“Do we have pending orders?” Luke asked.
“The diner in the Fifth District asked for a new knife. Also, our neighbor Anzu wants one too.”
“Let’s start with the diner’s order, then. Get the charcoal going. We’re using the materials in stock.”
“Got it!”
This was usually the time they worked on orders. Lisa moved to the smithy and opened the charcoal box. A wave of heat rose from within. Used charcoal wasn’t immediately discarded. Instead it was stored in the iron box, which could be sealed tightly to preserve heat from the previous day’s work.
Lisa scooped out charcoal from the box with a small shovel and transferred it to the furnace. She added fresh black charcoal and kindling twigs, then pumped the bellows to stoke the flames. Finding new fuel, the used, smoldering charcoal flared up, quickly filling the smithy with heat. Lisa wiped the sweat from her forehead with a towel.
“Luke! It’s ready!”
Luke entered the smithy and sat on the stool in front of the furnace. He held out his hand with a grunt, and Lisa handed him a hand sledge. Next, she passed him the long lever bar and then the iron rod that would be the base material for the blade.
The iron rod was made from scrap—rusty old tools like spades, hatchets, and nails gathered from nearby farms and homes in the city. Luke would melt them down and mix them using flux to create the raw material for blades. He regularly performed this process and kept several in stock.
Luke clamped the end of the iron rod with a pair of long pincers and plunged it into the thousand-degree furnace. The rod gradually turned red-hot and pliable. He pulled it out, secured it on a special stand, and began hammering it with a hand sledge while holding it in place with the pincers.
At this point, Lisa joined in to help. She swung a sledgehammer, nearly as tall as she was, bringing it down on the glowing iron rod. Sparks flew in all directions. While Lisa raised the sledge for another swing, Luke quickly struck the rod a few times with his hammer, shaping it.
The sledgehammer was incredibly heavy. Lisa spread her legs wide apart and planted her feet firmly to keep her balance, then swung down with precise, practiced movement. It had taken over six months for her body to master the motions—no small feat given her small frame.
Under their relentless hammering, the heated iron rod gradually elongated and thinned, taking on the intended shape. This formed the main body of the knife, called pig iron, while the blade section would later be reinforced with steel mixed with flux. The knife would then undergo several additional processes, including quenching, applying clay coating, rough polishing, and sharpening before it would be complete.
By noon, the first knife had finished quenching, leaving only the pressing to correct bends and warps, rough grinding, and the sharpening of the edge. These tasks were postponed until the afternoon.
Lisa shoveled the leftover charcoal back into the charcoal box and tidied up quickly before turning to Luke.
“All right, let’s have lunch!”
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