The blacksmith nodded. "The foundry is dying to sell me all the iron I can use, but I can't get it here. I'm not allowed to transport it-to put transport workers, like you, out of work."

"Were it up to me," Richard said. "I'd go back for another load today, but they told me they couldn't give me any more until next week at the earliest. I'd suggest you get every transport company you can find to deliver you a wagonload. That way, you'll have a better chance to get what you need."

The blacksmith smiled for the first time. It was amusement at the foolishness of Richard's idea. "Don't you suppose I already thought of that?

I've got orders in with them all. Ishaq is the only one with equipment at the moment. The rest are all having wagon problems, horse problems, or worker problems."

"At least I have fifty bars for you."

"That will only keep me going the rest of the day and for the morning."

The blacksmith turned. "This way. I'll show you where you can stack it."

He led Richard through the congested workshop, among the confusion of work and material. They went through a door and down a short connecting hall. The noise fell away behind. They entered a quiet building in back, attached, but set off on its own. The blacksmith unhooked a line attached at a cleat and let down a trapdoor covering a window in the roof.

Light cascaded down into the center of the large room, where stood a huge block of marble. Richard stood staring at the stunning stone heart of a mountain.

It seemed completely out of place in a blacksmith's workshop. There were tall doors at the far end, where the monolith had been brought in on skids. The rest of the room had space left open all around the towering stone. Chisels of every sort and various-size mallets stuck up from slots along the pitch black walls.

"You can put the bars here, on the side. Be careful when you bring them in."

Richard blinked. He had almost forgotten the man was there with him.

Still he stared at the lustrous quality of the stone before him. "I'll be careful," he said without looking at the blacksmith. "I won't bang it into the stone."

As the man started to leave, Richard asked, "I told you my name. What's yours?"

"Cascella."

"Is there more to it?"

"Yes. Mister. See that you use it all."

Richard smiled as he followed the man out. "Yes, sir, Mr. Cascella. Ah, mind if I ask what this is?"

The blacksmith slowed to a stop and turned back. He gazed at the marble standing in the light as if it were a woman he loved.

"This is none of your business, that's what it is."

Richard nodded. "I only asked because it's a beautiful piece of stone.

I've never seen marble before it was a statue or made into something."

Mr. Cascella watched Richard watching the stone. "There's marble all over this site. Thousands of tons of it. This is just one small piece. Now, get my shorted order of iron unloaded."

By the time Richard was done, he was soaked in sweat, and filthy, not only from the iron bars, but from the soot of the blacksmith's shop. He asked if he could use some of the water in a rain barrel that the men were using to wash in as they were getting ready to leave for the day. They told him to go ahead.

When he finished, Richard found Mr. Cascella back at the chalkboard, alone in the suddenly silent shop, making corrections to the drawing and writing numbers down the side.

"Mr. Cascella, I'm finished. I kept the bars well off to the side, away from the marble."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Mind if I ask what you will have to pay for that fifty bars of iron?"

The glare was back. "What's it to you?"

"From what I heard at the foundry, the man there had been hoping to fill the whole order so he could get three point five gold marks, so, since you got half your order, I believe you will be paying one point seven five gold marks for the fifty bars of iron. Am I correct?"

The glare darkened. "Like I said, what's it to you?"

Richard put his hands in his back pockets. "Well, I was wondering if you would be willing to buy another fifty bars for one point five gold marks."

"So, you're a thief, too."

"No, Mr. Cascella, I'm not a thief."

"Then how are you going to sell me iron for a quarter mark less than the foundry is selling it for? You smelting a little iron ore in your room at night, Mr. Richard Cypher?"

"Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?"

His mouth twisted in annoyance. "'balk."

"The foundry man was furious because he wasn't allowed to transport your whole order. He has more iron than he can sell because he isn't allowed to transport it, and the transport companies are all jammed up so they aren't showing up. He said he would be willing to sell it to me for less."

Why?"

"He needs the money. He showed me his cold blast furnaces. He owes wages and needs charcoal and ore and quicksilver, among other things, but hasn't enough money to buy it all. The only thing he has plenty of is smelted metal. His business is strangling because he can't move his product.

I asked what price he would be willing to sell me iron for, if he didn't have to transport it-if I picked it up myself. He told me that if I came after dark, he would sell me fifty bars for one point two five gold marks. If you're willing to buy it from me for one point five, I'll have you another fifty bars by morning, when you said you need it."

The man gaped as if Richard was a bar of iron that had just come to life before his eyes and started talking.

"You know I'm willing to pay one and three-quarters, why would you offer to sell it to me for one and a half?"

"Because," Richard explained, "I want to sell it for less than you'd have to pay through a transport company so that you'll buy it from me, instead, and, because I need you to loan me the one and a quarter gold marks, first, so I can buy the bars in the first place and bring them to you. The foundry will only sell them to me if I pay when I come to take them."

"What's to keep you from disappearing with my one and a quarter gold marks?"

"My word."

The man barked a laugh. "Your word? I don't know you."

"I told you, my name is Richard Cypher. Ishaq is scared to death of you, and he trusted me to get you the iron so you won't come wring his neck."

Mr. Cascella smiled again. "I'd not wring Ishaq's neck. I like the fellow. He's stuck in a tight spot. -But don't you tell him I said that. I'd like to keep him on his toes."

Richard shrugged. "If you don't want me to, I won't tell him you know how to smile. I know, though, that you're in a tighter spot than Ishaq. You have to deliver goods for the Order, but you're at the mercy of their methods."

He smiled again. "So, Richard Cypher, what time will you be here with your wagon?"

"I don't have a wagon. But, if you agree, I'll have your fifty iron bars right there"-Richard pointed at a spot out the double doors beside where Jori had parked the wagon-"in a pile, by dawn."

Mr. Cascella frowned. "If you don't have a wagon, how you going to get the bars here? Walk?"

"That's right."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I don't have a wagon, and I want to earn the money. It's not all that far. I figure I can carry five at a time. That only makes ten trips. I can do that by dawn. I'm used to walking."

"Tell me the rest of it-why you want to do this. The truth, now."

"My wife isn't getting enough to eat. The workers' group assesses most of my wages, since I'm able to produce, and gives it to those who don't work. Because I can work, I've become a slave to those who can't, or who don't wish to. Their methods encourage people to find an excuse to let others take care of them. I intensely dislike being a slave. I figure I can entice you to go along with the deal by offering you a better price. We each gain a benefit. Value for value."