Saving Domingo

Inigo was in the middle of making lunch for his father (something he had done everyday since he was six) when a knock came from the door. Inigo, believing it to be his papa who was due to return home very soon, answered the door eagerly, only to be quickly silenced by the strange figure who stood in front of him.

“Does the sword maker live here?” the stranger boomed.

Inigo said nothing, but hurried to the back of the house to fetch his father. When they returned, Inigo a few steps behind Domingo, the stranger seemed impatient.

“I need a sword,” he demanded. “I have heard you are a sword maker of distinction.”

“Not of distinction, no. I may be able to please you if you need repairs, but anything else I will not do. You may have luck with the sword maker in Madrid.”

While they were talking, Inigo was able to get a better view of the strange man at their door. He was a large, broad man with dark hair and he stood beside a similar-looking steed. He wore fine garments and held himself in the way of a noble, but Inigo couldn’t tell where he was from. His hands were clasped behind his back, hiding them from view.

Again, the man demands a sword. “I need you to forge me the greatest sword since Excalibur.”

“Apologies, but I cannot provide. Now, we must be going-”

“You will make me this sword, or I will incur my wrath upon you and your family. My patience is small and my temper is murderous. Were you saying you were busy with something?”

“No, we are doing nothing, nothing at all.”

“Excellent. I have gone to sword makers all over the world, and they have all sent me to the one in Madrid. However, he sent me to you. He claims that you are the greatest sword maker in the world. Is this true?”

“He often visits, but-”

“I will pay a fortune for this sword, for my greatest desire,” the man claims in all seriousness.
Here, Domingo looks hesitant, but continues on. “I would love the accept the offer, a fortune is more than any man in the village has, but I cannot fulfill your desires.”

The man is growing even more impatient by the second, but continues his persuasions. “The Madrid sword maker has told me that you could solve my problem. I have searched high and low for a sword to match my peculiarity, but I have been deprived of one, preventing me from reaching my highest skills. I need you to forge me a sword.”

“...What is this peculiarity?” Domingo asked, hesitant but curious. He watched as the man slowly removed his hands from behind his back. He held up his right hand and the issue became apparent, quickly exciting Domingo.

The stranger had six fingers.

“Ah! I have changed my mind! Your hand causes many issues with the sword, causing the slightest discomforts and hindering your abilities. I will forge the greatest sword, perfect in every way…”

The noble man tried to speak, but Domingo was absorbed in his mind, paying no more attention to the outside world. He fired many questions at the stranger, who scarcely had time to answer one before another was asked. He rushed to the back where his supplies were, leaving Inigo to deal with the man.

“He will make the greatest sword to fit my needs?” Inigo nods. “What of payment?”

“One goldpiece will do. Any more and he will insist on returning it until the blade is finished.”

The man looked displeased, but carried on. “When should I return?”

Here, Domingo quickly shouts from further in the house, “Come back in a year!”

With that, the noble man and his horse left.

Inigo was still catching up with the conversation a few hours later, after he finished making the lunch he started earlier, when another knock sounded on the door. He went more hesitantly to it, but on opening it, found that his papa had finally made it home from his stay in Madrid.

“Papa! How good that you are here, we just had the most eventful of mornings.”

Yeste was surprised, but listened as Inigo recounted the tale for him, then led him to the back to see Domingo.

The man was hard at work, and would remain that way for the entire course of the year. He hardly slept or ate, too worried for the six-fingered blade to care for himself. But through it all, Yeste and Inigo stayed by his side.

When the year was finally up and the noble man returned, the sword was complete. It was declared to be “a glorious masterpiece” by Domingo, which his family was quick to agree with.

When the noble man saw it, however, he was more than displeased. “Not worth the wait.”

That was it.

“You are disappointed?” Domingo breathed out, echoed by his husband and son who stood near the corner of the room.

“It’s not worthless, but it is certainly not worth the fortune I promised. I’ll give you ten goldpieces instead. That probably matches the worth.”

“Ten! It’s worth less than that! Inigo, fetch the goldpiece.”

Inigo, confused but obedient, fetch the piece while Yeste looked on.

“There. Take it. Now you have lost nothing.”

“No, you must be confused. I’ll still take the sword, but I’ll only pay what it’s worth. No more.”

“Then you have lied, haggled. You haven’t lost anything, so nothing is holding you here. Please go.”

But the man remained. “The sword.”

“No, the sword belongs to my son. I give it to him, so it is his.”

“Fool. I want my sword.”

“No.”

Almost without warning, the man struck. A flash of his sword and Domingo fell. But Yeste had seen, right before, how the man’s face had grown redder than it was, and quickly moved to push Domingo. He fell not because of any injuries, but because of the force as Yeste saved him. The sword still drew blood, but it was merely from a shallow wound on Yeste’s arm. Inigo had screamed out, but his breath was quickly recovered when he realized no one was dead. The noble man looked aghast that he had failed, and quickly moved to exit the house and the village.

As he fled, Inigo raced behind him, shouting until the man was out of view, “My name is Inigo Montoya! You threatened my father and harmed my papa, prepare to die!”