Untouched (Untouched #1)(Old Work)

Chapter Four

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A young boy, no more than thirteen years of age, skipped down a dirt street, kicking his heels together and whistling as he went. Small puffs of dust lashed upwards with every step. The child's cheeks were cherub-like and hinted red; his eyes were still a baby blue. His grey cap was drawn down over his face but strands of blonde-silver hair peeked out from underneath. A large smile was spread across his face and his book-bag bounced jauntily against him as he made his way home from school. His mother often permitted him to stop by Elder Smith's workshop and it was here where he was heading to now. Elder Smith's wooden-boarded workshop was located centrally along the busy main-way which was often full with horses and carriages, and today was no exception. Seeing the workshop on the other side of the road, the young boy eyed distances between each carriage and made a dash for it. He was aware not to do risky runs across. His parents were honourable members of the community and they would find out quicker than he would arrive home. And this would most certainly come with punishment.

With over-brimming happiness, he crossed through the open doorway and into the warm cabin that acted as the shop area. The child caught orange-yellow anvil sparks from the corner of his eye and found Elder Smith hammering a heated piece of metal, forging something he didn't recognise.

"Eldy Smith!" he proclaimed in a not-yet-matured voice.

The blacksmith looked up at the child, sweat pouring down his face. He was a very stoutly man, and short; his brown shirt and black crafting apron were filthy, as were his hands. His sandy hair was covered in grime. His tight lips stretched upwards as he gave the newcomer a toothy grin.

"Aye, Master Grey. What would your parents say if they knew the way you were speaking?" he poked, with a brogue. The hammer he was holding was placed onto a workbench and he waddled to the boy. He sat down on a stool and took the boy onto his lap.

"I'm sorry. Whatever you do, please don't tell them!" Hans Grey begged. He didn't want to be punished!

"You know I'm just fooling around," the blacksmith laughed. "What can I do for you today?"

"A story?" the boy asked, hopeful. The blacksmith always told the best stories! The blacksmith opened his mouth but another man had appeared in the doorway dressed in travelling robes. He was clean and well-dressed, the opposite of the blacksmith.

"Master Melvin," the blacksmith acknowledged, and gently took Hans from his lap and stood him on the ground.

"Good afternoon Artisan Smith. I presume you've finished my request?" the other man asked. He was tall and severe looking with black hair and dark brown eyes. He peered at Hans through those dark eyes and then back at the blacksmith.

"Of course!" Smith rushed to the back of the workshop and retrieved a large, long object that was sheaved in silk. He bowed deeply as he passed it across. "To your dimensions, sir."

The man took the object and gave the blacksmith a pouch which rattled every time it moved. Gold. "Payment to where it is due for your constant, fine workmanship." He turned back to Hans and knelt down so he was now eye level with him. The silk-sheaved package protruded away from him. Matured eyes now stared into youthful ones.

"I trust the young master has been keeping out of trouble?" he asked. Hans took a step backward, surprised and wide-eyed, looking at his blacksmith friend for encouragement.

"Go on son, he's a friend to your parents," Smith urged.

"Yes, sir," the boy replied politely.

The man kept eye contact with the child, smiled, and placed his empty hand on Hans' shoulders. He gave it a tight squeeze and Hans immediately felt warmth spread throughout his body like his blood was being boiled. It passed as quickly as it came.