Peacemaker (9780698140820) Read Free

aren’t you?” Ernst leapt to the transport’s saddle in one graceful bound, his ears drooping in disappointment.
    â€œSeems like it.” The curtains twitched on the dress shop when his gaze passed over them. They were watching. “There’s a smith just down the street. Let’s see if we can get this contraption fixed.”
    Tripping the appropriate lever, he urged the transport into motion, cringing at the grind and clank in the hindquarters. It was a wonder it had made it this far.
    The smithy, once discovered, was labeled simply S MITHY , and the heat rolling off the forge made the oppressive summer day seem positively springlike. The smith himself seemed oblivious to it, wearing a thick leather apron over his shirt as he labored over the glowing coals. Orange coals, Caleb noted, not blue. Unusual.
    â€œHello there!” The smith kept working with no response to Caleb’s hail. “I was told you might be able to repair a transport.”
    That at least earned a grunt in answer, and after a few more moments, the smith laid his long tongs aside and stepped away from the forge. He was older than Caleb expected, his hair already gone white, and there was no warmth in his pale eyes. “Ja. I can do, yes.”
    Ah, not white hair, but very pale blond then. The Swedish accent gave everything away. Caleb nodded toward his malfunctioning machinery. “It’s got some kind of hitch in the back end.”
    Wiping his sooty hands on a rag, the smith came out to inspect the transport, paying no mind whatsoever to Ernst perched on its back. He made thoughtful noises as he circled the construct, bending to look along the belly workings, poking at the transparent casings in a few places.
    Caleb finally broke the silence. “Can you fix it?”
    â€œHmm. Ja. Maybe. Bearings seized up here.” He poked with a grimy finger. “Gear stripped here. No parts. Need to make new.”
    â€œAnd how long will that take?”
    The Swede pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Week? You come back, one week.”
    Caleb’s heart sank. That was going to put him behind schedule. “You don’t happen to have another transport I could rent in the meantime, do you?”
    â€œJa, maybe. Dollar. Tally up price for repairs when done.” There was humor glinting in the smith’s eyes, but Caleb was too tired to even guess at the joke. He forked over the dollar, eyeing the few remaining bills in his wallet dubiously. If the repairs took the last of his cash, he was out of luck until he reached a town with a bank.
    â€œI’m Caleb, by the way. Caleb Marcus.” He stuck his hand out to shake, and for a moment, the smith eyed it like a striking snake. Finally, the Swede gripped his hand, pumping it once.
    â€œSven Isby.”
    The Peacemaker fought to keep the surprise off his face. There was no tingle in Sven’s skin, not even the faint hum of a low-level power. There was only the warm calloused hand, and the sense of . . . nothing. The man had been scoured. The smith raised his chin in challenge, almost daring Caleb to say something. Caleb forced a smile. “I’ll check back with you in a couple days to see how it’s going.”
    â€œJa. Do that. Rented transport stored around back.” That seemed to end their dealings, as Sven went back to his forge and began working the huge bellows.
    Caleb retrieved his saddlebags, throwing them over one shoulder, and his trunk, which he propped on the other. Ernst hopped up, his slight weight barely noticeable, and Caleb took his staff out of the scabbard on his saddle. He waited until they were around the back of the building before he asked, “Ernst, did you notice—”
    â€œYes.” Caleb could feel the creature shudder, even though he was perched on the trunk.
    â€œCould you tell—”
    â€œLooks accidental. Trauma as a child.”
    Some of the tension in Caleb’s chest