way. He didn't sense a soul anywheres near him, and then there was a hand right there on his shoulder, and he like to jumped clean overboard with the shock of it.
"What the devil are you -- Arthur Stuart, don't sneak up on a body like that."
"It's hard not to sneak with the steam engine making such a racket," said Arthur, but he was a-grinnin' like old Davy Crockett, he was so proud of himself.
"Why is it the one skill you take the trouble to master is the one that causes me the most grief?" asked Alvin.
"I think it's good to know how to hide my ... heartfire." He said the last word real soft, on account of it didn't do to talk about makery where others might hear and get too curious.
Alvin taught the skill freely to all who took it serious, but he didn't put on a show of it to inquisitive strangers, especially because there was no shortage of them as would remember hearing tales of the runaway smith's apprentice who stole a magic golden plowshare. Didn't matter that the tale was three-fourths fantasy and nine-tenths lie. It could get Alvin kilt or knocked upside the head and robbed all the same, and the one part that was true was that living plow inside his poke, which he didn't want to lose, specially not now after carrying it up and down America for half his life now.
"Ain't nobody on this boat can see your heartfire ceptin' me," said Alvin. "So the only reason for you to learn to hide is to hide from the one person you shouldn't hide from anyhow."
"That's plain dumb," said Arthur Stuart. "If there's one person a slave has to hide from, it's his master."
Alvin glared at him. Arthur grinned back.
A voice boomed out from across the deck. "I like to see a man who's easy with his servants!"
Alvin turned to see a smallish man with a big smile and a face that suggested he had a happy opinion of himself.
"My name's Austin," said the fellow. "Stephen Austin, attorney at law, born, bred, and schooled in the Crown Colonies, and now looking for people as need legal work out here on the edge of civilization."
"The folks on either hand of the Hio like to think of theirselves as mostwise civilized," said Alvin, "but then, they haven't been to Camelot to see the King."
"Was I imagining that I heard you speak to your boy there as 'Arthur Stuart'?"
"It was someone else's joke at the naming of the lad," said Alvin, "but I reckon by now the name suits him." All the time Alvin was thinking, what does this man want, that he'd trouble to speak to a sun-browned, strong-armed, thick-headed-looking wight like me?
He could feel a breath for speech coming up in Arthur Stuart, but the last thing Alvin wanted was to deal with whatever fool thing the boy might take it into his head to say. So he gripped him noticeably on the shoulder and it just kind of squeezed the air right out of him without more than a sigh.
"I noticed you've got shoulders on you," said Austin.
"Most folks do," said Alvin. "Two of 'em, nicely matched, one to an arm."
"I almost thought you might be a smith, except smiths always have one huge shoulder, and the other more like a normal man's."
"Except such smiths as use their left hand exactly as often as their right, just so they keep their balance."
Austin chuckled. "Well, then, that solves the mystery. You
are
a smith."
"When I got me a bellows, and charcoal, and iron, and a good pot."
"I don't reckon you carry that around with you in your poke."
"Sir," said Alvin, "I been to Camelot once, and I don't recollect as how it was good manners there to talk about a man's poke or his shoulders neither, upon such short acquaintance."
"Well, of course, it's bad manners all around the world, I'd say, and I apologize. I meant no disrespect. Only I'm recruiting, you see, them as has skills we need, and yet who don't have a firm place in life. Wandering men, you might say."
"Lots of men a-wanderin'," said Alvin, "and not all of them are what they claim."
"But that's why I've accosted you like this, my friend," said
"What the devil are you -- Arthur Stuart, don't sneak up on a body like that."
"It's hard not to sneak with the steam engine making such a racket," said Arthur, but he was a-grinnin' like old Davy Crockett, he was so proud of himself.
"Why is it the one skill you take the trouble to master is the one that causes me the most grief?" asked Alvin.
"I think it's good to know how to hide my ... heartfire." He said the last word real soft, on account of it didn't do to talk about makery where others might hear and get too curious.
Alvin taught the skill freely to all who took it serious, but he didn't put on a show of it to inquisitive strangers, especially because there was no shortage of them as would remember hearing tales of the runaway smith's apprentice who stole a magic golden plowshare. Didn't matter that the tale was three-fourths fantasy and nine-tenths lie. It could get Alvin kilt or knocked upside the head and robbed all the same, and the one part that was true was that living plow inside his poke, which he didn't want to lose, specially not now after carrying it up and down America for half his life now.
"Ain't nobody on this boat can see your heartfire ceptin' me," said Alvin. "So the only reason for you to learn to hide is to hide from the one person you shouldn't hide from anyhow."
"That's plain dumb," said Arthur Stuart. "If there's one person a slave has to hide from, it's his master."
Alvin glared at him. Arthur grinned back.
A voice boomed out from across the deck. "I like to see a man who's easy with his servants!"
Alvin turned to see a smallish man with a big smile and a face that suggested he had a happy opinion of himself.
"My name's Austin," said the fellow. "Stephen Austin, attorney at law, born, bred, and schooled in the Crown Colonies, and now looking for people as need legal work out here on the edge of civilization."
"The folks on either hand of the Hio like to think of theirselves as mostwise civilized," said Alvin, "but then, they haven't been to Camelot to see the King."
"Was I imagining that I heard you speak to your boy there as 'Arthur Stuart'?"
"It was someone else's joke at the naming of the lad," said Alvin, "but I reckon by now the name suits him." All the time Alvin was thinking, what does this man want, that he'd trouble to speak to a sun-browned, strong-armed, thick-headed-looking wight like me?
He could feel a breath for speech coming up in Arthur Stuart, but the last thing Alvin wanted was to deal with whatever fool thing the boy might take it into his head to say. So he gripped him noticeably on the shoulder and it just kind of squeezed the air right out of him without more than a sigh.
"I noticed you've got shoulders on you," said Austin.
"Most folks do," said Alvin. "Two of 'em, nicely matched, one to an arm."
"I almost thought you might be a smith, except smiths always have one huge shoulder, and the other more like a normal man's."
"Except such smiths as use their left hand exactly as often as their right, just so they keep their balance."
Austin chuckled. "Well, then, that solves the mystery. You
are
a smith."
"When I got me a bellows, and charcoal, and iron, and a good pot."
"I don't reckon you carry that around with you in your poke."
"Sir," said Alvin, "I been to Camelot once, and I don't recollect as how it was good manners there to talk about a man's poke or his shoulders neither, upon such short acquaintance."
"Well, of course, it's bad manners all around the world, I'd say, and I apologize. I meant no disrespect. Only I'm recruiting, you see, them as has skills we need, and yet who don't have a firm place in life. Wandering men, you might say."
"Lots of men a-wanderin'," said Alvin, "and not all of them are what they claim."
"But that's why I've accosted you like this, my friend," said
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