“But there was no silver mentioned on the pottery fragment; and there’s no
silver in ordinary steel, is there?”
The metal-master spat on a weed. “Wrigglies never did anything without a spell,
lad. Spells for cooking food, spells for bedding a whore. Big spells, little
spells and special spells for steel. And this time we’ve got the steel spell.”
“With respect-you said that last time and it shattered in the brine.”
Balustrus scratched his rutted chin. “I did, didn’t I? But this .feels right,
boy. There’s no other way to explain it. It feels different and it feels right.
And it has to be the silver-that’s the only different thing this time.”
“Did the silver have a ‘steel’ spell on it?” Walegrin asked.
The metal-master thrust the blade into the glowing coals. “You’re smart,
Walegrin. Too bad it’s too late; you could have learned-you could make your own
steel.” He spat again and the weed fell over. “No, it wasn’t a steel spell
nothing like that. I don’t know what the Wrigglies put on that silver. The Torch
brought the necklace here right after the Prince announced the bell. I could see
it was old, but it was plain silver and not valuable. I thought he’d want it for
the inscription; silver pressed on bronze is quite elegant. But no-the Hierarch
gives out that this is the Necklace of Harmony warm off Ils-no saying how he
comes to have it. He wants me to melt the silver into the bell: ‘Let Ils tremble
when Vashanka’s name is called!’ he says in that priest’s voice of his-“
“But you didn’t,” Walegrin interrupted.