The Odd Job Read online

  Chapter 13

  "Please be careful with that, Miss Dagmar," Wellington pleaded as Belinde whirled around the room with a pair of mismatched swords. It was like watching someone run with scissors.

  "Wellington, don't worry so much. I used to spend hours pretending to be a ninja when I was a kid," Belinde chided.

  "Forgive me if that statement fails to inspire the expected confidence," Wellington said in a very formal manner that would have made Declan double over with laughter had he been present.

  Belinde stopped twirling around and planted her fists on her hips to scowl at Wellington. The two swords she was holding were sticking out at comical angles and the sight made Wellington smile. "There's an apple in that sack,” Belinde said, pointing to a small burlap sack to Wellington’s right. "Throw it at me."

  Being nothing if not a good sport, Wellington strode crisply over to Smith's workbench to inspect the small sack. Sure enough, there was an apple inside. "How did you know?" Wellington asked.

  "I could smell it," Belinde said with a shrug.

  The apple flew arrow straight towards Belinde's head. Wellington had surprisingly good throw that Belinde honestly hadn't expected. Spinning twice round in the blink of an eye, the little bundle of wrath brought one sword horizontally across the apple's path and followed through with a vertical slash from the second sword. The apple fell in neat quarters forming a semicircle at Belinde's feet. Wellington stood in silence for a brief moment then began to applaud.

  "Oy! That's me lunch yer playin' with!" Smith barked from near the large double doors. Belinde brought the back of her hand up to her mouth to stifle a smile, her big beautiful eyes shining with humor over it and the sword still grasped in her hand.

  Smith shook his head in mock disapproval. "Well, all yer playin' about does make my job easier," he said with a grumble as he walked over to a large chest of drawers. Bending down with a slight grunt, he opened the bottom drawer and withdrew a bundle of oilcloth.

  Closing the drawer with exact movements one would expect from a master craftsman, he stood and brought the bundle back to his workbench for unwrapping. Belinde and Smith came over to inspect the package that Smith was treating with such reverence. The light above the workbench reflected off the fine metal and sharp edges of a matching pair of swords that looked far too beautiful to be of any use actual use in battle.

  "I crafted these for Egg, o' course I figured he would look like the elder Athena. I wasn't expecting her to bring that stupid bird with her," Smith said with a little sadness. "I'd like you to have them missy,” he finished as he stepped back.

  "Oh, Smith," Belinde said as she gazed at the beautiful weapons truly crafted for a queen. Smith was leaning on his workbench and was low enough for Belinde to grab hold of his beard and tug his head down for a big kiss which shocked Smith out of his maudlin state. Smith cleared his throat gruffly and patted Belinde on the head as she smiled and picked up the swords.

  "Let's give these little beauties a good testing," Smith said with an enthusiastic smile.

  Belinde backed up a few paces and began her dance, twirling the swords around herself as she moved. In moments Belinde was lost in the movements of the dance her old master had taught her. She remembered the feel of the cheap hardware store machetes that she used to protect her master as he slept. Her life was so different now. She belonged. She had purpose beyond being bait for a disgusting creature.

  The feel of the finely crafted weapons in her hands, so beautiful and so perfectly balanced, made the dance a pleasure for once. Suddenly a block of wood appeared in front of her. She neatly cut the block in half without missing a step in her dance.

  Smith was standing over a wood bin selecting varying sized chunks of scrap wood to hurl at Belinde. No matter how fast or how many pieces he threw at her, she halved, quartered or deflected them while calmly continuing her graceful dance of swords. The wood bin was soon empty and nothing remained but a small anvil Smith had broken some time ago.

  With a shrug Smith reached into the bin and withdrew both halves of the anvil to hurl at Belinde within a moment of each other. Smith watched the heavy pieces arc towards the beautiful little female's head with interest but little concern. His efforts were rewarded by two clangs less than a second apart and the sound of forged metal falling to the ground.

  Belinde had stopped her dance and was staring at the four large pieces of metal at her feet.

  Wellington, having seen the last two projectiles Smith had thrown, relaxed from a moment of panic and cast a disapproving glance at Smith. "You could have killed her!" Wellington snapped at Smith.

  "I think 'twould take a fair bit more than a weight o' metal to take down that lass," Smith said with a shrug.

  Belinde nudged one quarter of the anvil with her toe and judged that it must weigh twenty five to thirty pounds and let out a startled gasp. Quickly grasping the handles of both swords in one hand and laying the blades across the other, she began inspecting the edge of each blade for damage.

  "Don't worry miss, it would take far more than that to nick one of those blades," Smith said with pride.

  "Honestly Smith, a little warning before taking such risks couldn't hurt," Wellington said to Smith in reproach.

  "If I'm right in my thinking, we don't have time for careful," Smith said quietly as he shared a look with Belinde. "The little lady has some business to attend to. This very night I suspect,” he said as he looked from Wellington and back to Belinde.

  "I'll need suitable clothing and something suitable for long range targets," Belinde said with purpose and authority.

  "Right this way." Smith directed with a hand. They walked together toward the firing range at the far end of the workshop. Smith stopped at a rack that had various firearms hanging on display across its width.

  Belinde stopped and ran a hand over a few items one after the other while Smith stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest. After a moment Belinde ended her perusal and faced Smith. "Well?" was all she said.

  Smith, in his fashion, tilted his head back and laughed as Belinde crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the giant with patience. Smith stooped to open a long drawer that ran the length of the rack at floor level. He produced a finely crafted wooden box and handed it to Belinde.

  "Made at the same time as those wonderful swords?" Belinde asked as she gestured with her head toward the workbench where she had left the two priceless scimitars.

  "Aye," Smith answered with a nod.

  "I'll treasure them," Belinde said, smiling up at the mountainous man.

  "Them?" Smith asked.

  "They're pistols of course," Belinde said. "They'll be perfectly balanced, they'll fit a woman's hand and they will be beautiful." she finished. Smith laughed and pulled Belinde close to kiss the top of her head. Belinde cooed softly in the comfort of his embrace. She had lost her mother and father barely into her teens when her old master had selected her for service. She felt like she finally had family again but could definitely use more hugs. Declans injuries had shaken her more than she liked to acknowledge.

  Sniffing and stepping back after a moment, Belinde opened the box and let loose a sharp inward gasp at the sight of the twin handguns resting in the velvet lined box. She reached into the box and drew one of the guns from its plush resting place. The handle which was an intricate framework of walnut enclosing an alternating pattern of suede and sharkskin fit perfectly into her hand and would be a comfortable yet secure grip.

  There were no sights on the guns but Belinde was confident that Smith had thought of something that would replace them. The guns looked like a large version of the old Derringers she had seen in movies, only larger and far more ornate. She also noticed little symbols hidden within the scrollwork that covered the twin over and under barrels.

  "I want to try them!" she exclaimed breathlessly. Wellington followed the pair as Smith led Belinde to one of the firing range stalls. A battered and dented old suit of armor stood at the f
ar end of the firing alley and as Belinde took sight down the barrel of the gun in her right hand, a bubble appeared above the top barrel. It looked like a little glass bubble that only appeared when she was looking straight down the barrel and there was a tiny red dot at its center.

  Belinde shrugged her right shoulder a couple of time, stretched out her arm and sighted down the barrel of the gun before squeezing the trigger. The helmet flew off the suit of armor and bounced off the wall behind it to roll forward towards the trio. It finally stopped a dozen feet closer to them than where it had been a moment ago. A radiant smile lit up Bel’s face.

  Smith beamed with pleasure and stepped forward, pointing to a small patch of gold inlay scroll work under Belinde's thumb on the inside face of the weapon. "Slide your thumb down over this here and you select the explosive round," Smith said in a conspirator's whisper while he sported a mischievous expression that made him look positively boyish in Belinde's eyes.

  Wellington continued to say nothing and only watched with concern as Belinde drew the second weapon from its box with her left hand. Sliding both thumbs down over the matching gold patterns, she selected the lower barrel of each gun and faced the target. Twin booms barked from each weapon simultaneously, causing each weapon to jump slightly and the headless suit of armor disintegrated before her eyes. Belinde let out a wordless squeal of delight.

  "I love them! Goibhniu, thank you," Belinde said using Smith's proper name as she looked up at him in admiration.

  Hating to shatter the moment, Wellington cleared his throat softly behind them. "What of the adjustor's tactical garb? Have you finished with your project?" Wellington asked pertinently.

  "Aye, I've had the sisters working on it since this morning," Smith said, looking a little dejected as he replied. Wellington had known the Smith for a long time and though Belinde was confused at his mood, Wellington was not. The Englishman knew that Smith would be blaming himself for Declan's lack of protective gear.

  "Smith,” Wellington said in an understanding tone, “you mustn't blame yourself for the unfolding of events beyond your control. I've known you for over a hundred years and have never known you to work at anything less than a break-neck speed during a project."

  "Aye," Smith concurred and straightened his shoulders, "I'll send word to the sisters that a fitting is in order."

  "Already done," Wellington replied. Smith looked at Wellington in surprise. Wellington simply shrugged.

  "Smith, can you do the thing you do where the swords come from nowhere like Declan's?" Belinde asked.

  "Of course, dearie," Smith chuckled, "I'll get started on your swords and pistols right now and match them to your garments when the sisters send them up." Belinde clapped her hands twice in excitement then frowned.

  "Two more things," Belinde began, "how do you load these, and can someone teach me how to spirit from place to place like Declan?" Wellington smiled and hid his mouth behind a fist to stifle a chuckle.

  "You don't load them. Every shot is the first shot," a voice behind the diminutive succubus said helpfully. Belinde turned to identify this new speaker and let out an ear-piercing shriek. Angus staggered back, clutching his heart and looking wildly about in search of a rat or mouse. Those things, he knew, had a tendency to set the women folk off. When he turned back, he found Belinde pointing at him.

  "It talked!" Belinde whispered, wide eyed.

  "I am so sorry, Miss Dagmar," Wellington began. "I should have introduced you to Angus before now. With all that's happened recently, I simply haven't had the chance.”

  Belinde's cheeks colored slightly as she realized her unintended insult. "Oh dear, please accept my apology," Belinde said extending a hand to Angus.

  Angus took her hand and said, "That's ok," in a sulky tone.

  "Oh," Belinde replied wincing and hugged the gorilla. "Angus?"

  "Yes, ma'am?" Angus replied to Belinde's quiet voice as he nuzzled he ample cleavage.

  "Please take your hand off my ass," whispered Belinde.

  "Sorry ma'am," Angus replied nonchalantly.

  "Ya daft ape!" Smith barked. "That's an adjustor you're pawing up!" Smith admonished as he cuffed the gorilla above the ear.

  Angus winced and did a double take with bulging eyes. "That's not the Adjustor. I met the new adjustor yesterday!" Angus croaked with concern.

  "I said an adjustor, ya dolt!" Smith replied.

  "You can't have two adjustors at one estate," Angus argued. "It just isn't done."

  "We can," Wellington explained, "and we currently have three."

  "Oh, no," Angus said. "Then we're at war?" the ape asked.

  "We are," Wellington confirmed.

  "Do I get a gun?" Angus asked enthusiastically.

  "No ya great twit, you don't get a gun," Smith barked. Angus sulked.

  "I have work to do," Smith grumped and stomped off toward his workbench. Belinde replace the guns in their case and stopped to give Angus a peck on the cheek before following after Smith. Angus the gorilla stood with his hand on his cheek where Belinde had kissed him and watched her walk away.

  Wellington stooped toward Angus and whispered. "Should the need arise, I'm sure you would find any number of these fine weapons more than useful." And with that he strode briskly off after Belinde.