[mark12_30]

At dinnertime that night, Gamba came limping home, and Phura and Esta met him partway up the tunnel to the Locks. They proceeded to the study, and picking up Azraph along th e way. Phura watched as the two ladies washed Gamba's back again, but he seemed distracted, and kept one eye on the opening to the main cave.
Tuka finally arrived, and Phura greeted him softly.

"How is he?" Tuka asked, and Gamba answered, "I'm not dead yet." Tuka grinned, but came over and sat beside him, full of concern.

But Phura only gave him a minute before he interrupted very softly. "Tuka, you were in the mines while they were still forging weapons."

"Yeah?"

"Are the molds for the knives and daggers still there?"

"Yes, but--"

"Are they guarded at night?"

Tuka's head spun. "No. I-- but Phura, Phura. We can't hammer them. They'd hear us."

"We can heat them up, and quench them, and sharpen them slowly against the stones. We just can't beat them."

"What good is a weapon that hasn't been hammered?"

"We'd lose in a swordfight anyway. But with enough sharpening, we could make a knifeblade with enough of an edge to slit a throat."

Tuka's head spun. "Could we? We can't light the forge fires again."

"We don't have to use those fires. You can heat up a meat-fork in a little cooking fire til it's red, and quench it in a bucket. We just need the molds."

"You've got to melt the iron."

Details, details. Phura blushed, but was undeterred. "All right. Then we need an excuse for melting iron. Start looking for reasons."

"I can't imagine. New shovels for gravedigging? The ones we have are still good."

"New chains to tie us up with. Some excuse. Some reason to melt iron." Phura was flustered, but refused to give up.

Tuka thought, and hope kindled in him despite the lack of an iron-melting excuse. "Once we have the knives, what will we do with them?"

"I don't know, yet. Can we make them?"

"I don't know."

"Well, find out. Are there any swordsmiths left?"

"Two. I'll ask."

"We'll have to do it at night."

"Who sleeps anyway? I'm awake half the night."

"Go."

Tuka left.

Gamba looked up at Phura, wincing as Esta accidentally opened up a welt. "None of us have ever killed anything since we've been in these caves. Not even a goat, or a chicken. The only blood we've seen is our own."

"Well, then, " Phura smiled, drawing close and very gently caressing Gamba's hair, "start singing some old songs about slitting throats and spilling blood. Softly. And if it's a really bloody song, then sing it to the tune of a sweet, restful lullabye, so the guards don't know the difference."

Azraph brought over another bucket of warm water, and met Esta's eyes, and they both saw something in each other's gaze they'd never seen before. "Courage, " Esta whispered to Gamba, and took his hand. He evaded her gaze, and wearily lay back down.