It was just after the sun had settled behind the high peaks when Felix finally made it back to Hrafnakastali. Saluting the gate guards as he entered, he looked at the courtyard with the few points of light from lanterns and torches and decided it was too late to give his report for how the journey had gone and decided to head to the barracks for some rest.

A few of the guards were coming off duty and he heard them talking about how the miners were being very cooperative with the silver ore exchange. Good, that’ll help the reich. Ah, thinking about that just made him hungry. A problem for the morning.

Pushing open the door to the barracks, he glanced across the nearly empty common room, a few of the fort’s staff lounging around. He cleared his throat

“I’m surprised you beat me back here, Guy really set you on a pace didn’t he?”

Damian scoffed, abandoning his ambush, “Some of us work to finish our jobs in a timely manner. Guy was having a field day in that village. I think he’s a local hero now.”

“Glad to know things went well.” Felix nodded in satisfaction, “The others back yet?”

“Sil is, though he’s doing some scouting – probably be back in a day or two. Mitch apparently got tied up with something back at the Port and might be gone for a while. Gilbert though…” Damian shook his head, disappointed, “He’s here but… you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Felix didn’t like how that sounded. He gestured vaguely to Gilbert’s quarters, and Damian nodded, confirming he should be there. Felix gave him a short wave and set off.

—

Knocking lightly on the door, he cracked it slightly and said “Felix.” Doing so, he heard the soft click of a hammer being reset. Gilbert was at his desk, a portion covered in a mixture of ledgers and what was unmistakably his latest poem, but before him a clear area with a flintlock on a cloth with some powders and oils set around it for routine cleaning.

Felix closed the door behind him and approached the desk “Damian said there was some trouble at the farms?”

Gilbert finished wiping the barrel of the pistol and turned to face him – with an eyepatch, the space around it red. Felix couldn’t hide his surprise. “Gil! What happened!?”

Sheepishly scratching the back of his head, Gilbert started to explain, “You’ll want the whole story I imagine”

Felix folded his arms and nodded.

“We were building those heavy iron plows for the south farms, that new design from Graham. Everything’s oversized: beams, braces, the lot.” He gave a short exhale. “One of the farmers came to help us test the frame. Good man, but he bumped something he wasn’t supposed to with the lift, and the chain slipped on the rig. Whole frame started to tip forward, something like four hundred pounds of oak and iron, coming down right where the farmer was standing.”

He gestured with two fingers, remembering the angle. “No time to run in. No time to shout anything useful. Just.. line of sight.”

The quartermaster’s hand tapped the edge of his eyepatch. “I drew, fired, and took the bracket clean off the hinge pin. It held long enough for him to dive clear.”

Felix gave a low whistle. “That’s… precise.”

He gave a prideful smirk. “The shot did its job.”

He leaned back. “The problem is what happens when iron meets iron at that range. The powder flash kicked back off the brace plate. A shard of scale and soot came straight back at my face.”

He pressed a hand just to the side of his eyepatch. “This got the worst of it. Didn’t lose it, and Leonora and the other healers say it’ll mend in a few weeks. They just had to get the metal out from around it. The blood though! It looked like I died.”

“So you saved him?” Felix inquired.

“Of course.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Felix put his head in a hand, “I’m glad you’re still here, but what possessed you to do that?”

“Why, I was only doing what you’re always saying, Felix. Making myself useful. That’s how things get done.”