Page 93 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

Gerold poured two tankards of ale and gave one to each of the men.

“Where is your masterpiece?” asked Shroud. “We have been here for a while and need to leave, so please present it to us for judging.”

“Yes, we’d like to see it now,” said Wilkin, taking a sip of ale. “We have a very busy schedule.”

“Masters Wilkin and Shroud, I’m sorry to say that you have been brought her under false pretense, and I knew nothing about it until now.”

“False pretense? What do you mean?” asked Shroud, sounding less than pleased.

“Aye, explain yourself, Armstrong. Do you have your presentation piece or not?” asked Wilkin becoming impatient.

“Nay, I do not,” Jonathon answered directly, wishing he could say otherwise. “I have nothing to show you, because I have taken on two jobs here at the castle and didn’t have time to prepare my masterpiece. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing?” asked Shroud.

“At all?” asked Wilkin. “If not, you know that this will ruin your chances of ever becoming a master craftsman. We traveled here because we were promised you were ready to present. If you have nothing to show us, then you will not get another chance. Instead, you will be naught but a journeyman for the rest of your life.”

“That’s right,” said Shroud. “It’s a shame, but now you will never have the opportunity of owning your own shop.”

“I know,” said Jonathon with a sigh, sitting and rubbing his hurt arm. “I am sorry to have wasted your time, but I have no masterpiece to present to you.”

“Armstrong, you don’t know what a mistake this was. Word will spread about this and you will be blacklisted from now on. Respect is too important to the guild to ignore this incident.” Wilkin plunked the cup down on the table. “Let’s go, Guild Master Shroud.”

“It’s a shame,” said Shroud, getting to his feet. “I had such high hopes for you, Jonathon.”

Jonathon felt like crawling into a hole and dying right now. His life had gone from bad to worse so quickly. Now he had nothing to look forward to in life at all. Part of him almost wished he had been thrown in the dungeon, because at least that punishment would have been something he deserved. Now his dream of becoming a master craftsman was doused, just like the flame of the forge each night, and he’d had nothing to do with the dastardly outcome.

“Oh, hello, there,” said Raven, walking into the shop just as the guild masters were about to leave. “Guild Master Wilkin, is it?”

“Yes, my lady,” said Wilkin with a slight bow. “And this is Guild Master Shroud.”

“My lady,” said Shroud, bowing as well.

“Hello,” she said to the second man.

“We were just leaving,” Wilkin explained.

“Leaving? Already?” she asked. “Why?”

Wilkin and Shroud exchanged looks and then Wilkin was the one to speak up. “Excuse me for speaking so freely, my lady, but you look familiar although I’ve never met you before.”

“Oh, we have met, at Jonathon’s father’s shop in town,” said Raven. “I followed you outside to talk to you when you were about to leave. Don’t you remember?”

“That was you dressed in dirty clothes and looking like a man?” Wilkin gasped.

“Yes, that was me,” she answered.

“My lady, you told us Jonathon would have a masterpiece to present to us and he doesn’t.”

“We travelled a long way for nothing,” said Shroud.

“Oh, nay, that’s not true,” said Raven. “He does have a presentation piece, I assure you.”

“Raven, please,” groaned Jonathon, getting to his feet. “No more lies.”

“I’m not lying.” She looked around the room and headed over to the corner. “There it is. I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”

“My lady, we are on a tight schedule,” complained Wilkin.