Horseshoes for Hire
8 Jan 2007
Once upon a time, in a land shrouded in leftover mist and fog, there lived an old blacksmith. His wife had been taken with epilepsy several years ago, and both his sons had grown to adulthood and moved on their separate ways, seeking out their fortunes. What used to be a river of work had evaporated into a mere trickle, a few horseshoes here, a handful of nails there.
Then one afternoon the blacksmith found a paper nailed to his front door: an order for a hundred horseshoes, signed by the king himself. The blacksmith sank to his knees. He read the paper over again, scarcely believing his eyes. Maybe he had accidentally seen one too many zeroes. He looked at it again, and saw to his surprise that he'd seen one too few. A thousand silver horseshoes. A thousand. All the bleak skies in his heart exploded into beaming sunshine.
He quickly read through the rest of the notice. To be delivered to the palace, care of the king himself. His face grew warm. The king himself? He'd never in a thousand lifetimes have imagined that he'd meet the king. This was too good to be true.
Then he saw it: the king demanded that the horseshoes be finished within two days. Suddenly he felt hollow inside. Three days, he thought to himself slowly, feeling the sunshine go grey and the rainclouds return. Two days was nowhere near enough time. Even working throughout the night, he would barely finish in time.
But he was poor. He needed the money, he told himself. This chance wasn't likely to come again. He gave out a long, deep breath and made up his mind to do it. He'd work faster than he'd ever worked before. If he prepared some food in advance, he wouldn't have to stop until the two days were over and the job done. Yes, he could do this. He smiled.
And so it was that the blacksmith got to work, heating up the silver until it was molten, designing an exquisite horseshoe fit for a king. He carved out the mold as quickly as he could without becoming careless. Pouring a small amount of silver in, he waited for it to solidify, then grabbed it with the tongs and dropped it in the water tank to cool.
When he plucked it out, it was indeed one of the best shoes he'd ever made. With no small measure of relief he set his mind to the task before him. A thousand shoes in two days meant five hundred shoes a day. There was no time to waste.
If a passerby had looked into the window of the blacksmith's shop later that night, he would have seen horseshoes dangling from every part of the wall, horseshoes lined up in the corners, horseshoes everywhere. The blacksmith wiped his brow and dipped another shoe in the water. He was, by his own calculations, slightly behind. He would have to work faster.
And he did. Through the night he slaved away, and when the faint rays of the sun began to dance across the horseshoes in the corner, he was still working. It wasn't easy, to be sure, and later that morning his head felt like it was full of air, but he pushed on and his strength returned.
When the sun was directly overhead, a knock sounded at the door. Grumbling at being disturbed, the blacksmith hobbled over -- he could scarcely stand up straight by now -- and opened the door. A hobo stood there. Covered with rags, unshaven, with almost black bags under his eyes, the man held the reins to a bony horse which stood behind him.
"Can you shoe my horse?" he asked. The blacksmith frowned. "Can't do it," he growled. "King's business. Come back in two days."
The man looked back at his horse. "I can't wait that long. Is there any way you could do it today? My mother's ill, and my horse's shoes broke not two miles off."
"No," said the blacksmith. "I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to do it." He knew he was the only blacksmith within fifty miles, but the king's business had to be finished. "Can't you walk?"
"My mother's home is another twenty miles from here. I'm afraid that if I don't ride quickly, she may not make it. Do you have a horse I could borrow?"
The blacksmith shook his head. Looking closer at the man, he was reminded of his own sons. Something in the eyes, perhaps. Or a youthful vigor. Whatever it was, he took a long look back inside his shop, hobbled back in, and emerged with four shoes in hand.
As he began pulling off the remnants of the horse's shoes, the hobo said, "But I can't afford these! They're fit for a king, not a peasant."
"Never mind," said the blacksmith. "I don't have time to make new ones right now. You can pay the ordinary price."
The man fell silent. As the blacksmith nailed in the last shoe and patted the horse's leg, the man cleared his throat. "Actually, I don't have any money on me. Can I pay you later?"
For a moment the blacksmith's heart turned black, but he thought about his sons again and said that it was no matter. "Pay me when you get the chance." And he felt good saying that. The hobo thanked him, hopped on his horse, and rode off.
Where he had grumbled before, the blacksmith now smiled and went about his work. Four horseshoes behind, not counting the time shoeing the horse. He'd have to work even harder.
And he did. Toiling away through the rest of that day and night, he watched the sunrise a second time, wiping more sweat from his brow. Only a few hours left. He counted up the horseshoes. Eight hundred. Not even close!
As the sun was sinking into the other horizon, another knock came to the door. The blacksmith's heart leaped. He quickly tallied the horseshoes he'd finished since the morning. Losing count after fifteen or sixteen, he started over again, stumbling towards the door. Only nine hundred. Perhaps the king would accept the additional hundred later on, he told himself, knowing he had probably just lost whatever chance he had. He'd be lucky if the king paid him at all.
With sinking spirits, the blacksmith opened the door. There were beautiful white stallions all around, each decorated with lavender ribbons and harnessed to elaborate golden coaches.
"Good day, blacksmith," said the man standing on his doorstep. From the way he was dressed, the blacksmith guessed that he was the king and dropped to his knee. "Your highness."
"No, heavens no, I'm not the king. Just the footman. Up with you." The blacksmith stood, face red. "Do you have the horseshoes?"
Trying to ignore his disappointment at not meeting the king, the blacksmith's face got redder. "I have nine hundred, but I'm afraid I was unable to finish in time. Would the king accept the last hundred tomorrow at this time?"
"Let me ask him," said the footman, frowning. He turned and walked back to one of the coaches. It had a purple-and-gold lion emblazoned on the side, the blacksmith noticed. Of course.
He watched the footman stand to the side of the coach. The door opened and out stepped the king himself, dressed in rich robes and a splendid crown. The blacksmith couldn't help but admire the workmanship of the crown -- very well made. Perhaps he could
But the king was approaching. "Blacksmith! Only nine hundred?"
"Your majesty," the blacksmith said, kneeling down, "might I have more time? I would have finished, but there was an interruption."
"An interruption? Of what sort?" The king's eyes twinkled.
"Well," said the blacksmith, "a hobo, your highness. His mother was sick and he needed the shoes. I'm terribly sorry, I should have made him wait. My apologies."
The king turned to his footman and smiled. "Should have made him wait? I'm glad he didn't." He motioned with a finger and the footman brought out some hobo's clothes.
"What?" exclaimed the blacksmith. "Where is he? Did he make it in time?"
"My good blacksmith," said the king, "I was that man. My mother is now quite well, thankfully."
"You? Him? You're him?"
"I need a new blacksmith, but not anyone would do. Only a man of character is fit to be the royal blacksmith. And you've passed the test, my good man."
The blacksmith blinked. "This…this was a test? I don't understand."
"No need to," said the king. "All I need is a yes or a no. Preferably a yes, of course. If you're willing, you shall be the royal blacksmith this very day."
Inside the blacksmith whirled a tornado of emotion. He hardly knew what to say, but he mumbled out a yes and found himself escorted to the palace after he'd collected his things. Money would no longer be a worry, he realized. And he would not die alone.
The next day he went to his new shop. The royal blacksmith's shop was far grander than anything he'd ever imagined. After a brief look around, he set to work and finished the last hundred shoes. And he lived happily ever after.
