The three men strolled between the two long rows of tents, idly taking in the sight of what looked like hundreds of people braving the August sun to shop.

"And in hideously inappropriate clothing, too." murmured the oldest man. There was a chuckle in his voice.

"Not that either of you are much better." He turned to his younger companion. "What possessed you to don chain mail, of all things?"

The youngster flushed. "You said medieval garb. This is medieval garb." His hand idly traced the red silk cross on his tabard. "In fact, yours isn't - I don't remember any examples of cotton T-tunics and blue jeans back then."

The third man laughed aloud. "He has a point." The older man shrugged.

"It's comfortable, fits in with the scene and completely unnoticeable. Unlike you: there are three duchesses and a peer trailing behind you, trying to figure out the best way to waylay you and get you to reveal your source for ermine."

The third man laughed again. "They know their history, then. I'll have you know that this is an exact replica of Lorenzo the Magnificent's court clothes."

"Sure. For February." The older man saw the discreet sign in front of one pavilion. "Ah. Here we are."

The three ducked through the entrance and entered the pavilion. Even the third man could recognize the quality of the weapons on display: the other two unconsciously straightened, their eyes alight. The older man inhaled, taking in the smell of steel and oil like it was perfume.

"He just keeps getting better with age..."

"I certainly hope so," came a voice from the back of the pavilion. Its owner (a white-haired but vigorous man) followed. "Otherwise, what's the point?" The proprietor's eyes twinkled as he made a respectful bow. "Good to see you again, milord. And you too, milord." The youngster looked up from a particularly fine claymore and smiled. The proprietor turned to the third man. "And to you as well, noble stranger..."

The older man smiled. "He's..." a quick look left and right at the other customers "... a colleague. A business associate."

The proprietor nodded and bowed to the third man. "I see. You do my shop honor with your presence." He turned back to the older man. "I see that you received my message about your new toy."

"Yes. I presume that you have it here?"

"But of course." The proprietor reached beneath the main table of weapons and brought up a long box. "You would not believe the offers I've gotten for it already. One fellow even offered to wrestle you for it." This brought a smile to the older man's face. "Yes, I thought it was funny, too. I think that you'd like him, actually: he's got the right attitude for your line of work. I have his name and where he's camping around here somewhere..." The box was finally opened: the proprietor drew back the cover with a flourish.

"Does it suit, milord?"

The older man thought that it suited indeed. The smith had outdone himself, as always: the battle-axe seemed to glow even in the dimness of the pavilion. Its new owner skillfully tested the balance, suddenly snapping it into a blur of silver fire as it moved in his hands. The proprietor cleared his throat.

"There are people around, milord." The older man grinned.

"Just checking your work. Not that I need to: this will do perfectly, as always."

"I'm glad that you like it. Fully guaranteed, of course. Now, I was able to get a good deal on the wood, so some of the retainer is due back to you..."

The older man shrugged. "Keep it." The smith frowned. "Fine: keep it for the next time I need an axe ... or, wait." He turned to the third man. "Care for anything?"

"Weapons aren't usually my style..."

The smith chimed in at this point. "All the more reason for you to have one, then. Keeps people guessing." At the hesitation of his quarry, the smith pressed in for the kill. "Besides, without one you're not fully dressed around here. May I see your dominant arm?" Bemused, the third man extended his left hand. "Of course. Hmm... with your musculature, Italian rapier for you, I think. I have just the thing..." The smith rushed back to the private part of the pavilion. The third man looked at his older companion, who snickered.

"You might as well ... and he is the best. Anywhere." The smith returned with a beautifully crafted rapier.

"Try this, milord." The third man grasped the rapier gingerly - then flowed into a classic stance not seen in centuries. He held the position for a moment, then straightened.

"This brings back memories. I'll take it." The proprietor frowned.

"Oh, no, milord. That's just a loaner until I can craft you a proper weapon." The older man's eyes narrowed.

"Just how much of the retainer did you manage to save?" The fencer interrupted him.

"Don't worry about it: I'll cover the cost." Carefully putting down the rapier, he pulled out a pen and wrote swiftly on a business card. "This account should have enough to cover materials and labor."

The smith bowed. "Of course, milord. I'll need to examine you more carefully, the better to create a proper weapon. Do you have a free hour?"

The older man smiled. "Go ahead: the kid and I have to go see a man about an axe anyway. We'll catch up with you later." He turned to the knight. "Coming, milord?"

"In a moment." The knight lifted up the claymore that he was examining: a few people looked around curiously at the sudden quiet hum that filled the room. "This one, good smith. This is ... a particularly fine weapon. I hope that you're planning to match it to someone worthy of it?"

The smith bowed low. "Seeing as it's you that's asking... of course." As the two men turned to leave, the smith cleared his throat. "One other thing, milord: I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

The older man raised an eyebrow. "If it's within my ability to do so."

"Oh, it should be. One of your colleagues ordered something from me a while back, and I've just finished it. If you could pass it along to her..." The smith reached again underneath his table and pulled out a bag.

"Spade, rake and pruning hook, suitable for garden use and made to her specific instructions. Always a pleasure to do blacksmith work for such a pretty lady, don't you agree?" The older man winced, ever so slightly, but took the bag anyway. As they left the pavilion, the knight idly mused, "I wonder whether he thought that you should agree about the blacksmith work, or whether you should agree that the order's recipient was pretty?"

The older man scowled. "Oh, look. Dream-catchers. Didn't you need to pick one of those up?"

The knight shut his mouth with an audible click.

"Just checking."