The next day, as promised, the smith’s boy pulled up his horse and cart outside Edmond’s home.
“Hey, there! Got a delivery for Monsieur Nerval!” the boy shouted to herald his arrival. Jamette came out to meet him, drawing her shawl tight around her shoulders against the morning chill. She knew nothing of the enormous cauldron on the cart. Her husband rarely shared household decisions with her.
“What have you for us?”
“A large cooking pot, see.” He tapped it with his stick, causing a resonating ring.
“Biggest one I ever seen! You could fit an ox in there, and it’s too heavy for me to shift alone. Need another man to help.”
“Monsieur Nerval is away, though he should be back soon. Will you come inside and take a drink to pass the time?”
“Thank ‘ee kindly, missus,” he accepted, doffing h
