Steelhands

by Danielle Bennett

  “Look,” the dorm manager said finally, “I have it on good authority that Gaeth went home. I wouldn’t look for him anymore if I were you; it’ll only lead to disappointment.”

  “You’ve put our minds at ease,” Laure said, moving closer to him, as though she were about to thank him in some other way. I saw the pink in his cheeks turn to red, but Laure only moved past him suddenly, out into the hallway. I managed to squeeze by him as well, murmuring a few pleasantries before bolting after her.

  “At least he’ll have fine dreams tonight,” I whispered, once we were out of earshot. My heart was racing, and we weren’t in the clear just yet—the man could always change his mind and, at the slightest infraction, I was certain my father could have me pulled from this program despite how prestigious everyone back home thought it was.

  Laure made a disgusted face at me, her cheeks bright red. “Don’t want anyone dreaming about me,” she snapped, “and you could’ve helped, so I didn’t have to do that.”

  I stared at her. “What more would you have me do?” I asked. “Should I have flirted with him?”

  “I’ve seen you flirt before,” she told me, “and just because I’m the girl of the two of us doesn’t mean I should have to do such things.”

  “It’s because you’re the pretty one of the two of us,” I told her. “It doesn’t have anything to do with anything else.”

  “That’s what you think,” Laure shot back, shouldering the door to her room open. “We’re not done talking about that letter,” she added hotly, “but I want to be alone for a bit, so scram. And I’d better see you at dinner.”

  She slammed the door shut behind her, and I winced at the sound, as well as at the little splinters of wood knocked loose onto the floor. I bent down to clean them up, wondering what had gotten into her. Perhaps, I thought, it was that time of the month, then immediately banished the thought from my mind—as she’d been able to hear me thinking that before, and the results were never pretty.

  Gaeth’s letter burning a hole in my pocket and the splinters bundled neatly in my kerchief, I headed back to my room. There was a great deal to think about now—one mystery solved, but a new one had immediately taken its place.

  It would be a miracle if we managed to study for our exams at all.

  ADAMO

  Nothing wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but nothing happening when you were expecting something to happen was one of the worst feelings life had to offer. Mad as it might have sounded, I would’ve taken the routine of wartime over all this bastion-damned peace and quiet any day.

  Of course, I wasn’t so selfish that I’d rather have had people dying in battle than everybody going about their daily business without anything to worry over. I was just on edge because I wanted th’Esar to make his move. All this waiting around felt like wasting time, and when I didn’t have any information to go on, I couldn’t very well make mine.

  There was some chance our illustrious highness wasn’t going to do anything at all. He could do whatever he pleased, like pick his nose with a dragon claw, or sit on the information for the rest of his cushy life. And maybe I was just as worried about that happening as anything because I actually wanted him to give my girl another go. She’d done good work and didn’t deserve ending up in pieces.

  I wished I hadn’t known about any of this. It was making me jump at shadows and shout at students—even more than usual—and the take-home exam I was making up had questions that forced even Radomir to admit he was stumped.

  Good, I thought. Sometimes, there weren’t any easy answers. If the idiots in the class could figure out there was no right way to solve a problem—and you were damned no matter what tactic you took—that’d be one strong life lesson learned. I’d pass whoever figured it out and send the others to a different class, where the questions would follow a formula and their heads wouldn’t get too turned around with possibilities.

  “Owen, you are the most miserable and gloomy companion I have ever had,” Roy had told me on more than one occasion. “I am going to be forced to find myself a new best friend—and after I worked so hard at breaking you in.”

  “Go right ahead,” I’d replied. “I hope he likes big noses.”

  I was on my way to see him again—because he hadn’t made good on his threat, for whatever reason—passing by the statues because I liked to take the long way to the Crescents. The walk helped me clear my head, and maybe I hoped I’d be a better man by the time I knocked on Royston’s door.

  Luvander’s shop was open, I noted, and a young girl and her father—at least, I hoped it was her father—were just leaving. Luvander himself was seeing them out, and we caught sight of each other at the same time, him waving me over and me unable to avoid the social visit.

  “Small city, isn’t it?” Luvander asked. “Care to come in for some tea, entertain the crowds, sell a few hats?”

  “I’m on my way to meet someone, actually,” I said.

  “And it’s a good thing, too,” Luvander replied. “You’d probably sell all the wrong fashions and start some terrible new trend.”

  “What’s it matter to you, if you’re the one making money off it?” I asked.

  “Principles,” Luvander replied. “If I don’t have those, what am I left with?”

  “A lot of hats,” I said.

  He stared at me before bursting into peals of laughter that seemed largely inappropriate to the situation.

  “You do surprise me every now and then, I must say,” Luvander said at last, wiping a tear from his eye. He was wearing a blue scarf, made out of some fancy material that looked softer than wool. “I was just saying to Balfour the other day that you had hidden depths, and here you are exhibiting them.”

  “Balfour’s come out of hiding, then?” I asked.

  “Now that he’s seen my little establishment is well and truly a shop, and not some elaborate trap to snare him once and for all, you mean?” Luvander asked. “Poor young man. I think we may have been too hard on him, don’t you agree?”

  “Always said so, myself,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest. A bit of a brisk wind picked up, and I stamped my feet impatiently.

  “In any case, he didn’t come to me,” Luvander explained. “That’s going to take some more coaxing, probably because I once put fire ants in his—Well, anyway, if they’re calling him Steelballs these days, they should really credit me for that, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Luvander,” I said, with a note of warning.

  “Spoilsport,” Luvander said. He sighed, adjusting his scarf, tucking a bunched-up pouf of it under his collar. “I ferreted him out of his little rabbit hole myself. And let me tell you that ‘rabbit hole’ is entirely too accurate a term for that place he’s living. Never you worry, though; he was in extraordinarily blithe spirits when I dropped by. Apparently all it took was th’Esar’s sponsored tune-up, administered by one Margrave Germaine, if I recall correctly. They were polished like mirrors, and working very well, it seemed.”

  “Margrave Germaine,” I repeated, because something in my head was telling me I already knew that name. Somebody Royston had told me about, maybe, because he never could remember I didn’t care much for gossip.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking, and unfortunately I don’t have her references on hand,” Luvander said, offering an exuberant wave to someone walking down the Rue over my shoulder. They called out to him, and he performed a grand bow. “You’ll simply have to accept my word—or rather, Balfour’s word—that she’s a whiz with mechanical parts. You should have seen the look on his face; it was simply extraordinary. It was just like the time—well, I can’t actually think of a time when we went out of our way to make Balfour happy. Isn’t that depressing?”

  “Seems accurate to me,” I said.

  “You’re just in a foul mood because you haven’t seen them for yourself yet,” Luvander said, patting my arm in a way that probably seemed thoughtful to him and not condescending in the slightest. O
r maybe he did know exactly how he was coming off, and that was the whole point of how he was acting. “Off with you, then, or you’ll be late for your appointment —unless that was just an excuse you made up to get out of having tea with me. You know how I chew your ear off.”

  “Sure,” I said, distracted by that horsefly of a name buzzing around inside my big, empty head. What good was it knowing a thing if you couldn’t even remember what you needed it for in the first place?

  Royston would’ve said this was another sign of my getting older, which was only fair since I wouldn’t let the issue of his nose go, despite how many years it had been. At least I wasn’t going gray the way he was, but I was certainly forgetful enough, with all those student names to keep track of cluttering up valuable space inside my brain.

  “And don’t be a stranger,” Luvander said sternly. “I’ll look you up, too, if I have to. I have ways and means. I might even show up at your next class and cause a sensation. I can see it now: ‘Reunion of the Old Flyboys Causes Riot in the Lecture Hall.’ They might even ask for autographs for their collections. All those young, impressionable little minds; the things I could teach them … Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

  “Good-bye, Luvander,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets and moving along down the Rue. He was only excited because he didn’t know these country kids like I did. A little excitement was okay every now and then, but too much was bad for their digestion.

  It wasn’t me being prejudiced against the young or the countryside or anything like that, either. You only had to look at the facts: How many students had up and vanished like a good mood on a hot day? There was talk of some winter fever going around, but that all seemed like a steaming load of horse pat to me.

  Then, just like that, I had it.

  Margrave Germaine was the name that hotheaded girl Laurence had given me when she’d come to see me about missing lecture. I’d even cracked some fool joke about making it stick in my head so I’d remember down the road if I ever caught her lying.

  That’d worked out real well for me.

  I thought about it for a few more blocks, trying to figure out why someone who was working on Balfour’s hands, with a background in mechanics and prosthetics, would be wasting valuable time looking after schoolkids with runny noses. The magicians’ plague had been devastating, sure, but as far as I knew it hadn’t left the Basquiat so strapped for helping hands that those with specializations were forced to do two jobs at once.

  If this Margrave Germaine was looking after my boy’s hands, it meant she was good enough with metal to turn it into something that nearly lived and breathed, just like our dragons. To me, that seemed like the kind of study you’d have to devote your life to in order to be any good at it. Didn’t leave much time for learning medicine to treat ’Versity students.

  I wasn’t an expert, though, and I wasn’t going to go jumping to conclusions like my fool students. I’d wait and see what Royston thought about it—if he knew the woman, and had anything to say about her—and then I’d just have to do my best not to call him an idiot if the answer wasn’t the one I wanted to hear.

  That was one of my most bothersome habits—according to Roy, at least.

  The walk down to the Crescents gave me time at least to sort myself out, so I wasn’t blustering about like a dragon breathing fire once I finally did find myself on Royston’s street. There were dark clouds gathering overhead—the kind that’d soak you to the bone if you tried to fly through ’em—and I wondered if we were due for rain this time, or more snow.

  Either way, I was getting my boots wet.

  I made my way to Royston’s door—not too early this time, thanks to my unexpected run-in with Luvander. At least I didn’t have to worry about walking in on something nobody wanted me to see—and me least of all—since the last I’d seen him, Hal was still at the ’Versity, helping his professor come up with exam questions. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have a lecturing assistant who wasn’t a thorny pain in my ass, but I guess Hal was proof that they existed somewhere.

  I knocked on the door, rubbing my hands together and blowing on them for good measure. I hadn’t had a good pair of gloves since the ones I’d worn for riding. Maybe I was going to have to do something about that soon, though I already knew I wouldn’t be doing my shopping at Yesfir. I wanted something sensible that’d keep my hands warm and that smelled like real leather, not a flower shop.

  “Just a minute!” I heard from beyond the door. Roy operated better when he had someone to greet people for him. I was sure he found it all too taxing to have to actually go to the front door and let people in before they froze off what made ’em men in the first place.

  “You’re late,” Roy said. “You’re never late. I was almost about to summon the Provost’s wolves and have them drag the Mollydocks for your corpse.”

  “Too cold for swimming,” I told him. “Can I come in?”

  Apparently my being late meant all sorts of terrible things, like Roy actually resorting to making the coffee himself instead of having me do it for him. The whole kitchen smelled like the darkest, most vile brew I could fathom; it couldn’t’ve been worse than if he’d made it out of stale piss and seaweed. The stench was making Roy’s eyes water, which made it the perfect strength as far as I was concerned, but it also smelled like he might’ve burned the grounds.

  Roy’d also had time to do away with the fancy delivery boxes and actually arrange the food on plates like a human. If this was why civilians were always going out of their way to be fashionably late, then I guessed I’d take it.

  If I hadn’t known him as well as I did, I might even have been duped into thinking he’d made the sandwiches. But they didn’t look like they were still alive, and the bread had been sliced evenly, so it was clear Royston couldn’t have had a hand in their creation.

  “Well,” Royston said, settling in at the table. “What have you been up to, aside from making students cry and causing me to go gray with worry?”

  “Hal told you about the weeper, huh?” I asked, making a grab for a sandwich.

  “He said that a young man left your class sobbing. Sobbing profusely,” Roy confirmed. “He didn’t go into the details, so I was able to imagine them for myself.”

  “Damn kid’s lucky he didn’t start leaking out of other places once I’d finished with him,” I said, tugging some of the unnecessary foliage out of my sandwich. Roy didn’t wait to ask me if he could take it before he relocated it onto his plate. “Tried to lecture me on political correctness, and how the Ke-Han were really just poor misunderstood bastards, with the only difference between us and them being they were born on the wrong side of the mountains, and now that the war’s over, our prejudice is the only thing keeping us from thinking of them as allies.”

  “Oh dear,” Roy said, taking a sip of his coffee and grimacing elaborately at the taste. “I imagine he’s lucky to have escaped with his life—though you do know that you’re the one who’ll pay for it, in the end. At the very least, you’ll have another sternly worded letter from a parent to add to your collection.”

  “Can’t wait,” I grunted. At least the sandwich was good, meat and mustard and just a little bit of tomato. It was hard to feel sour about things with a good meal sitting in front of you, and that long walk had made me hungry. “I’ll let you keep it with the others.”

  “They’re certainly an exciting read,” Royston said. “One day they might even be worth something.”

  “Sure as shit aren’t worth anything now,” I agreed.

  “Well, I can see that you’re not at all in the mood to hear what I have to say, but I feel obligated to tell you that no one’s seen hide nor hair of Margrave Ginette at the Basquiat,” Royston told me, now stirring liberal amounts of sugar into his coffee in an attempt to make it potable. “It’s truly as though someone lifted Thremedon’s skirts in the night and shook her out like a mouse. It’s unsettling. You know I like a good mystery as much as the next person, Owen,
but that’s only if I can solve it at the end of the day.”

  “Rotten business,” I agreed. “I hope she doesn’t have family looking for her.”

  “I’m honestly not sure which is worse,” Royston said. “If she does, or if she doesn’t. I hope your companion is doing all right without her; I’m only sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to make it up to me,” I told him, knowing well just how much he’d appreciate it. “What can you tell me about a Margrave Germaine?”

  “She has no eye at all for colors,” Royston said easily. He smiled in that self-deprecating way he was so good at and took an experimental sip of his coffee. I wish I could’ve framed the face he made after he did so to scare my students into paying attention. “This really is horrendous; I think we should throw it out before it poisons someone. In any case, I take it that’s not the kind of information you’re looking for?”

  “She’s the one who ended up seeing to Balfour’s hands,” I explained, “since Ginette’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Roy said slowly. “I don’t know her personally, but she’s one of the new Margraves—handpicked by the Esar to replace those we lost, so he can be sure that at least someone in the Basquiat puts him first. I haven’t seen her at the Basquiat since her initiation, actually. I took it as a good sign. It seemed to me that meant she wasn’t spying on us.”

  “Really does like to have his finger in every pie,” I said. It was common sense, I guessed, and if I couldn’t keep track of a classroom, then I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep track of an entire country. All those lords and ladies, magicians and Margraves, diplomats and servants and citizens—the more I thought about it, the more I figured I’d’ve gone mad long ago, my brain cracked down the middle like a rotten egg.