Steelhands

by Danielle Bennett

  “Well, same to you,” I said; I couldn’t keep from grinning like a puffed-up pigeon. It wasn’t every day Toverre handed out compliments, and he gave them to me least of all on account of how I was the one who knew him best and he didn’t have to charm me. “Just imagine if you’d been engaged to some skinny little wisp. Who’d’ve killed all the spiders in your dorm room for you?”

  “Please,” Toverre said, holding up his hand with a brief, violent shudder. “I’ve only finished eating. Don’t speak of it.”

  We were gonna be just fine, Toverre and me. Now that we weren’t engaged anymore, we could focus on being friends, which’d always been the best part of the arrangement—at least, that’s how it was for me, anyway. I figured it’d do him some good to come visit me and Gaeth at the estate, too; he’d already proven he could get down and dirty the same as the rest of us if he really needed to, and a little dirt hadn’t killed him. Knowing that’d made me real happy—I could believe there was hope for us yet if even Toverre was capable of getting over himself.

  Judging by the way he acted around Gaeth, he’d gotten over more than just his quirk about keeping everything shipshape. All them dragons and missing students seemed almost to have knocked the notion of falling in love with someone new right out of his head. Even if that’d been all we got out of coming to the city, it would’ve lived up to Toverre’s high expectations.

  And even if neither of us had expected things to shake down the way they did, I figured we’d handled ourselves okay for two hayseeds from the country who nearly got robbed our very first day in Thremedon.

  “If that’s all, I suppose I’d better go and help Gaeth pack,” Toverre said, folding his napkin and stacking the plates up neatly, cutlery sorted by order and balanced on the very top plate. “Otherwise he really will be a mess when the two of you get up there. I should think you’d be more concerned about your corps looking dignified.”

  “It’s not my anything,” I pointed out quickly. “And don’t call us that. We don’t have a name.”

  “Speaking of names,” Toverre began shrewdly, “have you named your dragon yet?”

  I sighed, casting a glance toward Toverre’s gleaming window, the only one in the first-year dorms that you could actually see through when it was closed. Maybe I’d been overthinking the whole name thing, but once I named this dragon, she was gonna be the one to live with it. I didn’t want to pick something like Troius had, just because it sounded strong, and it didn’t seem like proper tribute to name her after my ma, even if she would’ve liked it.

  There was a third option that’d been swirling around in my head for a while now—since I’d first clapped eyes on her, in fact—and Toverre wasn’t gonna accept an “I don’t know” for an answer. All the dragons I’d ever been mad for had been given real specific names, and even if the Margraves who’d named them had been one broken runner short of a rocker, you couldn’t deny the names sounded real powerful when spoken aloud. I guess those Brothers of Regina knew what they were doing when they wrote down those prayers, because some of ’em had a real impact. It was make up my mind now or never, and I guessed I was gonna go with my gut instinct, since that usually saw me through all right. Toverre was probably gonna laugh at me, but he could go and suck a knob, since I was the one with the dragon.

  “Inglory,” I told him.

  “Ah,” Toverre said, like the first drop of rain before a whole downpour came flowing out of his mouth. I braced myself, just in case.

  “Got something to say?” I asked. I didn’t take his reaction personally since I knew it was just because of Toverre’s high standards. If he’d been put in charge of naming anything, even something small like a mouse, he’d’ve devoted two whole weeks to searching in books until he found the most ridiculous name imaginable. He’d call it appropriate; everyone else’d call it bat shit.

  And that was another reason we couldn’t get married. I’d never doom a child to walking around with a name worse than my friend Ermengilde had been stuck with.

  “Not at all,” Toverre said, surprising us both, I think. “Given the circumstances, I feel it’s rather appropriate; it’s as if you’re paying tribute to the legacy that came before you. You and Gaeth have both done quite well for yourselves.”

  “Gaeth named his after a cow,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, well,” Toverre said, suddenly busying himself with straightening the napkins. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it; I was just surprised.”

  I could tell he was dying to get all the dirty flatware out of his room so he could go torture the life out of poor Gaeth by teaching him how to fold socks, and it was probably time for me to go and get some of my own packing done as well, for once free of Toverre’s “help.” Neither of us was much for proper good-byes, and it definitely didn’t make sense to make a big deal out of my leaving the ’Versity—not when I knew Toverre would be visiting as often as he could, or else.

  I probably should’ve been nervous about starting my new life, or maybe even a little scared, but I wasn’t either of those things. So far, I was the only one of the four without the proper means of controlling my dragon, but we were getting to know each other—and getting to like each other, too.

  Besides, the others hadn’t been dealing with a man like Toverre their whole lives, like I had.

  Compared to him, reasoning with a dragon was bound to feel downright simple.

  BALFOUR

  It wasn’t the first time I’d packed my life up to go and live with Volstov’s dragons, but there were a few key differences between this time and the first.

  The most important was the secrecy surrounding my new position. When I left for the Airman, my family was proud of me, and my childhood companions envious. This time, I could tell no one what I was doing nor why I’d resigned my diplomatic post dealing with the Arlemagne embassy. In some ways, my very public breakdown with the fever had done me a service since I could simply allow everyone to assume that I’d cracked under the pressure and was retiring to lead a quiet life in the countryside somewhere to focus on my health. My family would worry for a time, but I would devote myself to writing as many reassuring letters as it took. Eventually, even my mother would come around. The rest of the city might amend a few of the stanzas to “Balfour Steelballs,” but I found that I didn’t altogether mind the idea as much as I’d thought I might. I was even looking forward to what the new lyrics might be.

  In the face of recent events, having all of Thremedon questioning my sanity seemed like a very small price to pay for actually managing to maintain it.

  The second difference—this one perhaps even stranger than the first—was that I had an entire host of company, real friends, who had volunteered to help me pack up my belongings.

  I’d had my doubts about whether or not we’d manage to fit into the tiny apartment, especially with Ghislain among us, but Luvander had soundly ignored all my protests in his usual way, and once Luvander had announced he was coming to help me, it seemed the others couldn’t resist joining in. Adamo had committed himself last, stating that with Ghislain along, I probably wouldn’t need any further help with the boxes, but that I might need him to corral all that extra help the other airmen were giving me so, as he put it, shit actually got packed.

  Fortunately, I hadn’t been living in the apartment long enough to accumulate anything very valuable or breakable, so I wasn’t too worried about losing any heirlooms. My apartment did look as though an earthquake had hit it, but since I was leaving it behind, I figured it didn’t matter that much—save maybe for the poor fellow doomed to move in behind me.

  Even the dulcet tones of my neighbors making their morning rounds, feet clad in concrete blocks, was like music to my ears.

  Since it was the last time, I no longer flinched every time bits of plaster came crumbling down from the ceiling above me; Luvander used it as a sort of metronome, setting the beat while he hummed and tossed things into crates.

  Mostly, I was glad for the co
mpany, since it didn’t leave me much time to brood on all the things I was worried about, such as whether or not I was really ready to deal with another dragon and what I was going to name her, besides.

  Dear Thom, I began in my head, which was the only place such a letter could ever be written. It seems that once again I have you to thank for changing the course of my life, though I wonder whether or not you ever intended to in the first place. I only hope you are able to make such strides in your own. I wish you all the best, and by the by, do you have any suggestions on what to name my new dragon? She is blue, if that helps you any.

  It was strange to think that without Thom’s letter, none of us might have ever been forewarned of what the Esar was planning. The magicians would have suffered most, though I also couldn’t bear to think of the poor children who’d died because of that fever. And yet I couldn’t ever tell Thom what he’d done for us just by his insistence on writing. I knew that he wasn’t the sort of man to revel in being praised, but it seemed a shame he might never know.

  And for Rook, the only one of the remaining airmen who wasn’t in on the little secret …

  If he ever came back to Thremedon, he’d thrash us all with one arm tied behind his back.

  “None of these cups match,” Raphael commented from where he was standing on a chair and emptying out my cupboards. “How can this be, Balfour? I always considered you a kindred spirit, dedicated to the finer things in life, and now I discover you’re just as slovenly as the rest of them.”

  “There were sets,” I protested, faintly. “It’s just that certain parts got broken when I was first learning to use my hands.”

  “Oh,” Raphael said, pausing in his work to look guilty. It passed quickly; he never harbored the same emotion for very long. “I suppose you’re right, how terribly awkward of me. Now I’ve put my foot in it.”

  “That’s right,” Luvander said, coming up on my left with another full box to hand off to Ghislain, who lifted it in one hand like it was no heavier than a pillow. “I bet you feel terrible now, and it’s no more than you deserve. Forgot you were dealing with the new Balfour, didn’t you? This one’s feisty. And watch out. When he hits back, I can only imagine how much it hurts.”

  “I was only stating a fact,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. In truth, it was almost nice to be around someone who’d forgotten about my hands entirely—though I didn’t envy Raphael being in the position of catching up on everything he’d missed since being lost in the war.

  Evidently he was quite resilient, just like the rest of us. He’d manage well enough, and he wouldn’t be doing it completely alone, either.

  “Carriage’s getting pretty full,” Ghislain reported, coming back up the stairs and into my apartment. He was taking them three at a time, and the whole building shook with his massive strides. “Hope there aren’t many more boxes.”

  “How kind of Lady Antoinette to lend us her driver to take Balfour out to the house,” Luvander commented, hefting another heavy box to pass it to Ghislain, groaning under its weight. “I wonder why she agreed to do that? Perhaps a personal interest in our well-being …? We are eligible bachelors, after all.”

  “If she was interested, it wouldn’t be in you,” Ghislain said, taking the first box, then waiting around for a second. “I’ve got a free arm if anyone else’s got their shit packed.”

  “Be very careful with these,” Raphael said, hopping down off his chair and holding out the crate that held my mismatched tea service. “These teacups made it past Balfour Steelhands. They deserve to be treated with some respect.”

  I glanced around the apartment—which looked less like a storm had hit and more like no one had ever lived in it at all. It reminded me of when we vacated the Airman, but since I had fewer fond memories of this place, I wasn’t nearly as sad to be leaving it behind, without a trace of myself left.

  “Ah-ah,” Luvander chided, pulling a fountain pen out of some hidden pocket. “Before we go, we must make our mark.”

  “The landlady was very specific about not scuffing the floors or walls,” I warned, knowing Luvander wouldn’t listen to me. He was already crouching by the kitchen window, scratching something under the ledge of the sill. “It’s a little habit I have,” he explained, after he’d finished. “I left one in the Airman, as well. It said, ‘Niall lost, Luvander won.’ ”

  “No,” Raphael said. “My money was on Niall.”

  “That’s what you get for being a traitor,” Luvander replied.

  I had no memory of the game Luvander and Raphael were referring to, but of course, knowing them as I did, it might just as easily have been made up. With Adamo down by the carriage, and Ghislain rocking the very foundations of the building, it was only the three of us. They were lingering, so I could tell there was something on their minds, but Luvander was right—they weren’t dealing with the old Balfour, and I wasn’t going to be the one to cave first.

  “Well,” I said, “I suppose that’s everything. Thank you so much for the help.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Luvander said.

  “Yes,” Raphael agreed. “I love doing menial tasks for other people without any promise of reward.”

  “Of course, there is one reward we might be granted,” Luvander added slyly.

  “No, we couldn’t ask,” Raphael replied. “He’s bound to think we’re rude.”

  “He thinks that already,” Luvander said. “We won’t have to worry about his opinion changing for the worse.”

  “But still,” Raphael concluded, “it won’t improve our image any.”

  “You might as well come right out with it,” I said, though I had to admit, the routine was very well scripted. They might well have a future in the Amazement, if Luvander ever got tired of the haberdashery.

  “You haven’t named her yet,” Luvander explained. “And the anticipation might kill Raphael a second time.”

  “Luvander’s the one it’s really been bothering,” Raphael confided in me. “He won’t shut up about it. Though I suppose that doesn’t make it much different from any other topic that interests Luvander.”

  “It’s only that I have a few suggestions,” Luvander said. “I’m afraid you’ll do something uncomfortable for everyone—like name her ‘Steelballs.’ ”

  “You can’t very well do that,” Raphael added. “She lacks the proper anatomy, and it will only make her feel inadequate among the other dragons.”

  “Shh,” I said, in case my landlady was eavesdropping on us. Then, because I was going to have to tell them sooner or later—and because, even though it was technically none of their business, I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t choose a name everyone approved of—I relented. They had come to help me, and I could only imagine how deeply they resented me, the only one of the older order to be given a second chance at what had made us who we were.

  That they weren’t letting on just proved their character, and I was grateful to them—more grateful than I would ever be able to show.

  “I was thinking ‘Steelhands,’ actually,” I replied. “Call it a sudden inspiration.”

  For once, I could tell I’d gotten the better of them, since both Raphael and Luvander looked equally shocked. I supposed that sealed it.

  “I hope you know this is entirely your fault,” Raphael informed Luvander, after a long pause.

  “She does have hands, at least, after a fashion,” Luvander reasoned. “We’ll just have to make sure she understands her namesake. Since no one else will be singing it to her.”

  The familiar sound of Ghislain coming back up the stairs heralded his return; he was followed closely by Adamo, and I realized there were no further boxes left. We were finished, with relatively little incident, and I had never been more happy to bid final farewell to a place as I was then.

  “Just one more thing we need to do before we’re done,” Ghislain said, which brought me up short.

  “There is?” I asked, wondering if I’d forgotten a room.

  “Adamo
tells me you’ve been having some trouble with those upstairs neighbors,” Ghislain explained, jerking his thumb upward. “Figured I could give ’em a few good-byes of my own.”

  I stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then I couldn’t help but toss my head back and laugh, the others joining in, despite us all knowing Ghislain was dead serious.

  “Go right ahead,” I told him. “Whoever moves in next will never know what a true hero you really are.”

  “I’m fine with that,” Ghislain said, and started for the door.

  With all of us together, it felt as much like old times as I’d needed. Just like the first time we’d been brought together by the dragons—though now I was armed with the knowledge that there were other, more resilient ties between us. I wasn’t going to forget it, and I didn’t plan on allowing the others to, either. It was a far cry from the timidity I’d exhibited in their presence once, but I liked to think I’d grown—perhaps into the kind of man worthy of a song or two in his honor.

  I was a new man, and though certain parts of me were steel in name only, I would have no qualms about displaying my newfound resilience among my comrades. Somehow I felt as though I was the one who’d been rebuilt alongside these new dragons, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity at a second chance pass me by.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  JAIDA JONES and DANIELLE BENNETT wrote their first novel together, Havemercy, over the Internet—Jones in New York, and Bennett in British Columbia. They now shuttle between apartments in Brooklyn and Victoria, B.C., which makes their collaboration much easier. They are also the authors of Shadow Magic and Dragon Soul.