Steelhands (2011) (26 page)

“Could I really?” I asked, momentarily in too good a mood to even
feel irritated about Radomir acting like my brain worked too slowly to figure things out for itself. “I wouldn’t be interrupting important business or anything?”

“If I had important business, I wouldn’t be there,” Adamo said. He looked surprised I wanted to take him up on his offer, and maybe even a little pleased that I’d shown some interest, which was a new one for me. Usually the only looks I got from professors were more in the range of resigned disappointment. My tutor back home had quit fifteen times before he finally left the countryside altogether. “Come by sometime next week, and if I can find the place, I’ll be in it.”

“It’s Cathery 306,” I told him. “Just ask Radomir; he knows all about it.”

“And maybe wear a hat the next time you go out,” Adamo said, as a parting shot. “Scarf, too. Pair of gloves. A little common sense keeps a soldier from getting sick.”

I decided to let him have the final word. He seemed like a good sort, and he was probably just trying to look out for me in his own way.

Toverre came scrambling down at me like a human avalanche as I passed the staircase, his face red and mottled. He probably thought
he
was the one who’d just had to talk it out with a professor. But, I thought, I’d been pretty convincing. At least I’d managed to end things on an up note,
and
I hadn’t been kicked out of the ’Versity.

Seemed like I was good at being diplomatic after all—despite what everyone said about me.

“Now, Toverre, that wasn’t so bad,” I told him, feeling victorious. I’d held my ground pretty well with a master tactician, even though my
own
strategy had consisted of nothing more than just telling the truth over and over again until it stuck. The simple tactics were always the best, or so ex–Chief Sergeant Professor Adamo was always reminding us.

“ ‘Wasn’t so bad?’ ” Toverre repeated, like I’d just started jabbering in foreign tongues and he was trying to piece together what I was saying. Poor thing needed a little more sleep to be in a better mood. “Not
bad
? I thought he was going to start breathing fire himself when you said that about not liking his tone! And it’s not as though
you
can repel fire—I certainly didn’t buy you
that
kind of dress. Do you have a death wish, Laure, or are you simply confusing brave with stupid?” He paused to draw in a deep breath, and I braced myself for round two. “Do you know, I think he actually
likes
you?”

I’d been expecting everything except that last bit, and it threw me for a loop as surely as if I’d been riding a dragon myself. Of course, I
supposed
that if I had been riding a dragon, I’d have been looking to make the Chief Sergeant proud of me. I’d just never really thought about it in those terms before. If you were gonna dream about something, it made sense to dream about the big beauties rather than the men that rode them.

Wish I could’ve been
, I thought wistfully. It was probably way better than riding a horse, and that was one of the things I loved most in the world.

“He’d like anyone who told him what they were thinking up front like that,” I insisted, feeling a little warm all of a sudden. It was because of the damn heat they pumped into these buildings, so that a girl couldn’t bundle up for the weather outside without shedding her layers like a wet, newborn butterfly when she came in from the cold. Was it any wonder all of us were getting fevers? “He’s a simple man who likes some honesty, that’s all.”

“I’m sure that’s what he likes,” Toverre said, with one of those all-knowing looks that really got on my nerves.

This was the sort of thing Toverre liked to read too much into; I knew that from his own affairs. He’d turn a simple glance or turn of phrase into something more meaningful, just like magic.

“Come on,” I said, taking him by the arm. This time, it was
my
turn to drag
him
out the door. “If we hurry, we can still make Professor Fuss-budget’s special what’d you call ’em? ‘Consultation hours.’ Then we gotta look for Gaeth.”

By the sound of things, he wasn’t the only one who was missing classes.

Germaine’s workspace was much larger than Margrave Ginette’s, and she had a variety of exotic tools that I’d never seen before, even in Ginette’s extensive collection.

I supposed it made sense since she was a specialist hired by the Esar personally, but I found myself first surprised and then fascinated by the selection: slender pliers wrought in gold and steel, and drivers for the
smallest screws I’d ever seen—so small that she required magnifying lenses in order to work with them.

She didn’t like to talk, I realized quickly enough, and after she’d given me her name I fell silent so as not to distract her any further. The room was overwhelmingly bright, though I suppose that made it easier to see all the more intricate parts of my hands, and she made a noise of displeasure when I took off my gloves.

My fingers were stiff and frozen into place; try though I might, I couldn’t even move them when she told me to, save for the twitching of my right forefinger.

“They do this often?” Margrave Germaine asked, prodding at them with a thin metal instrument.

“Never before, as long as I’ve had them,” I told her.

“So they perform best with regular upkeep,” Germaine said, scribbling something down on a chart. “Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head, my friend. I’ll have these babies in proper working order by the time you leave here.
Better
than new; that’s a promise. And intervals between checkups’ll be longer, too, I’d wager. Here I go.”

She delved in with her clever tools, rooting around in a way that looked as though it
should
have hurt, when in reality I felt nothing. It made me slightly squeamish to watch as she pried apart fastenings and loosened catches and even drew out a gear or two, setting them neatly on the table beside her. She unscrewed my left palm, setting the thin metal plate aside, and I could see there was rust along the bottom and around the site of one of the screws.

Just as I was about to look away, she seized upon something with her pliers and pulled it out with the utmost care. The look on her face was strange, almost tender, and she held the thing up for me to see.

It was a vial of pearlescent liquid, no bigger than my thumbnail. It shimmered in the bright light like a precious jewel, and I found myself rather taken with the thing despite not knowing what it was.

“This here’s the key to your hands,” Germaine said, reading my mind as though she were a
velikaia
. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Quite,” I agreed readily, though its removal had cut off all communication with my hand, and the resulting feeling of cold, foreign steel against my wrist was eerie.

She didn’t place the vial on the tray, but rather somewhere behind
her, out of my sight entirely. After that, she pried the little vial loose from the left hand as well, so that I was left with nothing else but to sit there while she worked, arms tense, feeling disturbed and helpless. I supposed it was something I should’ve been used to, but Margrave Ginette had always left that part in place, leaving me full use of my hands even as she worked on them.

Everyone did have a different method, and at least Germaine was here to help me. It wasn’t for me to complain, no matter how long it took.

The time always passed slowly, but this session seemed longer than usual. Perhaps it was nothing more than my own impatience—that, and I was used to being able to watch the clock while Ginette saw to my hands’ upkeep.

“Stay put,” Margrave Germaine said at long last—her first words after what must have been hours of silently working on my hands. “I have to calibrate some tools to suit your needs, but we’re almost done here; just be patient. If you feel like you have to take a nap, I won’t judge you any, either. I’m told the lights have that effect on people, and you look like a wreck. No offense.”

I hadn’t noticed anything other than a curious warmth in my face and chest, but now that she mentioned it, I
did
feel somewhat drowsy. It probably had something to do with sitting for so long in one place.
It couldn’t hurt to sleep
, I thought. I’d caught a rest in stranger places before, thanks to my time at the Airman.

Once, I’d spent the night in the bathroom—the only room I’d found with a door that locked.

I leaned my head back in the chair, allowing my eyes to slip shut as Margrave Germaine rolled her chair away from her workstation. The last thing I saw were those shimmering vials, like miniature stars in the palm of her hand, and I thought for a moment I might even have heard voices. A consulting physician, maybe?

But I would never know the answer, as I allowed sleep to overtake me.

I awoke to a furious thumping sound, so loud that my heart began to hammer. It took me a moment to realize I was back in my own apartment, laid out in my own bed, and the sound was nothing more than my upstairs neighbors returning home. The entire building shook with the force of their steps, and I wondered to myself if they made a habit of wearing solid stone boots.

My head was pounding, and I lifted my hand without thinking to rub at the temple.

Quick, polished fingers—in perfect working order—obeyed my command. The metal was cold against my skin, but it soothed my pulse, and I started into a sitting position at once, holding both hands out in front of me.

They even had back plates, I realized. They were smooth and complete, and when I wanted to make a fist, I could. I did so far more than was necessary out of sheer relief, flexing and curling my fingers, then attempting one of the more difficult tasks I faced daily: undoing one of my buttons. It slid from the loop easily, then back into it, and I could almost feel the press of the metal button against my metal fingertips. It was an incredible sensation.

A small shaft of sunlight was spilling through the window onto my lap, and I found it suddenly impossible to remember any of my present troubles. The job Germaine had done was beautiful; she was truly an expert in her field.

A small, sudden pang of guilt ran through me, as though Ginette would somehow hear me comparing her unfavorably with someone else, but I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind, allowing myself—for the first time in a very long while—to savor the pleasure of a good mood.

Also, for the first time in a very long while, I intended to make myself breakfast.

I had the skillet ready and was preparing myself for the delicate—yet now somehow manageable—prospect of cracking eggs, when a knock at the door broke into my reverie.

“Coming,” I called, hurrying over and opening it. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I did hope it wasn’t one of the Esar’s men, come to take me back for another consultation. I couldn’t complain about the Esar taking special interest in my situation, either—not after all he
had
done for me—but I wanted to enjoy the moment uninterrupted. I also wanted to formulate my thanks so that they would show how much I truly appreciated the interference.

However, I was shocked to see as I pulled the door open, a familiar face I wouldn’t have expected, not in a thousand years.

“Luvander,” I said, forgetting my manners and staring openly at him.

“Balfour,” he replied, staring back at me. I realized he was making
fun of my expression, mouth hanging open like a dead fish’s, and I colored, closing my mouth at once.

“What are you doing here?” I managed finally—not at all the “do come in” that would have been more welcoming.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Luvander admitted, surveying my humble lodgings from over my shoulder. “What sort of place is this for a hero of war, I wonder? Such wealth! Such riches! Such personality.”

“It’s close to the bastion,” I explained. “Anything more extravagant,
and
centrally located, would be far out of my price range.”

“Ah, Balfour,” Luvander said. “Dreaming big, as always. We flew once, remember?”

It wasn’t enough to bring me crashing down from my good mood, but it
almost
managed. I stepped aside, beckoning for him to come in. “It has a nice kitchen,” I added, “and a pretty view.”

At that moment, the upstairs neighbors chose to travel from one room to another, and the entire ceiling trembled, shaking a few bits of dust and wood down onto our heads. An excellent first impression, I thought, as Luvander stared at the ceiling in horror. He probably thought it was going to collapse on us both. And he was probably right.

“It seems it also comes with elephants,” Luvander said at last. He pulled a white box from behind his back, tied up with string. “Invite the elephants down. I brought you some breakfast.”

“You did?” I asked.

“I can see you just woke up,” Luvander replied. “Perhaps I’ll step into the hallway and we’ll try doing this again.”

“That won’t be necessary. I just—
Why
?”

“Why did I bring you breakfast?” Luvander asked. I nodded, and he pulled out a pocketknife, cutting into the string. “Well, I’ve finally had enough to hire a shop assistant, first of all. And I assumed, with your hands the way they were, you might have trouble cooking. I’m a bleeding heart, what can I say, and our little talk the other day made me realize how much I missed having company from the good old days. You remember those, don’t you, Balfour?”

“All too clearly,” I said with a mixture of relief and longing.

“So that’s them, then?” Luvander asked, nodding toward my hands.

I realized in that moment that I hadn’t thought to put on gloves before I’d answered the door, and now they were on grand display.
There’d be no hiding them behind my back—Luvander would see through to my embarrassment, and he’d never let me live it down—and so I was trapped, forced to let him look at them until his curiosity was satisfied.

Fortunately, I told myself, they were in working order, polished and new, gleaming when sunlight from my window hit them. I cleared my throat, trying to read Luvander’s expression, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, as always. For a man with such an expressive face, he rarely—if ever—showed any real emotion. At least, nothing you could tease him with.