Steelhands (2011) (7 page)

Seasons change
, he’d insisted, and even though it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to—not to mention an awful lot of crinoline and lace taking up space in my bags—I’d agreed to go along with his suggestions.

Dealing with Toverre was remarkably like dealing with a herd of cows when only one of them had reason to be spooked but all the rest panicked anyway. If you just stood to one side and allowed them to do whatever they wanted, both parties would come up smelling like posies. Or at least, no one the worse for wear.

I picked up my new plate and set it on the windowsill, figuring I’d decide what to do with it later. Now, at least, I could probably light a fire in my room without feeling like I’d been transported to a blacksmith’s.

“Are you even listening to me?” Toverre demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

“You said you couldn’t begin to tell me what was wrong with it,” I reasoned, going back to stoke the coals with my poker. “So I just naturally assumed you wouldn’t. Tell me, that is.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Toverre said, wrinkling his nose with a disapproving sniff. I wanted to ask him if he needed to blow his nose, but the mere idea would’ve caused spasms of horror or something worse, probably. And me standing there without any of the cleaning solvents that usually soothed his more serious fits of dirt panic.

Fortunately for both of us, someone knocked at the door.

“Looks like someone already heard I was entertaining,” I told Toverre before I could help myself, and went to answer the door. I even wiped the knob first with my skirts, just so Toverre wouldn’t faint dead away then and there. A thin layer of dust and grime came off on the fabric.

Maybe he’d think that was worse.

Standing in the hallway was the same young man who’d helped us with our bags, hand still raised from knocking like he hadn’t quite expected me to get to the door that fast.

“Hello,” he said, glancing over my shoulder toward the fire, and where Toverre was knotted up on the end of the bed like a piece of burned twisty-bread. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just wanted to see how the two of you were settling in.”

“Well enough now,” I said, racking my brain to remember his name. “I’m sorry, I’m shit with names. It
is
Gaeth, isn’t it?”

I knew that Toverre would berate me later for using indelicate language, but there were certain points of etiquette that didn’t make any sense to me. And wasn’t it more polite to ask than to pretend all afternoon that you knew someone when you didn’t? But that was probably just my practical mind getting the better of me once again.

Could’ve done without saying “shit,” though. Probably.

“It is,” Gaeth said, looking marginally relieved.

“Would you like to come in?” Toverre asked pointedly, because I hadn’t yet. I could’ve told him that there were better ways to try and upstage me as a hostess, and sounding like an old magician who lured children into her lair to suck their bones clean
wasn’t
one of them.

It was all in the tone of voice, really.

For whatever reason, instead of giving Toverre a funny look and suddenly remembering he had a pressing engagement elsewhere, Gaeth stepped inside, leaving me to close the door behind him.

Da would never have stood for a closed door at home with two boys in my room, but as far as I was concerned, he didn’t have anything to
worry about. Toverre was no danger to a woman’s virtue, and I could tell by the way he was behaving that Gaeth was about to be the millionth lucky customer—the next great love of Toverre’s life.

It wasn’t so unattainable a title as all that. In fact, it rotated at least once a week, changing heads more often than the Arlemagne crown. He was a hopeless romantic—emphasis on the hopeless part—and anyway, no one ever found him out since his way of showing affection was pissing all over a man verbally.

They ran for the hills, and this one would, too. I glanced out of the window and wondered, for a moment, what would serve for hills here in Thremedon. Only the spindly tops of buildings winding their way up the cobblestone street broke up the gray skyline. I couldn’t see much from this angle, but Toverre’d already discovered you could see the Basquiat if you opened the window and leaned out.

Though why anyone would open a window in this weather was beyond me.

From his perch, Toverre made a strangled sound and leapt suddenly in the direction of one of my half-unpacked bags. He looked like a cricket, all long legs and bent-up elbows.

Of course, both Gaeth and I looked after him immediately, to find him shoving my undergarments deep into the suitcase.

“I came at a bad time,” Gaeth said. “Didn’t I?”

“We were just unpacking,” I told him, grateful at least that
he
hadn’t blushed. Toverre’s cheeks were pink as he did up the snaps, my private items locked safely within. If only he’d shown a little less delicacy, my honor mightn’t have been compromised so quickly. “It’s not a bother, anyway.”

“You could have given us
some
warning, actually,” Toverre said pointedly.

Gaeth cleared his throat, shrugging lopsidedly. It was
definitely
love in Toverre’s eyes, and I didn’t quite blame him. Gaeth was clearly of good stock, and if he’d’ve been a horse, Da and I wouldn’t’ve argued for a second before buying him. Nice skin, good teeth, dark eyes. He was healthy, too, with strong coloring. If he made a pass at my skirts, I was going to clobber him.

“Just … wanted to make sure you settled in fine, like I said,” Gaeth said at last, probably because nobody else was talking. “Is that … soot on your face?”

I brought my hand up to my cheek, and some cinders came floating out of my hair as I did so. Toverre winced dramatically, in the middle of polishing one of the brass buckles on my biggest suitcase.

“There was a problem with the fireplace,” I explained, pointing to the plate on the windowsill. “Had a plate in it.”

“There was a boot in mine, actually,” Gaeth said.

Toverre made a little clucking noise. “I haven’t even checked mine yet,” he said mournfully. “Do you think … No, I can’t
bear
it. I’d never crawl up into such a dirty,
dirty
place.”

“Could always give it a once-over for you,” Gaeth offered. Little did he know what he was getting himself into, doing something like that. “I’ve got a meeting with a finances advisor before supper, but after that I’m free.”

“As long as you don’t touch anything,” Toverre said. “And I mean
anything
. Leave everything the way you’ve found it, and …” His eyes darted to me, looking for all the world like a drowning man, and I tried to send him some form of encouragement through sheer will alone. “… thank you,” he concluded at last, though he sounded like there was a stone he was trying to pass when he said it. At least the actual words came out, which was a step in the right direction for poor Toverre.

“I’ll help, too,” I offered. “But I’m going to touch everything; you know I can’t help myself.”

Gaeth laughed, relaxed and steady, and Toverre even managed to join in, despite looking incensed. And just like that, we’d made our first friend in the city.

It only figured that he wasn’t actual city folk.

Our first day of classes began in the bitter cold, the air so sharp that by the time we’d made it to the classrooms a delicate snow had begun to fall, dusting the rooftops of Thremedon like sugar powder upon a fancy cake. The whole city looked like a piece of wedding confectionary—at least, it did to
me
, but Laure had put her boot in a little yellow puddle only a few steps past our dormitory building, so she refused to agree with me about how lovely it was.

I had to walk down ’Versity Stretch on her other side the rest of the way.

Being a school with no separate campus for its students meant that the ’Versity was crammed right up against the city itself, so that even while making their way to classes, students might observe the most fascinating aspects of city life. I’d discovered that if I followed the Stretch long enough I would wind up at the mouth of the shopping district Laure and I had wandered into on our very first day in Thremedon. It was labeled
Rue d’St. Difference
on my map, and I’d practiced saying it so that I might sound as casual as possible when I finally did suggest it as a meeting place to a lover or newfound companion.

It had been difficult to get my desired amount of private time in my room for such practicing—Laure’s company was one thing, but Gaeth, too, had come to unstick my chimney just as he’d promised. There’d been a small metal pan normally used for cooking jammed in the flue, and I’d made him promise to take the thing with him, now that I knew
it was there. Laure had suggested we might collect an entire dinner service at this rate, but not one whose practical use could be
condoned
.

Later that night, I’d been forced to lie with my stomach on the ground in order to properly inspect the floors for any soot or dust that might have come loose in the proceedings. I’d found none, but it had eaten into my time
considerably
.

There were shops along the ’Versity Stretch, too, but smaller ones, no doubt wishing to cater more to poor students and the size of their wallets. No remarkable hats to be found
here
, though I did espy several bookshops, a few cafés, and even a very small market—but I could see easily enough from the state of its shriveled fruits and unimpressive vegetables that I would not be giving such a place
my
business. There was a little apothecary hidden away down a narrow corner that sold poultices and remedies for those unfortunate enough to take ill in the winter months. I made a note of its location, quite sure that I would be availing myself of its services sometime in the future.

Despite my chimney being stopped up in the same manner as Laure’s had been, my room had remained persistently chilly and drafty from the first.

Still, it was difficult to remain in a dreary mood when one’s surroundings were no longer dreary in the slightest. Various men and women—dressed so smartly that it was impossible to imagine they weren’t headed somewhere terribly important—used the Stretch as a thoroughfare to get from one place to the next despite
clearly
not being students or professors of the ’Versity proper, and the street was terribly crowded, even though I hadn’t yet seen very many other students. I personally felt like a very small fish in a very large, overcrowded ocean—and one with very dull scales indeed. And I had no affection for the way men and women walked past you as though you didn’t exist, jostling you this way and that without so much as a by-your-leave. They never covered their mouths with kerchiefs when they sneezed, either, and I knew without a doubt I would be sick before the week was out.

“Why’re you making that face?” Laure asked me, nudging me in the side with her elbow.

“I can smell whatever it is you’ve gotten on your boot,” I replied. This was very true. “I told you, you should have changed it right away.”

“I’ve had worse on my boots,” Laure said. “
Way
worse, too.”

This was very true, as well, but I couldn’t bear to think about it.

The Stretch was wide, but branched off into a great many side streets along the way. One of these was my dear Rue d’St. Difference, which made up a border of sorts, as I understood it, with the neighboring Charlotte district. I was absolutely
itching
to see the lower town, but I hadn’t mentioned this to Laure for fear she’d try to knock the idea right out of my head.

If we were to keep going and make a sharp right, I realized, we would land ourselves smack where we’d been dropped off in the carriages—back at the statues of the Dragon Corps, though that was one landmark I’d seen quite enough of for the time being. One of them smelled like Laure’s boot did, and besides, it seemed rather morbid—to me, in any case—to erect statues of men who were both living
and
dead, and group them together like that. It was like inviting bad luck—though perhaps such superstitious notions were regarded as entirely outdated in the city.

Luckily we were only meant to follow the main road for a bare few twists before we came to the central class buildings—which looked, I realized, just the same as the regular housing, with no discernible difference whatsoever. I had been hoping for something a little more grand, or perhaps a longer walk through the city so that I might drink in more sights and sounds, but no such luck. Seeing as how it was very cold indeed, I supposed I could accept this—at least for the time being.

But as soon as classes were out for the day—and we had only two introductory lectures to begin with, the latter of which concluded around lunchtime—I intended to go exploring. Bold and intrepid as such actions were, I would have my stalwart companion, Laure, with me. Perhaps we would start by drifting in the wake of the more-elaborately-dressed people around us to see where they ended up. Or perhaps we might even make our way to the Basquiat, though we had no real business there. This time, there would be no bags that could be lost, and we would also be wandering with the aid of a local map.