Steelhands (2011) (16 page)

“Take ’em,” Gaeth said. “They probably don’t have fleas. I mean, they definitely don’t have ’em. I checked.”

“Hardly a convincing endorsement,” I muttered, but I took them nonetheless, tugging them on. The fur made them warm, though they were bulky enough to make my hands feel very clumsy.

“You should get warmer gloves, yourself,” he added. “The ones you’re wearing are nice and all, but they don’t look like they help much with the cold. What you really need is something woolly, like the ones Laure’s always wearing.”

“Ah, yes,” I sniffed.
“Those.”

“Something wrong with ’em?” Gaeth asked.

I checked to see if he wasn’t making fun of me, the way Laure would have, or really anyone else in his position. It didn’t seem that he was possessed of enough guile to do so, but I wasn’t about to lower my defenses just yet.

“If you must know,” I told him, “they’re ugly. And they itch. They get dirty easily and they don’t look at all like what anyone else here is wearing.”

“Oh,”
Gaeth said, nodding and shoving his hands into his pockets, though not before he tugged his cap down farther over his head. “Everyone here must have right cold hands, then.”

“I suppose it doesn’t bother them,” I told him. Was he really so thick-skulled, or had he not noticed he was dressed differently from everyone else on the busy streets of Thremedon?

“I don’t know
much
about city folk,” Gaeth admitted. “Not yet, anyway. But I can’t see as how cold hands wouldn’t bother someone.”

“They must be used to it,” I said, employing a tone of finality that I hoped would end this strange, circular discussion. I cast about for another topic of conversation. I didn’t want to ask him about his hometown because I could already picture it—a vast stretch of muddy country, a barn full of cows, and Gaeth himself in the middle of it, contentedly looking after his repulsive chickens and pigs. It was agonizing—not the least because I’d known dozens of boys exactly like Gaeth back home, and most of them turned out as hardheaded and unimaginative as the cattle they raised. Moreover, the idea that I would carry any sort of fondness for someone so
obviously
lost when it came to the sophistication of Thremedon was downright mortifying. How could I? I was a different man now!

If only Laure had come along, she would have been able to save me though she would have made me pay for it later on, when it was just the two of us again.

“Well,” Gaeth said, putting a hand on my arm. “Here we are.”

And so we were, back at the dormitories already. I didn’t flinch at his touch, yet he withdrew his hand almost immediately with a little nod of apology. “Sorry,” he added, looking sheepish. “Forgot you didn’t like that.”

“Are you going inside as well?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate for him to answer in the negative. Any more of his company and I would probably expire. Once I was alone, I could begin castigating myself for allowing him to touch me without even a rebuke. Was I no better than a horse myself, to be wooed by something so simple as a gentle hand and a calm demeanor?

If that was how it was going to be, I’d have no choice but to end it all.

“Nah,” Gaeth said. “I was feeling a bit warm, so I thought I’d walk around some more for a bit. Winter air’s bracing.”

Here was the sort of boy my father would have preferred to have as a son, I thought, with some slim bit of jealousy. But mostly, I felt relief. Laure’s father would have been happy with him, too, and it was a wonder
she didn’t hate him for it. No; she rather liked him, and I could hardly pretend I didn’t understand the reasons why; simple as he was, he had an awful kind of charm about him. Yet it was something
I
would have preferred to forget.

“It’s been …” I began, just a pleasantry, but found myself unable to think of anything to say. Instead, I began to tug the mittens off, but Gaeth held up his hands.

“You keep them for now,” he said. “I’ll come back to pick them up later. Gets cold in your room, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I replied, surprised he remembered. He waved at me as he turned away from the bottom step, moving off through the straggling students making their way across the cobblestones, in and out of buildings, laughing or gossiping with their friends. Soon enough, he’d disappeared from view.

I watched him for a few moments longer than was necessary but mostly out of confusion, feeling my brow wrinkle unpleasantly. In the wake of my failure with Hal, I’d quite forgotten about Gaeth, and I’d imagined he’d be only too relieved to find himself free of my attentions. Either that was the case, or he really
was
feebleminded and thought us perfectly capable of being friends without the addition of Laure to keep everyone sane. For what could he and I possibly have in common?

Then I began to feel the cold too keenly, while everything I’d seen earlier in the afternoon came flooding back to me and I forgot about Gaeth completely. I had so much to tell Laure, and even though she’d complain at first about how wrong it was to watch people when they didn’t know you from a hole in the wall, I knew it was a good enough story that she’d listen.

She
would
stop scolding me. Eventually.

I hadn’t heard any further news from Ginette, and there was a strange aching in my wrists that was beginning to grow worse with each passing day. It troubled me, and not just for the obvious reasons of my own personal discomfort.

I’d never thought Ginette would be the sort to leave a job unfinished.
Return visits to her home in the Crescents proved fruitless; speaking to her neighbors offered no clues as to her whereabouts. And, when I asked a few of my companions in the bastion if they’d heard anything about Margrave Ginette, I was met mostly with disinterest or vague rumors. Troius said he’d heard from a friend of his that she’d gone missing, and he was certain there’d be a replacement found soon enough to look after my hands if she didn’t show up.

That, however, wasn’t exactly what I was concerned about.

“You worry too much, Balfour,” Troius told me, clapping me on the back. “I know you’ve seen hard times, but they’re over now. Go out, get some fresh air, maybe see a healer for the way those wrists hurt? And things will be fine in no time. I’m sure it’s all meant to work out.”

I could agree with him about one thing, and that was the matter of getting some fresh air. Which was exactly what I was doing, sitting outside on the steps of the bastion, watching the passersby and making sure I didn’t stare too long at any
one
person, thus causing some personal offense.

The Arlemagne diplomats had put a momentary hold on our proceedings, and I’d learned—through Troius and other idle gossip—that it was because there was a royal marriage being arranged. Considering the preferences of their crown prince, which had become apparent to more people than he might’ve liked during his tenure in Volstov, I felt bad for both the bride
and
the groom in the arrangement. But it was hardly my place to worry about matters of state in a country that wasn’t even my own, one that I had never seen and probably would never have reason to visit.

The worries of others, though, proved a distraction from one’s own. Since I no longer had a ready-made diversion in the form of thirteen other men being as loud and as violent as possible with one another, I’d resorted to this: observing strangers and doing my best
not
to come up with little stories about who they were and where they were going in life.

There was clearing one’s mind, and there was abandoning sense entirely for a flight of fancy, and I could still tell the difference well enough.

I was currently following the movements of a young man in a gray coat and cap, walking distractedly back and forth in front of the
Basquiat. His demeanor was a familiar one; I could have recognized it from anywhere since it was the same countrified awe I’d exhibited on
my
very first visit to Thremedon.

That, however, had been a very long time ago, and I soon lost sight of him. The area was a busy one, filled with magicians and diplomats and other nobility alike. This made it ideal for losing oneself in the passersby, all of whom looked more important than you, and busier, too. I knew I was playing right into the Arlemagne opinion of Volstovic diplomats, sitting outside instead of performing any duties within the bastion, but they
had
been the ones to call a halt to the talks. Diplomacy wasn’t like any other job, where if one project fell through you simply attempted to find another one with which to occupy yourself. I supposed I could have marched down the hall to where Margrave Josette and Lord Temur were conducting relations between the new Ke-Han emperor and the Esar’s representatives, but I hadn’t been briefed on the particulars, and if they had need of me, I’d soon know.

I’d heard from Troius—not information I’d requested, but which I’d received nonetheless—that it wasn’t the
only
place that they were conducting relations either. Apparently it was all very scandalous, but I’d never been an idle gossip, and there was no one I knew now who would appreciate the news.

A small crowd was gathering around the Basquiat, a collection that looked like it might’ve been a tour group, and the magicians on the premises were doing their best to avoid it—one even came so far as to see the group, stop in her tracks, then turn smartly on her heel to take the back entrance in. Fortunately for her, the square was so crowded that it was difficult to notice these things unless one had set oneself apart for such a purpose.

Now and then, a carriage would make its way down from the palace grounds, and everyone drew out of the way to guess at who was within it. That was the only time the crowds parted a little, making it easier to see what was going on.

It was easy to tell when a carriage was coming by the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestone. I strained for a moment, thinking I heard the familiar rhythm, and a moment later I was sure of it.
Someone
important was coming down from the palace.

There was something to be said for training your senses to become
an airman, after all. I was feeling very keen these days, though not keen enough, apparently, to solve the mystery of where Margrave Ginette had gone.

The carriage slowed as it came to the bastion, and I quickly lifted myself from the steps so as not to be in the way of anyone coming or going.

“Balfour Vallet?” A man stepped out of the carriage, dressed in the white and gold uniform of the Esar. I had a momentary twinge—it had always been
Airman Balfour
in the city, with no need for a last name—before the reality of the situation came crashing in around me and I felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. Social nerves, one might call them. I’d suffered from them ever since I’d been a boy.

“Yes,” I said, somehow resisting the urge to hide my gloved hands behind my back.

“His Grace requests an audience with you,” said the man, giving me some idea of what “requests” truly meant. It meant show up if you wanted to keep your head, Balfour, and there’s a good lad.

I missed Thom suddenly, if only because he could talk his way in circles around everyone he’d ever met—he’d tamed
Rook
, for bastion’s sake—and that was exactly the kind of man you wanted at your side during a meeting with the Esar. I had my own diplomatic training, of course, but that wouldn’t be nearly enough to protect me.

Even when he was trying to help you, he was a very intimidating man.

“Of course,” I told the Esar’s man. “I’ll come at once; thank you.”

With no further hesitation, I climbed into the carriage. The driver shut the door behind me, and I felt the body of it shake as he climbed up into his own seat.

Ever since the end of the war, the Esar had taken a special interest in me—perhaps because he had been friends with my mother when they were much younger. Hence the position, I supposed, and the expert care. Perhaps he merely wanted to apologize about Margrave Ginette’s untimely disappearance and make sure that I had a fitting replacement to continue with the upkeep of my hands.

And maybe, right after that, Anastasia would fly over the city with my dead brother on her back.

The ride was quick, if uneven. The upkeep on roads had gotten very
bad during wartime, when most official funds had gone to the conflict, and the driver seemed to be going out of his way to hit
every
bump in the road, veering to avoid pedestrians and taking sharp turns a little too quickly. All the jostling wasn’t doing much for my peace of mind
or
my wrists, but I knew as well as the driver that the Esar never liked to be kept waiting.

No doubt that was the reason for our breakneck pace.

I knew that I had no rational reason to fear a meeting with the Esar since I most certainly hadn’t done anything wrong, but one’s guilt did not always coincide with another man’s preconceived notions, and the Dragon Corps’s final meeting with the Esar was still quite vivid in my mind.

It was one thing to be brave when thousands of lives were at stake and you were part of the only damned crew that could put an end to the war, but I had little delusions about my own ability to re-create that same atmosphere of victory on my own.

If I was in for something as simple as a discussion, then I didn’t have anything to worry about. But it was never something simple when it came to royalty. I’d seen the strange twists and turns the Esar’s family line had taken in the past, and I knew the history behind every untimely royal death, as well.

It was because of this, perhaps, that I wasn’t able to convince myself of anything.

The carriage bounced to a halt and the Esar’s man sprang out ahead of me to lift the catch on the steps. I emerged from the carriage somewhat disoriented, but the beauty of Palace Walk made me catch my breath just as it always did. Even in winter, when the trees were bare and no lanterns lined the path, it was quite lovely in its minimalism.

“I assume you already know the way,” the Esar’s man said, bundling the stairs up under the carriage again. They fell into place with an ominous
click
. “If you don’t deviate from the path, it’ll take you right inside. Should be someone waiting to escort you to His Highness from there.”