Steelhands (2011) (20 page)

Of all my boys, it was always Balfour who concerned me the most. He had all the manners and donkey shit it took to get along in the world, and he knew how to talk to people
without
insulting their dicks or their wives, but he couldn’t take care of
himself
worth a damn and he’d never figured out how or when to tell someone to take a walk off the far end of the Mollydocks. This whole diplomacy thing was just about the worst thing for him, as far as I could tell, since it suited his strengths way too much and didn’t challenge him to speak his real thoughts. He’d’ve been better off hitching up with Rook and Thom, or even setting sail with Ghislain. Sure, it might’ve ended up with the sharks getting a special meal of fresh Balfour meat, but somehow I didn’t think so. Ghislain would’ve kept his head above water if he needed the help.

But Balfour was always surprising you. He’d even done better than his brother, in the end. Just needed a chance to prove that to himself.

Not that I was in the habit of comparing my riders, mind. Every man had his own style, and so long as he could do his job right, then the rest was none of my business. Hadn’t been any of my business when they’d brought Balfour to us in the first place, a nice little piece of nepotism to fill the void left by Amery. No one ever got around to asking Anastasia
what she saw in him—maybe just the family resemblance—but the way they took to each other was more than enough to shut the mouths of any whoreson who said she’d been forced into accepting him. Balfour was a natural, and damned if some days I didn’t think Anastasia had picked Amery just because she’d smelled Balfour on him, and not the other way around.

They were both good in their own ways, but Amery never would’ve lasted in the situation Balfour had thrust on him. He’d’ve cracked some heads together and ended up on trial for murder after the first day of finding piss in his boots.

Good man, Amery, but he’d had no better temperament than the dragons when you pushed him.

The back room of Luvander’s shop was crammed full of fancy white boxes, rolls of ribbon, and all sorts of other packing and shipping supplies that I didn’t know anything about, and that didn’t interest me besides. There was a round wooden table with some chairs scattered around it, a little oven in the corner, and some kind of countertop with mugs and tins of tea littered across it. The kettle on the stove was shooting out steam.

“Do you live down here?” Balfour asked, peering around. I was just waiting until he caught sight of what I had: some kind of wooden mask about the size of half a man, carved in the image of some poor bastard’s worst nightmare, with its features all twisted and its mouth wry and snarling. It was hanging on the wall above the table, so he was bound to see it eventually. It looked to me like the damn thing wanted to eat us. Why Luvander’d chosen to put it on display over his sweet little dining set was beyond me.

One of the weirdest of the whole bunch, I always said.

“I live upstairs, actually,” Luvander said, busying himself with pouring the tea. “This is just where I take my meals so I can stay in the shop at lunchtime.”

“Very efficient,” Balfour said, before he startled suddenly and grabbed at my arm. “
Bastion!
What on earth is that?”

“Oh, Martine?” Luvander asked, shooting a glance toward the mask. “Ghislain found her on one of his expeditions and decided to bring her back for me. Well, for the shop, really. Like a housewarming gift. Or should that be shopwarming? He said she’s supposed to be good luck,
but I think she’d scare the customers if I left her out front. So I leave her back here, and I haven’t left anything burning on the stove yet. I think she’s working.”

“It’s … She’s … 
Hideous,
” Balfour said, not bothering to try for good manners on that one.

“Ghislain not around much these days?” I asked, making it sound casual.

“You know how he is,” Luvander said, setting the teapot down on the table and gesturing for us to come over. “Once he sets his mind to doing something, he won’t hear a word against it. He’s got balls of pure dragonsteel. Of course, he won’t tell me
what
he’s set his mind to, but one does recognize the behavior all the same.”

“You’re still in touch with Ghislain?” Balfour asked, reaching out to his cup and not warming his fingers over it, the way I’d done. I guessed he didn’t have to, but it was a sobering detail to take in all the same.

“We write now and then,” Luvander explained, “and he drops off letters. Sometimes by pigeon. He’s training them on his boat, you see.”

“His boat?” I asked, at about the same time Balfour asked the same.

“Of course,” Luvander replied, blinking owlishly. “He used
his
stipend to buy one, as you both know.”

“Thought that was for …” I began, then shrugged. “Well, I can’t say
what
I thought that was for, actually.”

“I think he thought it was the closest thing he’d get to flying again,” Luvander said, blowing on his tea to cool it. “Wind in his hair, surrounded by a great expanse of open blue all around, you know. Or maybe he always wanted to be a sailor when he was little; I didn’t think to ask. Although I’d wager a lot of what he’s doing—if Martine is any evidence to go by—is less like sailoring and more like pirating. Where do you even suppose they have faces like that?”

“Not where anyone’s named Martine,” I said.

Luvander laughed, and Balfour even smiled; I watched the latter as he touched the side of his teacup and lifted it to his mouth, the motions only a little awkward. Not to sound soft, but it made my heart ache to see him like that, and if he wasn’t getting the best care th’Esar had, I’d be speaking to the man myself, crown or no.

“So, that’s it, unfortunately,” Luvander concluded. He gestured to a map pinned up above his sink, where a few pins had been stuck in haphazardly.
“He’s somewhere down by Ekklesias, by my calculations. Then again, I know absolutely
nothing
about how to calculate these things. It’s very possible I’m wrong.”

“How helpful of you,” I said.

“Lucky that Yesfir didn’t travel by sea,” Balfour added.

“That’s brave of you,” Luvander said, looking scandalized. “Where’d you get
that
edge? Is it Arlemagne? You’re going to have to tell me all about them at some point; the best gossip is
always
Arlemagne.”

“I’m not really sure …” Balfour began, back to his old self.

The banter just served to remind me of how few of us there were; only three where there’d once been fourteen. When I thought of a meeting like this, not too chaotic, everybody present getting his turn to shove a word in edgewise, it felt like somebody walking over my future grave. Sure, there were two more out there—one of them terrifying foreign countries and one of them terrifying foreign seas—but the one terrifying foreign countries, and what he’d found while terrifying ’em, was the reason I’d called this haphazard little meeting together in the first place. Like as not, it was time to bring this meeting of Volstov’s ex-airmen to order.

I cleared my throat.

“Something go down the wrong way?” Luvander asked, looking up at me slyly. “Do you need a pat on the back? I’d feel awful if you choked because of
my
tea.”

“That’s enough outta you, Luvander,” I said. It sounded just like old times, and boy, did it feel good. Luvander bowed his head and cleared his throat and listened to me, and I stood up from the chair that was too small for me anyway, just so I could be sure I had their full attention front and center. “Got a letter from Rook and Thom a week ago,” I continued. No use beating around the bush and letting them get unfocused again. I almost waited for Compagnon to giggle, then corrected myself, moving on after that a sight more quickly. “Would’ve come to you both sooner, except I needed to look into things myself—exercising my rights as ex–Chief Sergeant. Hope there’s no complaints, or subsequent mutinies.”

“Neither of us is made for leadership,” Balfour assured me. He sounded almost devious when he added, “No offense meant, Luvander.”

“And none taken, Balfour,” Luvander replied blithely.

“Enough chatting,” I said, and set my teacup down. “What I learned from Thom was that, somewhere out in the desert to the south of here, a Ke-Han magician found some way to make Havemercy fly again.” I let that sink in—Balfour in particular looked like he was going to be sick all over the table—then pushed on gamely. “They had enough of the right parts to build her up like a puzzle, and they pulled some trick to get her up and running. But she wasn’t the same as she once was, because whatever magic horseshit they did to her fucked her up. So in answer to your question of whether or not, right now, there’s a dragon flying—there isn’t. Now, the rest doesn’t make much sense to
me
, since it’s not my area of specialty. All I know is, according to this letter, an agent for th’Esar was involved, which means we have to assume th’Esar knows about all this. He just … doesn’t know I know about it.
We
know about it. But what we
don’t
know is more important—what he intends to do about all this. Could be nothing; could be something. My thoughts on the matter are, seeing as
who
we are, we deserve to know, one way or another. We should be in on his current proceedings.”

“I wish I’d made a more soothing tea,” Luvander said at last over a very difficult silence. Balfour’s fingers were precise enough that he could pinch and twist at the fabric of his gloves, which he was doing, and Luvander, who was usually in constant motion, was sitting as still as the statue of him just outside. “I wish Ghislain
was
here. And Rook.”

“And all the others,” Balfour added pointedly, “but they aren’t. And maybe it’s for the best. But, Adamo … May I speak?”

I grunted. “No one’s stopping you. Believe me, if I just wanted to hear myself talk, I’d get a mirror instead of bothering you both.”

Balfour looked away, gripping his cup very tightly. With hands like that, I wondered how he didn’t break it. “There isn’t any way for him to rebuild the corps,” he explained slowly. “The magicians wouldn’t allow it. It was a special allowance for Volstov during wartime, but we aren’t at war anymore. And despite how … awkward things are with the Arlemagne, they aren’t looking to be anything more than allies with us. There are currently no external threats to Volstov.”

“That wouldn’t stop th’Esar from making provisions,” I said, “and you know it.”

“I
have
felt it,” Luvander said softly, then laughed. “ ‘It’—listen to me—I really don’t know what I’m saying. But I’ve felt
something
. I thought it was just missing people, you know, the usual this and that.
Missing my darling most of all. But what if it wasn’t as simple, or there’s more to this than I thought?”

“No need for that kind of conjecture,” I told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Though I know what you mean. It’s a tempting thought and not
just
for th’Esar.”

“I really don’t know what to make of all this,” Balfour murmured. He looked pretty unhappy, and I didn’t blame him one whit.

“Neither do I if I’m being perfectly honest,” I said. “Never asked to get a letter like that one, and I hope I never do again. Brought me nothing but indigestion and too many sleepless nights, so if you’re thinking of looking to
me
for a solution to this mess, you’d be looking in the wrong place.”

“But you must have some leaning, one way or another,” Luvander said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, so I could tell he was working his way up to being a cheeky bastard again. “About what we should do for ourselves—for the girls—for the others, too. For example, if I was to suggest we storm th’Esar’s palace right now demanding answers and possibly some sort of financial security for milliners along the Rue, you can’t tell me you’d have
nothing
to say about that.”

“You’d be right,” I admitted, ignoring that bit of nonsense about his hat shop. Different men dealt with the rough shit in their own way, and nothing set Luvander at ease better than cracking wise. “Guess I know what we
shouldn’t
do more than I know what we
should
. It’s not a position I like any more than you, so you don’t have to make that face at me.”

“Sorry,” Balfour said quickly, even though he wasn’t the one I’d been talking to. He’d gone from worrying at his gloves to toying with his fingers, stretching the joints by pressing them against the tabletop, then pulling at each finger just slightly, like Merritt had when he’d cracked his knuckles. Balfour’s knuckles didn’t make any noise at all, but considering the way Proudmouth’s joints had creaked when she stretched out her neck, I was glad they didn’t.

“Your hands bothering you?” I asked out of the blue. I knew as I was doing it that it was the wrong move, that it’d make Balfour uncomfortable and probably Luvander, too. But I was sick of all this civilian dancing around the point and sitting on things until they became too big to ignore. That was Roy’s style, not mine.

“Beg pardon?” Balfour asked, as Luvander wheeled around in his chair to look at him. “Oh! These. No, they’re … They’re fine, they just
stiffen up a bit in the cold, and … Well, I had someone to look after them, but it seems she’s got more to worry about currently than just me, so actually I’ve had to see the Esar about a replacement.”

“You’ve met with th’Esar?” I asked, trying not to get ahead of myself. “Recently?”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m being left out
simply
because I’m the only working-class man among a professor and a diplomat?” Luvander asked, while Balfour looked between us like a mouse trying to decide whether he wanted to take his chances with the cat or the barn owl.

“It wasn’t anything, not really,” Balfour said, his hands falling still. “At least, it didn’t turn out to be anything, though as you both know, when the Esar calls a man, he
does
worry. The whole experience was actually just … strange.”

I folded my arms over my chest, not interrupting; even Luvander looked rapt because this was probably better than all the best gossip he’d heard in weeks.