Steelhands (2011)

by Jaida Jones

  There was no question in my mind: This man was obviously the Luvander. My brain helpfully provided that very obvious slice of information before it shut down completely.

  “What about boots?” Laure said stubbornly.

  “You try finding boots to fit those little claws,” Luvander said, shaking his head. “And oh, how they scratch!”

  “Maybe they’re mad about being naked,” Laure replied.

  “I personally would be delighted to end up as a hat,” Luvander said. “You’d make a very fine one, with that coloring. I take it you’re Laurence? Please don’t let me scare you off; I’m frightened of what Adamo will do to me.”

  “Laure works fine,” Laure said. “And I’m not scared.”

  “You certainly don’t look scared,” Luvander agreed.

  “As long as you don’t keep me in the back with the naked peacocks,” Laure warned.

  “My word, this conversation has turned very fresh very quickly,” Luvander said, blue eyes lighting up with wicked delight. “If Adamo overhears us, he’ll keep me in the back with the naked peacocks.”

  I couldn’t allow the conversation to continue any longer as it was going. While Laure might have enjoyed the banter, this was no way to go about making a first impression—despite how odd this airman was.

  There was another one who hadn’t quite lived up to my expectations. At least he dressed impeccably, though I wished suddenly I could have had some of Laure’s brazen disregard for common courtesy, so that I might have asked him why he’d chosen to open a hat shop after piloting a dragon. The two things seemed quite incongruous.

  In any case, I cleared my throat, and Laure turned to look at me, almost like she’d forgotten I was there. She was actually craning her neck for some reason—I suspected privately she might have been trying to discern if Professor Adamo had already arrived—and to my shock she actually blushed.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “This is Toverre.”

  “Your bodyguard, I hope,” Luvander said, with a wry tone I wasn’t entirely sure I appreciated. It wasn’t an insult outright, but it certainly had the implications of being one.

  “Her fiancé, actually,” I replied.

  “No,” Luvander said. “Really?”

  It was what I assumed most people must have thought when they learned that little detail—wondering how someone like me had managed to find myself so lucky, no doubt—yet none of them had ever actually vocalized their surprise quite so blatantly.

  I felt myself begin to color. “Really,” I told him, mumbling a bit.

  “You lucky little man,” Luvander said. “You’ll have to tell me your secret sometime. I am extremely interested in learning your techniques. Well, no more standing around freezing our feet off; I don’t have a coat, and I’m more than ready to go inside.”

  Exchanging a look with Laure, I followed him into the shop, where it was thankfully much warmer. There were no customers within, and Luvander hung up a Closed sign behind the glass window, between a red and purple display. It smelled of new felt and soft leather, and I breathed in deeply, reveling for a moment in how pristine everything was, how organized.

  “So I’ve heard from Adamo that you’re interested in buying some hats,” Luvander said, gesturing for us to follow him deeper into the shop. There was a little door behind the counter, which he opened, and I reluctantly left the shop itself behind. “How awkward; redheads are notoriously difficult to work with.”

  “Green or blue suits them very well, I find,” I said instinctively.

  “Of course,” Luvander agreed. “I meant their dispositions, which are notoriously dreadful. Ace was a redhead, and how he carried on! Merritt, too. Both of them crazy as—well, as naked peacocks, I suppose. Mean little bastards. Wouldn’t want to fit either of them for hats. This is Balfour, by the way. You make your introductions while I make some tea.”

  Privately, I wondered if Luvander himself wasn’t a natural redhead—considering, in his own words, “how he carried on.” Then he stepped aside, letting us enter the back room, which was a little kitchen with a white stove and sink set, and a table in the middle, at which a young man—not much older than Laure or I, I suspected—was sitting, gloved hands on the tabletop.

  “Hullo,” Laure said.

  I had intended to make my own introductions right away, but I was momentarily fascinated by the ghoulish mask hanging on the wall directly over Balfour’s head. It looked like something pilfered from a barbarian land, though from what I’d read for classes and my own personal edification, it didn’t appear to be Ke-Han in origin.

  “That thing looks like me in the morning, doesn’t it,” Laure murmured, nudging me with her elbow.

  “Hello,” said Balfour, passing a hand through his hair and standing. I might have told him that there was no need to stand on our account—since he far outranked us in terms of importance—but I was so soothed by the unexpected display of good manners that I could hardly speak up and tell him to stop. “I’m … Well, I suppose Luvander already told you, didn’t he? I’m Balfour.”

  “I am Toverre,” I said, much comforted by the sight of his gloves, as well. They were made of crisp kid leather, an off-white color, with dark buttons at the wrists, though they fit him a little stiffly. “And this is my fiancée Laurence, but she prefers to be called Laure. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Balfour was an extremely pale creature, who looked like one good winter storm would finish him off once and for all—but then, that was what everyone often said about me back home. Since Balfour was an airman, I could only assume he’d proven his own resilience ten times over, and that gave me hope for my own prospects during future trials.

  And it was nice to meet someone with some knowledge of etiquette—a handsome, thoughtful, young city gentleman, who just so happened to be a noble ex-member of the Dragon Corps.

  Laure nudged me in the side, presumably to remind me not to get any ideas. She needn’t have worried; we were there strictly on business, and business was my sole focus of the hour.

  Whatever came later entirely depended on how our business went.

  “Laure’s the reason for this little meeting, Balfour,” Luvander called, from where he was busying himself with a tin of tea and five separate mugs. Not one of them matched, but they were all clean enough to suit my standards. One even came with a dear little saucer. I watched him to make sure he washed his hands before he began, then turned my attentions back to Balfour. “She’s one of Adamo’s students, you know.”

  “Don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Laure grumbled, going over to the table and picking out a seat. I knew she was only put out because Adamo hadn’t arrived yet—try as she might to conceal it from me, I had a feeling my suspicions were proving all too prophetic. I didn’t know how I felt about this, to be perfectly frank; one could not have called my misgivings jealous, merely pragmatic. How would Professor ex–Chief Sergeant Adamo take to Laure’s engagement if things grew serious between them? Might he attempt to get rid of the impediment—namely me—once and for all? I had no delusions of being able to best him man-to-man. I could only hope he’d been honorable with Laure thus far.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Luvander said. “We’re bound to go on talking about you after you’ve left, too. That’s just my nature. Don’t you find this preferable, though? Gives you a little sense of what we’ll say when you aren’t here to know about it. That always makes me feel a little less paranoid.”

  “I’m beginning to understand why them other redheads had horrible dispositions,” Laure muttered darkly, smoothing out her skirts.

  Balfour waited for her to settle and for me to take my place beside her before he finally reclaimed his own seat.

  “Somehow, he doesn’t mean anything by it,” he confided, not bothering to lower his voice for Luvander’s benefit. “Sometimes—quite often, actually—he says things without thinking. He’s very interested in gossip, you see, and prone to flights of fancy, but there’s n
o real malice in it.”

  “Why, Balfour, are you conspiring to give away all my secrets at once?” Luvander asked, striking a match to turn on the heat beneath the kettle. From the way it began to steam almost immediately, I could tell he’d been preparing in advance for our arrival. “And here you had me thinking that you were the only one of us with manners, but at last you reveal your true colors.”

  Balfour flushed, but I thought I caught him rolling his eyes, as well.

  “We’re not offended,” I assured him quickly, moving my chair closer to Laure’s. The position was a precaution, in case I needed to kick her under the table. “In truth, we’re both quite honored to be taken into your confidences this way.”

  “I was, anyway,” Laure said, recovering a bit of her charm. “This one invited himself along for my protection. Said it wasn’t decent, me meeting a group of men in the city all alone, with no chaperone to speak of.”

  “And he was quite right,” Luvander said, coming up behind us with a lacquered tray filled with all the accoutrements for a proper tea. The napkins were clean and neatly folded, and I had to keep myself from snatching one up to brush away a spot of loose tea leaves on the table before me. “I don’t know how many wild stories you’ve heard, but we were quite notorious back in the day. Not at all proper company for a young lady. Speaking of which, let’s all take a minute to thank bastion Rook isn’t here. In fact, I’m rather shocked Adamo didn’t insist on accompanying you down here himself in order to limit our terrible influence on you. Perhaps he assumed that Balfour would take charge of the situation, thereby mitigating any damage I might cause to your lovely person. Now, would you be a dear and take a moment from your stalwart defense of the girl’s honor to help me with this tray, Balfour? It’s incredibly heavy.”

  “Of course,” Balfour said, reaching above my head to set the tray onto the table.

  Thankfully, there were no disasters.

  Of all the things I’d expected from a lunch meeting with some of the few surviving airmen, drinking tea hadn’t even entered into the equation. I supposed I’d imagined they drank liquid fire at all times, and breathed it, too; not being city-born, I’d allowed myself to be swayed by some of the more outlandish rumors about the corps.

  I could see now that my assumptions had been greatly unjust; Luvander was evidently in the habit of entertaining fine guests. Despite the mismatched china, the pot, milk pitcher, and sugar bowl were all clearly from the same set—painted a lovely shade of green and decorated with a scrolling gold detail I’d seen imitated in a lady’s frock just last week as I was walking down the Rue.

  It was all very fashionable indeed. I wondered how long he’d had it, and more importantly, where he’d bought the thing. It certainly wasn’t traditional Volstovic ware.

  “It seems rude to start without him,” Luvander said, seating himself backward in a chair and casting a curious glance at the clock on the wall. It was wooden, carved in the shape of some enormous sea beast with sharp teeth; the claws overhung the face of the clock, and it appeared the hands were made of wood and not metal. Perhaps it had come from the same place as the mask—I was beginning to be slightly overwhelmed by all the curious details in back of Luvander’s shop. Attempting to take them all in at once to paint a portrait of the man’s tastes was making my head whirl. I wished I’d thought to bring a notebook so that I might write them down, to ponder them more methodically at a later date.

  “He’s never late,” Balfour said, adjusting one of his gloves at the wrist. “At least, not unless my concierge got him in her claws again. I’m starting to think she likes him, actually. It’s the only possible explanati—Ow!”

  Luvander cleared his throat innocently, and turned to smile at Laure. “I imagine the matter must be something very serious, for him to go to all the trouble of gathering us here and exposing you to our considerable charms,” he said, tugging at the scarf around his throat to tighten it, but not before I caught a glimpse of the purple scar curving up from the base of his collarbone over the bob of his Adam’s apple. Perhaps the scarf wasn’t so much fashionable as it was a necessity; with a gruesome scar like that, it would probably be difficult to sell fripperies. “He wouldn’t tell me anything—not even a peep—without getting your okay first, but since you’re here now, perhaps you might fill the two of us in, just so we don’t have to go over everything again when Adamo arrives? He likes to streamline communications. Quite frankly, I don’t think he’d speak at all if he didn’t have to.”

  “Some people sure do like talking an awful lot more than others,” Laure agreed in a way that somehow managed to compliment Adamo and insult Luvander at the very same time. I hadn’t known her to be such an adept study at doublespeak, and I was unexpectedly proud.

  “Then allow me to be the first to capitulate,” Luvander murmured. “I cede the floor to you, my bonny redhead. If you’re comfortable, please do proceed.”

  Laure reached forward to take a gulp of tea, then looked around the table.

  “I’ve got an appointment with one of them physicians they hired to look over the new students,” Laure said, glancing toward me as though she meant to ask if that was the best place to begin. “It’s kind of a long story, with a lot of boring ins and outs, but what it shakes down to is that everyone who’s gone to see this physician comes back sick, and one of our friends didn’t come back at all. I know it sounds loopy, and that’s part of why I waited so long to ever say anything, only now it’s my turn to go back and I didn’t want to risk it. You all can think I’m crazy—I’m giving you permission right now—but I know that Germaine woman made me hear voices. Never had delusions before.”

  “Voices?” Luvander asked, his expression suddenly sharper than it’d been only seconds ago.

  Laure reached for her tea but collided with Balfour—who was doing the same thing—and one of them spilled the cup all over the table, splashing against his hand.

  “Shit!” she said, leaping up and casting about for a napkin. “I’m sorry. If you get it under cold water quick, the burn shouldn’t be that bad.”

  “It’s all right,” Balfour said, surprisingly mild. Luvander had already produced a number of cloth napkins from the tray, and I took some myself to help sop up the tea before it ran over the edge of the table and stained anyone’s lap.

  I was so focused on my task that I nearly missed Balfour removing his right glove, the pale fabric stained with a dark brown blotch of tea. But for once it wasn’t the mess that really caught my attention. Rather, it was the sudden flash of silver—I’d assumed it was a bracelet when I saw it earlier—but once I’d looked, I found I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was one thing having heard about it and quite another to see it for oneself—what those “Steelhands” looked like in person.

  Balfour’s entire hand was crafted from the finest metal I’d ever seen—brighter somehow than silver, and much more flexible. I was fascinated by its movements, which were fluid and not at all stiff, perfectly mimicking the joints and curves of a real hand. Gradually, I became aware of the napkin growing damp beneath my own fingers. Luvander and Laure had both stopped cleaning.

  “Ah,” Balfour said, clearing his throat uncertainly. “I don’t suppose the two of you have heard a little song they’re singing in Charlotte, now?”

  “They’re students,” Luvander replied. “Adamo’s students. I doubt they have much chance for hearing anything other than the echoes of his displeasure in their little student heads.”

  “We are from the country,” I said, at last managing to look away. I could tell that my scrutiny was making Balfour uncomfortable—I didn’t blame him for that—and I nudged Laure’s foot delicately with my own until she, too, managed to turn her gaze elsewhere. “We aren’t ‘up’ on current gossip.”

  “Lost his hands in the final battle,” Luvander said simply. “It was all very heroic, and the people of Thremedon are mad about him because of it. You should listen to the songs one day; they’re quite good.”

&
nbsp; “I can’t even imagine,” Balfour murmured.

  “How’d you lose ’em?” Laure asked.

  I cringed, and even Luvander flinched; Balfour merely looked surprised at the question, as though no one had ever really asked him that before. Leave it to Laure to ignore all sense of propriety in order to satisfy her curiosity—and leave it to me to allow it because of my own curiosity.

  “I’d assume the details are a little too grisly to share with such delicate company,” Luvander supplied, when Balfour seemed unable to reply.

  “I’m not that delicate,” Laure said.

  “I, of course, meant your companion,” Luvander explained. “I’m not sure how prepared he is to hear the details. Don’t take it too personally. I’m not even sure I’m prepared, and I was there, myself.”

  “We held tight to the reins,” Balfour said suddenly, our heads whipping round in unison to look at him. “One of the many precautions we took to keep from falling off should we have to dodge a missile attack. They were made of metal, because leather would have burned too quickly, and I’d wrapped them round my wrists. When Anastasia—my dragon—was hit the final time, her neck snapped. My mistake was trying to hold on to her; she moved in such a way that pulled the harness too far, and the reins sliced clean through.”

  We were all silent for a moment, each of us falling prey to our own ghastly thoughts. I couldn’t imagine the pain, or what it must have felt like in that moment to realize his hands were gone—what it must have been like to realize that it wasn’t all some terrible mistake, a nightmare from which he could disconnect himself.

  “Now we’ve done it,” Luvander said finally, the cheerful tone in his voice wavering only for an instant. “We’ve become sidetracked—just the kind of thing Adamo hates—and where is the old man, anyway? If one of us showed up late, he’d grab us by the ear and dangle us out the window himself!”