Making a Tinderbox (The Tinderbox Tales Book 1)

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  She tightened her jaw and got ready to go out and buy breakfast.

  * * *

  A while later she had bought the bread and decided to forgo wasting coin on juice or leaf tea today. Water would do. She was returning to 21 Miller Street while thinking about Elise. About long waves of soft, black hair, sandy brown skin that smelled so sweet, and eyes that could light up even the darkest corners of the world. Nessa’s heart was aching and confusion twisted her gut.

  When she walked into their lodging house, she saw the landlady scrubbing the reception counter with a cloth that smelled of lemon juice and vinegar. Nessa greeted her and got a muttered hello back before she walked on towards the stairs. She had only taken a handful of steps before the landlady spoke again. “Oh, hang on, Miss Clay. A package came for ye an’ Miss Aelin just a moment ago. I’m not a postman, y’know?”

  Nessa stared at the grumpy woman in confusion. “A package? Delivered here? It must be from Hunter, then. No one else knows where we live.”

  “T’was most certainly not from Mr Smith. I’d have ’im go deliver it ‘imself. This was dropped off by a young lad. He said he’d been paid by a lady wearin’ a veil to go drop this off to two ladies stayin’ here. She didn’t know yer names or room number, but she described ye both down to itty bitty detail. An’ when the lad repeated the description to me, I knew she meant ye two. Even mentioned Miss Aelin’s yellow eyes, he did.”

  “Golden eyes,” Nessa corrected automatically. “Perhaps light amber.”

  The landlady looked at her. “Right. Sure. If ye say so.” She handed Nessa the package.

  Nessa weighed it in her hands. It was light as well as small. It was wrapped in paper dyed midnight blue and had a white ribbon tied around it, finished in a neat bow. An expensive way of wrapping a package, to be sure. There was no writing on it or card attached.

  The landlady returned to cleaning the counter, so Nessa took her leave. She put the package into the satchel with the bread. Then she headed upstairs, shaking her head at how eager she was to be back in Elise’s company soon.

  Gods, woman. You have only been away from her for a short while. No one wants a friend this clingy. Control yourself.

  * * *

  Elise had washed, dressed, and arranged her hair in a perfect knot by the time Nessa came back. Despite this, she seemed barely awake as she dutifully ate her bread in between long yawns. She caught Nessa watching her, and their eyes locked.

  Cheeks burning, Nessa looked away. She busied herself by checking the bag for more bread. That’s when she saw the mystery package.

  “Oh, I forgot about this,” she said.

  She produced the small, round package in midnight blue paper and handed it to Elise. “It was delivered to our landlady by a boy, who in turn got it from some veiled mystery woman. Apparently, she described you and me and said the package was intended for us. However, she didn’t know what room we were staying in. Or our names.”

  Elise swallowed her mouthful of bread. “But she knew where we lived? Odd. Does that mean she just did not know what names we were staying under? Could it… could it have been my mother?”

  Nessa took a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I doubt it. If it was your mother, she’d come in and look for you, right? Not send you a strange, little package. That’s probably your paranoia speaking. I bet this is simply a case of mistaken identity. Although… she did apparently describe your golden eyes perfectly,” she said with a shrug.

  Elise put her roll down and began unwrapping the package. Under the many layers of expensive wrapping paper, she unravelled what first looked like a stone. When she turned it over in her hands she said, “It is a piece of flint. Why would someone send us that?”

  Nessa moved closer to investigate it. “Well, that settles it. It must be for someone else. Or someone has seen us on the street and mistaken us for someone they know who wants a piece of flint. Maybe it is a joke that the real recipient would understand? Or a symbol or something? Either way, it can’t be for us.”

  Elise began pacing while letting the flint slide between her fingers. “Hmm. No one knows we are here, and even if they did, why would they send this? Mother or the Royal guards would simply take me back to Highmere or Silver Hollow Castle. They would not give me a present and most certainly not give me flint. A Noble person would not even know where to buy flint. Could it be for you?”

  Nessa felt her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “For me? Sent by whom? My parents? Layden? None of them know where in Nightport we are staying. Besides, they wouldn’t send me anything without a note. They’d send me a letter or some food if they sent me anything at all.”

  Elise stopped pacing. “Of course. It cannot be for us. Still, what a peculiar thing to send to someone.”

  Nessa made a ball of the blue wrapping paper and threw it into the waste basket by the door. Elise placed the piece of flint on top of the dresser. She was standing there looking at it, narrowing her eyes and pursing those full lips of hers. Her posture was erect but graceful, her hands resting on her slender hips. Nessa knew she was staring but couldn’t stop. Every part of her was drawn to the elegant woman peering at the plain object. Not for the first time, she simply couldn’t take her eyes off Elise.

  Seconds ticked by. Elise tilted her head as she kept peering at the flint, as if she could unlock its secret by staring at it. Nessa gazed longingly at the soft skin of her exposed neck, wondering how a shy and plain farmer’s daughter like herself got to sleep nestled against that skin every night. Wondering what that skin tasted like.

  Then Elise turned, meeting her gaze. Those deep-set, golden eyes penetrated her every defence. Nessa felt her cheeks burn.

  Just friends, remember? You’re just friends, Nessa. Friends don’t look at each other like that. Shame on you.

  She looked away, scrambling for something to say. “S-so, I'm afraid I failed the task you set me last night. I can see that Hunter Smith is hiding something. But I don't know what it is. Or why it means that he’s not a threat to us.”

  Elise came back to the bed and sat down. She picked up her abandoned bread roll and took a bite. A crumb landed on her lower lip. “Well. He could still be a threat in as much as that he might steal from us or get us involved in some criminal activities. However, we should not have to worry about him wanting to… bed us.”

  “Why is that?” Nessa said and took a pull from her water canteen, avoiding looking at that breadcrumb on Elise’s lip and wondering how it would feel to kiss it away.

  “As you might have noticed, he tries very hard to seem like the stud ready to mount any willing mare. Or willing stud, for that matter. However, as soon as you scrape the surface or get closer to him, he backs off like a frightened foal.”

  Nessa yawned as she handed the canteen of water over. “That’s a lot of horse metaphors, especially for this early in the morning. Can you cut to what you are actually trying to tell me?”

  “From my own observations and those of our landlady, Hunter Smith does not actually like to bed anyone. He simply pretends to. Pretends very strongly, to the point of pushing others away.”

  “Really? That's sad. Why does he do that?”

  “I am not certain. Perhaps it is to prove his worth as a man about town? The landlady hinted at that,” Elise said before drinking from the canteen. It washed away the breadcrumb, giving Nessa some reprieve.

  “Prove his worth? What does a person’s sexual needs and prowess have to do with anything other than where and how they spend the night?”

  Elise shrugged. “I would guess that surviving in this harsh city, especially without the amount of coin we brought, means you have to fit in and seem able and willing in all aspects. I am ready to wager that in both the legal and illegal higher echelons of this society, you must seem attractive and impressively virile to get anywhere.”

  “Well,” Nessa said, “whatever the reason for his behaviour is, I pity him. Still, I'm glad that that he was able to flag up a possible j
ob for you. And he was good company last night, wasn’t he? Gods know that we need a friend in the city. Especially one who knows the ins and outs of it.”

  Elise yawned and stretched. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. I simply wish he would stop flirting so blatantly with you.”

  “Does he flirt with me? Maybe he does. Although I think that’s just his way. He flirts with you, too.”

  Elise rolled her eyes. “Not as much, since I have made it clear that his advances are unwelcome. I called his bluff, so to speak, and then showed my disinterest.”

  Nessa took another sip of water as she considered that. “It’s not like I have encouraged him.”

  “I know that, sweetest Nessa. But he does not need encouragement to carry on. He needs to hear the word ‘no,’ I think. You have to let him know where you stand.”

  With that, Elise stood up, no longer meeting Nessa’s eye. “Anyway, I should get going. I do not want to be late for my chat with the printer.”

  Nessa started at the sudden rush. “Of course. If you get the chance, come by the workshop and let me know how the meeting went. Otherwise I will see you tonight?”

  Elise was putting on her coat. “Yes, I will try to swing by. And if unable, I will tell you everything over ale and bad pies tonight.”

  She crossed the room to where Nessa was sitting on the bed. She stopped for a moment, then she bent down and quickly kissed Nessa’s cheek. Her generous mouth was warm and the lips a little wet from the water. Nessa held her breath.

  Elise stood up, her gaze flickering away. “Be careful. I will cross my fingers that you are allowed to handle the glass today.”

  Then she turned and walked out, leaving Nessa on the bed, still feeling the echoing sensation of those warm, soft lips on her cheek. Aching to feel them again.

  * * *

  When midday came, Nessa had cleaned tools, fetched coal, gone out to buy supplies, and been told to sweep out the floors. Despite that they didn’t seem to need sweeping. She was hoping that the afternoon would bring some actual work around the glass. Or at least some more instruction to further her apprenticeship.

  She heard her name being called and looked up from her broom. Elise was standing outside, beckoning to Nessa through the open door. She was beaming and didn’t seem to pay attention to the two-horse carriage that nearly scraped her back. Elise had to be more careful; didn’t she know how precious she was? The city’s carriages were driven far too fast and carelessly, anyway. To think that people were talking about using steam power to make things that went even faster. Just the thought frayed Nessa’s nerves.

  Elise beckoned again. Nessa looked around and saw that Secilia was busy. She snuck to the door.

  “Hello. You look happy,” she whispered.

  Elise took her hand. “I am. Because I am now hired as a temporary printer’s assistant.”

  “What? Really? Congratulations!”

  “Yes! Thank you. I am not allowed to do any real printing work, not officially at least, as you need to be an apprentice for that. But I will be assisting with lesser chores. And probably more, when Mr Richards knows I can be trusted not to tell anyone. Anyway, it is lunch time. Do you think you can get away?”

  Nessa looked over at Secilia and saw that she had stopped work to be kissed by her husband. “Probably. They’re in a good mood today.”

  Elise let go of her hand, and Nessa made a concerted effort to not look disappointed. Elise held up the paper bag which had been squeezed between her feet. “Good! I thought we would celebrate with some cheese and shroom sandwiches, which are apparently a Nightport speciality. I also have a dozen miniature figs, some dammon nuts, and a large bottle of sunberry juice. There are so many places to buy food and treats in this city. I nearly bought enough food for five people. If the Brownlees let you go for lunch, perhaps we can sit on the bench at the end of Orgreave Street and enjoy our little feast?”

  Nessa’s stomach growled. “Only if you promise to tell me everything. You know, about the printer, the job. And how you got it, of course.”

  Elise’s smile was so big it threatened to overtake her face. “Absolutely. I must tell someone presently, or I will simply burst.”

  Nessa laughed. “All right. Wait here, and I'll ask if I can break for lunch.”

  Elise nodded, and Nessa went off in search for either Secilia or Josiah, who were both out of sight now. She finally found Secilia stoking the fire.

  Nessa cleared her throat. “Master Brownlee. May I be excused for lunch?”

  Secilia peered up at her. “I s’pose so. But if ye’re gone for more than ’alf an hour, I’ll be dockin’ yer pay for this morning. Don't come back too full to work; we’ll be havin’ some lessons regarding raw materials this afternoon.”

  A thrill buzzed in Nessa’s stomach. “Of course, I look forward to it.”

  “Right. Why ye standin’ about, then? Hurry up an’ leave so ye can come back faster.”

  “Yes, Mrs Brownlee.”

  Nessa hung up her apron and hurried out to find Elise. She was waiting a few steps down the street, her arms full of food. She seemed to pulse with excitement; it was impossible not to be infected by it. Nessa realised that she was probably smiling as much as Elise was. “You’ve carried that bag for quite a while. Want me to take it for the rest of the way?”

  “Why not? Thank you. Thoughtful as always, Nessa.”

  Carefully, Nessa took the bag from Elise’s arms. The transfer was uncomfortable in that it came with too much touching. Why did the mere brushing of fingers with this woman feel as intimate as kissing did with anyone else? Nessa berated her trembling fingers as they grasped the bag.

  They walked to the end of Orgreave Street, where there were a few leafless trees surrounding a bench. It was the most nature Nessa had seen in the city, and she found herself appreciating these trees more than she had the ones back in Ground Hollow.

  Elise began to unpack their celebration lunch. Nessa couldn't wait to start asking questions until the food was served.

  “So, tell me everything. Start with when you arrived at the printers. What was his name again?”

  “Archibald Richards. He is a short intellectual in spectacles and a flawlessly pressed suit. Born in a midlands village, so we share an accent. I am not certain how he feels about me. He looked at me as if I were oxen droppings at first. Then he became impressed with my fake tale of growing up in a servant family in a Noble house, as well as how I could keep up with him in literary discussions.” Elise paused to hand her the bottle of juice. “And after I passed the test of being able to use the big ink pads, he admitted that I was stronger than I appeared. So, he gave me the job and asked me to start right away. He still seems to be averse to me in some way, though. He shied away whenever I tried to be friendly.”

  Nessa placed the bottle between them on the bench, trying to hide the smile that she felt coming. “Perhaps that’s not a sign that he’s adverse to you. Sadly, not everyone is as enthusiastic and social as you are. Or as quick to emotion of all kinds. You might not know it, but your vibrancy can be a little daunting at first. You come on a little too strong for some.”

  Elise put down the cheese and shroom sandwich she was unpacking and gave Nessa a sour look. “I am cognizant of the effect I can have. I have been informed before. My mother likes to berate me for my impulsiveness and my tendency toward overexuberance. Gods, the Queen even called me ‘fire-starter’. So yes, I am quite aware.”

  Nessa reached out to take Elise’s hand. The touch reverberated through her, but she ignored it. This was not about her, it was about encouraging Elise. “Please don't think I meant that as a negative thing. You’re incredible. It's just that not everyone can handle that you’re in hundreds of colours while the rest of us are simply black, grey, and white.”

  Elise gazed at her for a long time. Or perhaps it was a short moment that appeared to last for hours. Either way, the look in those deep-set eyes made Nessa’s pulse pick up. She wished she could read that look
.

  Finally, Elise spoke. “You could never be just black, grey, and white. You could never be like everyone else, Nessa Clay.”

  Their eyes stayed locked until Nessa couldn't stand the intense gaze any longer. Her heart was beating too hard. Her mind was too muddled. And her hands were prickling with the wish to touch Elise.

  “I’ll have to buy you a present to celebrate,” Nessa said, trying to pretend that her voice hadn't cracked a little.

  Elise blinked a few times and let go of Nessa’s hand. “Why? I did not buy you anything when you got your job.”

  “It’s to thank you for making sure we both got jobs. Good, steady jobs to boot. They might not be perfect or pay much, but we could do much worse. We could be cleaning horse manure off the cobbles or selling daisies on Core Street’s cold, busy street corners. So yes, I want to buy you a present as a thank-you. If you’ll let me?”

  Elise looked down while she brushed the knot of thick hair on the top of her head. “Well… I am not the type to say no to a present. I will look forward to getting whatever it is. Now, let us eat before I starve to death.”

  Nessa couldn't argue with that.

  * * *

  It was growing dark when Nessa exited the bookshop on Core Street. She stopped to roll her aching shoulders. She was weary after a day of physically gruelling work and a lot of new knowledge. That didn't matter now. What mattered was how excited she was to give Elise her present. It hadn’t been hard to choose what to get her. It had to be the book that she was currently named after.

  After searching out and being disappointed by two bookshops, Nessa had finally found a third which had a copy of The Tales of Princess Aelin. She bought it and tried not to wince at the hefty coin it cost her.

  The Tales of Princess Aelin had mesmerised little Nessa. There was a copy in her school room which Nessa had read from cover to cover. So many times that she had nearly worn the book out, cracking the spine and getting water stains on the front.

  She wasn't sure why she had loved the story so. Perhaps it was because it was one of the few stories about princesses, or other Noble ladies, in which the princess was not merely a beautiful maiden waiting for a prince.