Steelhands (2011) by Jaida Jones, Danielle Bennett Page A
Authors: Jaida Jones, Danielle Bennett
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an hour—only for her to demand why I’d come so late.
I wasn’t about to make that mistake again, and the light
was
on in her workroom. Yet even though I’d taken up with ruffians, breakingand entering wasn’t something I wished to add to my list of “unexpected things I’d done because of the strange crowd I spent my time with.” Sighing, I tried the door before I could talk myself out of the idea and found it unlocked.
Perhaps we’d both learned something from that little incident, then.
There was a gray cat in the entranceway, as well as several pairs of women’s shoes on the floor and matching coats hung up along the wall, but the house was otherwise silent. The cat wound around blue satin boots, rubbing its face against the toe, then yowled enigmatically at me.
Almost on instinct, I reached down to let it sniff my fingers. It did so just as one of my metal knuckles let out a hiss and a creak, and the cat’s ears folded backward, the fur over his spine prickling up in mistrust.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, glad no one was around to see me offend, then attempt to
rationalize
with, a simple house cat. “It startles me, too, you know.”
The cat sniffed and turned its back on me, bolting deeper into the house.
I should have expected something like that, I thought, and shut the door behind me so as not to let in too much cold air.
“Hello?” I called, just so I wouldn’t seem
too
much like a burglar in the night. Or a madman who spoke only to cats. “It’s Balfour, you remember … I don’t think I’m late this time, unless I got the date wrong, in which case I’m terribly sorry.”
There was no reply. Whatever she was working on must have been incredibly engrossing, and it wasn’t something I wanted to interrupt, either. I knew that from experience, even if the rest of what I knew about her was very perfunctory indeed, though we’d been acquainted for many months.
Her name was Ginette, and I’d heard her refer to the cat once or twice as Kerchief, though I wasn’t sure if that was his full name or just a pet name she had for him. She kept her house neater than I’d been led to believe most Margraves did—they were usually too busy with their spells or their books for cleaning. Or maybe she kept a maid.
I peered past one door—the kitchen, it seemed from the shadowy shapes of pots and pans hanging from the wall—but no lamp was lit. It would be strange indeed for anyone, even magicians, to conduct experimentsin the kitchen in the dark, rather than in their studies or their workrooms, and so I passed the silent kitchen by.
The hallway twisted away from the foyer and circled past the kitchen in a clockwise direction. I almost tripped on a few small steps before I found myself passing her private rooms. I cleared my throat outside each doorway, and even knocked on one, but there was still no answer.
I felt more and more like an intruder with each step, but I made it to her workroom without the Provost and his men suddenly appearing to arrest me.
This was eerie, to be sure, but I’d been an airman of the famed Dragon Corps. Presumably, I didn’t spook easily—although I was beginning to wish I’d gone to see Luvander’s hat shop instead and ignored my appointment. There were so many times being that kind of man served you better than doing things
right
ever did, or so I’d learned from living with my fellow airmen: those good old days when I was punished routinely for bringing up what we ought to have done, and they had a jolly time ignoring just that for a night of rowdy fun.
The door to Ginette’s workroom was half-open, and a light was on in the room, though I knew instinctively there was no one inside. No sounds at all came from within, not the usual tinkering clatter of metal on metal or the creak of the floorboards as she moved from spot to spot at her long wooden tables. I hesitated, wondering if
I
should be the one to call the Provost and his men, then gently nudged
I wasn’t about to make that mistake again, and the light
was
on in her workroom. Yet even though I’d taken up with ruffians, breakingand entering wasn’t something I wished to add to my list of “unexpected things I’d done because of the strange crowd I spent my time with.” Sighing, I tried the door before I could talk myself out of the idea and found it unlocked.
Perhaps we’d both learned something from that little incident, then.
There was a gray cat in the entranceway, as well as several pairs of women’s shoes on the floor and matching coats hung up along the wall, but the house was otherwise silent. The cat wound around blue satin boots, rubbing its face against the toe, then yowled enigmatically at me.
Almost on instinct, I reached down to let it sniff my fingers. It did so just as one of my metal knuckles let out a hiss and a creak, and the cat’s ears folded backward, the fur over his spine prickling up in mistrust.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, glad no one was around to see me offend, then attempt to
rationalize
with, a simple house cat. “It startles me, too, you know.”
The cat sniffed and turned its back on me, bolting deeper into the house.
I should have expected something like that, I thought, and shut the door behind me so as not to let in too much cold air.
“Hello?” I called, just so I wouldn’t seem
too
much like a burglar in the night. Or a madman who spoke only to cats. “It’s Balfour, you remember … I don’t think I’m late this time, unless I got the date wrong, in which case I’m terribly sorry.”
There was no reply. Whatever she was working on must have been incredibly engrossing, and it wasn’t something I wanted to interrupt, either. I knew that from experience, even if the rest of what I knew about her was very perfunctory indeed, though we’d been acquainted for many months.
Her name was Ginette, and I’d heard her refer to the cat once or twice as Kerchief, though I wasn’t sure if that was his full name or just a pet name she had for him. She kept her house neater than I’d been led to believe most Margraves did—they were usually too busy with their spells or their books for cleaning. Or maybe she kept a maid.
I peered past one door—the kitchen, it seemed from the shadowy shapes of pots and pans hanging from the wall—but no lamp was lit. It would be strange indeed for anyone, even magicians, to conduct experimentsin the kitchen in the dark, rather than in their studies or their workrooms, and so I passed the silent kitchen by.
The hallway twisted away from the foyer and circled past the kitchen in a clockwise direction. I almost tripped on a few small steps before I found myself passing her private rooms. I cleared my throat outside each doorway, and even knocked on one, but there was still no answer.
I felt more and more like an intruder with each step, but I made it to her workroom without the Provost and his men suddenly appearing to arrest me.
This was eerie, to be sure, but I’d been an airman of the famed Dragon Corps. Presumably, I didn’t spook easily—although I was beginning to wish I’d gone to see Luvander’s hat shop instead and ignored my appointment. There were so many times being that kind of man served you better than doing things
right
ever did, or so I’d learned from living with my fellow airmen: those good old days when I was punished routinely for bringing up what we ought to have done, and they had a jolly time ignoring just that for a night of rowdy fun.
The door to Ginette’s workroom was half-open, and a light was on in the room, though I knew instinctively there was no one inside. No sounds at all came from within, not the usual tinkering clatter of metal on metal or the creak of the floorboards as she moved from spot to spot at her long wooden tables. I hesitated, wondering if
I
should be the one to call the Provost and his men, then gently nudged
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