Steelhands - Jaida Jones [128]
I was sorry to have to share my disillusionment with Hal, but there was no one else with whom I’d be able to talk.
“The reason I am so concerned,” I added, as Hal continued to think with knitted brow, “is that he was exhibiting some signs of the fever when last we spoke with him. I worry for his health, not only his whereabouts.”
“Well,” Hal said at last, letting out his breath, “I can’t say that was what I was expecting at all. Do you think it’s something to bring to the Provost’s attention?”
“I wasn’t sure,” I admitted, clasping my hands tightly together. “Perhaps I should have filed some official report, but I didn’t wish to do anything so drastic until we knew for certain he hadn’t gone back home. I only just heard from his mother today.”
“The post does tend to get stuck up around Borland,” Hal agreed, plucking at the elbow of his sleeve. “I lived around there—just across the river, actually, in Nevers. We used to say it was because of all the mud, with the postmen getting stuck in it.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I said, attempting to feel light-hearted and failing spectacularly. My skin felt hot and itchy, and I dug my nails into the soft skin on my palm. “I really do apologize if this is inappropriate. I understand that none of this is your jurisdiction. It’s just difficult to … to find …”
“It’s difficult to find someone to talk to in the city, sometimes,” Hal said, leaning forward just slightly. It was easy to forget he’d been from the country, just like Laure and I were—at least it had been for me. The difference between him and the people I’d known back home stretched wide as Locque Nevers itself. “I felt that way, too, when I first came. If it wasn’t for … well, I understand what it’s like, anyway. I’ve adapted, but it took a while, and lots of feeling uncomfortable at parties in the meantime.”
I smiled, and it wasn’t even the fake smile Laure had forced me to master so I wouldn’t frighten all her school friends away with what she called my “grimacing.” “I am doing my best,” I told him, just so that he wouldn’t worry.
“As for the matter of your friend,” Hal said, sitting back again, “I really don’t know what to say. You’re right that it isn’t my jurisdiction—not at all—but I’m glad you came to me about it. You said you spoke to someone, and they told you he’d gone home?”
“Yes,” I said, the smile slipping off my face as easily as it’d appeared. “That is the part I don’t understand. I was wondering if you’d have any more information about it, or if Professor Ducante had some official note?”
“Nothing that I’ve heard of,” Hal admitted. “There have been a few because of this fever, but … Gaeth, you said?”
“Yes,” I replied. “From Borland. I don’t know his surname.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Hal said, “but I suppose I could do some asking around. See if the dean knows anything.” He tapped his chin while he thought; the dreamy countenance he usually wore in class had been stripped away, replaced by an expression of sharper intelligence. It was easier now to see him as the hero who’d saved Thremedon in its hour of need, and I quickly looked away in order to avoid more vulgar staring. “I’ve been living in the Crescents while doing my own studies, so my knowledge of the dorms isn’t that extensive. I could find some things out for you, though. At the very least, what someone would have to do to withdraw in the middle of the semester. I’m betting there’s all kinds of paperwork to fill out, at the very least. Not to mention some kind of room inspection—which is strange, considering what you told me about the state you found his quarters in. Best to have all the information before we go to the Provost, or else they’ll waste time doing it themselves, and I’m afraid with the time it takes them to get that kind of business looked after, you won’t get your answers very fast.”
“If there’s paperwork, I don’t think he could have filled it out by himself,” I said, trying not to feel as though I was betraying Gaeth’s confidence by admitting his failings