Steelhands - Jaida Jones [157]
“Well,” Toverre said, after Luvander had breezed out of the room.
“He’s used to another kind of people,” I explained. “Like he said before—we really are lucky Rook isn’t here. However uncomfortable you feel now, that would make things a thousand times worse.”
“So now we just wait, is that the idea?” Laure asked darkly. I could tell by her expression that was her idea of a terrible plan, and while I knew it was our only one, that didn’t mean I had to like it, either. Every mission needed a bit of reconnaissance, but since I was usually the man conducting it, I felt all wrong just sitting there.
“I suppose we do,” I confirmed.
No one suggested we look into whatever lewd card game Luvander had mentioned. The mean-looking clock that made such awful sounds on the hour chimed unexpectedly, making us all jump again, but other than that, no one spoke. Toverre poured himself another cup of tea, then began to polish the handle of the teapot with his napkin; soon, he moved on to one of the saucers, and he was eyeing my stained gloves with a distressed expression. Finally, before his eyes popped out of his head completely, I forced myself to be the first to say something.
“Are you all right?” I asked, managing not to comment on how the others would’ve torn him apart if this had been the Airman.
“They’re going to stain if you don’t soak them,” Toverre said all at once. He’d been holding it in for a long time, it seemed. “I know a few tricks. Would you mind terribly if I tried to clean them?”
“I don’t see why not,” I said. “You couldn’t possibly make them any worse.”
“Oh, but I could,” Toverre told me, sweeping them off the table and heading to the sink. “Not that I will, mind you, but it is possible.”
“Can’t believe you’re thinking of a stain at a time like this,” Laure muttered.
“What better time to think of a stain?” Toverre asked. He began to pump the water into the basin, and Laure rolled her eyes but chose not to argue with him.
Over the duration of time that followed, I discovered something that might have been perfectly obvious to the others all along: I was complete shit at waiting.
I’d checked the clock at least fifty—probably closer to a hundred—times when the door connecting the shop and the back room finally opened. The sound of Luvander chatting with a group of customers filtered in, then was cut off abruptly when Royston entered, shutting the door behind him.
He held a white box in one hand, wrapped with one of Luvander’s garish ribbons, and he looked extremely put out.
“The sly dog made me buy a hat,” he explained, dropping the box onto the table and loosening his scarf. “There was a group of customers, and I know why he was doing it, but the damn thing cost thirty chevronets and I don’t even have a ‘lady friend’!”
I wondered if I could have guessed, when we were first introduced, that Luvander would make such a shrewd businessman.
“Never mind my considerably lighter wallet,” Royston continued, fishing some papers from his pocket. “I did as you instructed, and I tried not to read your personal correspondence—though if I had, it would be all you deserved for leaving incriminating documents lying around. Apparently there’d been another visitor for you not half an hour earlier. But,” Royston added, looking like a satisfied cat, “he wasn’t as persuasive with your landlady as I was. She didn’t let him in, despite the fact that he threatened to come back with some of the Esar’s men. I suppose we’re lucky I got there before they did.”
“Thank you for retrieving them,” I said, somehow not as relieved as I could have been. I didn’t like the idea of anyone’s returning to my room with the Esar’s men. Especially since, if Royston hadn’t brought me those letters, I might well have been the next ex-airman arrested.
That, at the very least, would have made for