Steelhands - Jaida Jones [29]
“Thanks,” Laurence said. “Bet you never got burned.”
“Only once,” I said, but that was once she was out of earshot. I followed her red head out the door, the last of the students to leave.
“What a remarkable conversation you just had,” a fresh voice said from the front row. I turned around, and there was Roy, lounging happy as you please in one of the seats, playing with a pen one of the first-years probably left behind. “Did that young woman just ask you how you avoided flaming pants?”
“Hope you weren’t here for that entire lecture,” I said. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”
“Of course not,” Roy said, setting the pen down and unfolding himself from behind the desk. “I enjoyed it very much. I do believe she likes you.”
“At least that makes one of ’em,” I said gruffly. “So get to the point.”
“I was here to pick up Hal, actually,” Roy explained, casting one of his long-nosed looks at Radomir as he guided me out of the classroom. “Also, I did want to talk to you about other things. Dinner at my place tonight?”
“Will the teacher’s assistant be there?” I asked. These were the kinds of things you had to make sure of before you agreed to anything.
“Of course he will,” Roy replied. “Before you make the joke, I’ll do it myself: He’s a growing boy, and he needs to eat.” He clapped me on my back before heading down one of the long hallways, sharp new boots clacking on the wood. “Shall I see you at eight?”
“You eat too late,” I grumbled, but he’d already known my answer. What point was there in even saying yes?
BALFOUR
One of these days, I was going to make it down that last little block of the Rue, all the way to the statues, where Luvander had set up his hat shop.
It wasn’t that I was worried anyone would recognize me in the flesh from my stonier counterpart. That was never an issue since he was far more proud-looking than I, not to mention so tall it would have been impossible to compare the details of our faces. If I kept my hands shoved into my pockets and my collar turned up, I would look like any other citizen, and no one idling near the memorial and reading the plaques would ever be the wiser that an ex-member of the Dragon Corps was walking among them. The better for them. It really wouldn’t live up to what they must have thought.
That was what had taken Ghislain out of the city, I expected, since a larger man would have had trouble hiding in plain sight the way I did, and he was nearly the size of his own statue—a sight people were much more likely to recognize. It made me wonder if he’d seen the shop, or indeed if he’d anchored in Thremedon at all since leaving.
I wasn’t at all certain that I would, given the opportunity to leave in the first place.
In any case, I had promised Luvander I’d visit the establishment, and I didn’t intend to go back on my word. It was just that—what with one thing and another, and also my own private reticence—I never quite seemed to make it there.
Some days, I was too busy with my own work even to contemplate the trip. But on others, I really had no excuse. I took long walks to clear my mind yet managed to bring myself around in circles rather than stop at the designated place.
It was for the best, surely; this was what I told myself. There was little sense in showing up at such a place before I was ready, with no idea what I would say or what to expect. It would be doing a disservice to Luvander, not to mention if I happened to come at a particularly busy time of day I’d be interrupting his business with my staring. He might feel obligated to entertain me, and it was possible he’d tell his customers who I was—that would be the worst of all, especially with all the handshakes.
If Luvander had only chosen some more private line of business, perhaps it would have been easier. But it was none of my business what anyone chose to do with