threat.”
“So… so it’s a threat.”
I sighed and flipped my hand at the door. “Long enough. Get out of here, Register.” He nodded sharply and got out. I locked the door behind him, in case some other affectionate couple thought about using the room immediately. Wanted a few minutes before I returned to the hall. I had just turned from the door when the knob rattled, very quietly. Someone trying to open the door without making a racket.
Drawing the pistol, I turned and backed to the other door, the one that led to the service corridors. I opened it as quietly as I could and stepped inside. This hallway was plain and warm, but the floor was thickly carpeted to allow butlers and maids to slip through the house without bothering their betters. There was no one around at the moment, so I pulled the door nearly closed and waited.
Whoever was trying to get in was insistent. When the door didn’t immediately open they hesitated. A second later there was a scratching sound, and the knob began to hum. That was a keygear, tumbling the lock hard. These doors weren’t made to withstand that kind of attention and it popped in no time.
The door slid open, just a little, just enough to reveal a sliver of face and an eye, cloud blue. His hand rested on the doorknob. The cuff was dark blue; an Artificer’s cuff. He looked around the room, saw that it was empty, and disappeared. I stayed long enough to see an officer enter a minute later, each arm around a girl. I left them to it, pocketed the pistol and crept down the service corridor, eventually returning to the hall by way of the kitchens.
I made a slow circuit of the main hall, looking for my light-eyed admirer. Most folks were milling about, talking in tight clusters or roaring drunkenly at the bar. The Corpsmen were the worst off; the night was in honor of a dead zep, after all. They were nervous, and making up for it with drink and song. I understood. I had spent a fair amount of time lost in drink. Less song, but that was my merciful side showing.
He was nowhere to be seen. There was no one in an Artificer’s uniform anywhere in the room. I thought he might have dumped the outfit, so I paid close attention to people’s eyes. That almost started a couple fights. I still came up empty, and now the night was winding down, drunks wandering off to their rooms and servants scurrying about to clear the detritus.
“Councilor Burn, is it?” A voice behind me asked.
I turned. There was a man standing against the wall, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The ice in his drink had melted and separated, the thin amber of the liquor at the bottom, water at the top of the glass. The man’s suit was impeccably tailored; all black, with velvet cuffs and links of silver polished white. It was civilian garb, but he held himself with military precision. His eyes were dark and his head was bald. When he smiled it was without emotion; it was like watching a puppet smile.
“I am not,” I said. “Though my father holds that title. And you are?”
“Apologies, sir.” He tipped his head and offered a hand. He was wearing thin leather gloves, soft as a lady’s cheek. We shook. There was surprising power in his grip. “I am Malcolm Sloane. Your father may have spoken of me? No?” he said, without waiting for a reaction. “Perhaps not. But we are acquainted. You must be his son, then. Jacob. The interesting one.”
I adjusted my coat, flashed a bit of the pistol, enough to let him know he was talking on unfriendly ground. His smile became genuine.
“My. Yes. Interesting one, indeed. I must say, Mr. Jacob, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I was invited.”
“Of course. I mean, just,” he waved his hand at all the people around us, most of them in uniform. “You’re not a very popular man with the Corps. You don’t worry about that?”
“I should worry?” I asked.
“Well, I mean. A lot of young recruits, all of them drinking. You aren’t worried that one of them
“So… so it’s a threat.”
I sighed and flipped my hand at the door. “Long enough. Get out of here, Register.” He nodded sharply and got out. I locked the door behind him, in case some other affectionate couple thought about using the room immediately. Wanted a few minutes before I returned to the hall. I had just turned from the door when the knob rattled, very quietly. Someone trying to open the door without making a racket.
Drawing the pistol, I turned and backed to the other door, the one that led to the service corridors. I opened it as quietly as I could and stepped inside. This hallway was plain and warm, but the floor was thickly carpeted to allow butlers and maids to slip through the house without bothering their betters. There was no one around at the moment, so I pulled the door nearly closed and waited.
Whoever was trying to get in was insistent. When the door didn’t immediately open they hesitated. A second later there was a scratching sound, and the knob began to hum. That was a keygear, tumbling the lock hard. These doors weren’t made to withstand that kind of attention and it popped in no time.
The door slid open, just a little, just enough to reveal a sliver of face and an eye, cloud blue. His hand rested on the doorknob. The cuff was dark blue; an Artificer’s cuff. He looked around the room, saw that it was empty, and disappeared. I stayed long enough to see an officer enter a minute later, each arm around a girl. I left them to it, pocketed the pistol and crept down the service corridor, eventually returning to the hall by way of the kitchens.
I made a slow circuit of the main hall, looking for my light-eyed admirer. Most folks were milling about, talking in tight clusters or roaring drunkenly at the bar. The Corpsmen were the worst off; the night was in honor of a dead zep, after all. They were nervous, and making up for it with drink and song. I understood. I had spent a fair amount of time lost in drink. Less song, but that was my merciful side showing.
He was nowhere to be seen. There was no one in an Artificer’s uniform anywhere in the room. I thought he might have dumped the outfit, so I paid close attention to people’s eyes. That almost started a couple fights. I still came up empty, and now the night was winding down, drunks wandering off to their rooms and servants scurrying about to clear the detritus.
“Councilor Burn, is it?” A voice behind me asked.
I turned. There was a man standing against the wall, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The ice in his drink had melted and separated, the thin amber of the liquor at the bottom, water at the top of the glass. The man’s suit was impeccably tailored; all black, with velvet cuffs and links of silver polished white. It was civilian garb, but he held himself with military precision. His eyes were dark and his head was bald. When he smiled it was without emotion; it was like watching a puppet smile.
“I am not,” I said. “Though my father holds that title. And you are?”
“Apologies, sir.” He tipped his head and offered a hand. He was wearing thin leather gloves, soft as a lady’s cheek. We shook. There was surprising power in his grip. “I am Malcolm Sloane. Your father may have spoken of me? No?” he said, without waiting for a reaction. “Perhaps not. But we are acquainted. You must be his son, then. Jacob. The interesting one.”
I adjusted my coat, flashed a bit of the pistol, enough to let him know he was talking on unfriendly ground. His smile became genuine.
“My. Yes. Interesting one, indeed. I must say, Mr. Jacob, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I was invited.”
“Of course. I mean, just,” he waved his hand at all the people around us, most of them in uniform. “You’re not a very popular man with the Corps. You don’t worry about that?”
“I should worry?” I asked.
“Well, I mean. A lot of young recruits, all of them drinking. You aren’t worried that one of them
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