3. Florence

“I’m Florence, by the way,” she introduced herself to the yet-hovering Dragon. “Take off your shoes and sit at the table. It’ll be the easiest to wipe down.”

The walking rainbow twisted off his ankle-length patent black boots and crossed over to the table in the corner of their flat by the small kitchen. At least he did as he was told. That would increase his chances of Ari not killing him before she got that boon.

Florence’s master had stormed into their home like an engine off its tracks, demanding the largest cloak they owned and rambling something about a boon. It wasn’t too long until Florence pieced together what exactly had her in such a tizzy. But by the time Ari had ranted off enough facts for her to do so, she had already left. Florence hadn’t had much time to inquire deeply about the nature of this agreement, but whatever it was, she trusted her teacher implicitly. Ari always knew what she was doing.

Florence finished hanging Ari’s harness and coat then crossed to the kitchen. She felt the Dragon’s eyes on her as she rummaged through the upper cupboard.

“Here.”

“What is it?” The Dragon inspected her peace offering skeptically.

“A cookie.” Florence shoved one in her mouth for show. And then a second one, just because the first tasted so good.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“Who questions a cookie?” She laughed, placing the confection on the table for the Dragon to decide if he wanted it or not. “But we will no longer be friends if you waste it.”

“Are we friends?” There was genuine surprise in his inflection.

“That’s your choice, Dragon,” she called back. Florence left the truth of it—that if he did anything to hurt her Ari, all bets were off—unsaid.

“I’m Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh,” he replied quickly.

Florence glanced over her shoulder, looking at the man with the unreasonably long name. He wasn’t so different from a Fenthri, really. Instead of gray, black, and white, he was colorful. Like the paintings she had seen of the foliage called flowers. There was his color, then, and his pointed ears, elongated canines, talons, and slits for eyes.

But he had two arms, two legs, and one head. He spoke with the same sounds they did and moved in similar ways. She gave him a small smile of acknowledgment.

Florence eased the bedroom door shut behind her. A giant bed greeted her, still a mess from when she’d woken not long ago. Florence turned right and focused on the footed copper bath that stood steaming under a large window.

Ari was submerged up to her neck, her white hair slicked back and shining in the light. Florence smiled, tiptoeing over.

“I hear you.”

“I know you do.” Florence laughed brightly.

“What is the Dragon doing?”

“Eating a cookie.”

“You gave him a cookie?” Ari opened one eye. “That’s generous of you.”

“Is it?”

“You barely share your cookies with me,” Ari muttered, closing her eyes again. “I’m going to think you like Dragons more than me.”

“But you don’t like cookies at all.” Florence scooped salt scrub into her palms. She plucked Ari’s hand from the bathwater and massaged it over her skin, soothing the calluses created by her gold lines.

Florence loved everything about the woman known as the White Wraith. Ari was sharp and witty. Her skin was the most lovely shade of gray and her face had a beautifully healthy curve to it. Arianna wasn’t just pretty—she was strong too, broad shouldered and wonderfully stocky. Florence was of average build for a Fenthri, if a little too thin. Ari was perfect.

Florence kneaded stress out of the strong muscles that cut out from under Ari’s skin. “So how did this all come to pass?” she asked.

“I was on my grand escape from the refinery and ran into a Dragon, unconscious, with an exhausted corona.” Ari remained focused on the ceiling as she spoke. Florence could tell the woman was still debating with herself over the course of events that led them to having a Dragon in their home. The tension wasn’t giving up on her shoulders. “So I decided to cut out his heart. He woke up and offered me a boon instead.”

“You couldn’t just leave him be?” she hummed playfully.

“If you want enough dunca to keep affording sugar for your confections, you don’t want me to leave prone Dragons with all their organs intact.”

“Wasn’t that what the refinery job was for?” Florence waited with a drying cloth as Ari emerged from the bath.

“A little extra never hurts,” her teacher reminded her.

“A little extra will get you killed.” There was a heavy note to Florence’s words, one she couldn’t stop because it stemmed from a genuine fear of her master meeting an ill fate during one of her many dangerous jobs.

“Florence, look at me.” Ari placed her fingertips under Florence’s chin, guiding her gaze and giving her no other choice. Florence studied Ari’s eyes, the unnatural purple striking an odd contrast with her skin. They had unnerved her at first, but she had learned to see past them. They may have been harvested from a Dragon, but they were Ari’s now. “You know it would take a lot to kill me.”

“I know,” Florence mumbled, trying to look away.

Ari held her chin fast. “After all, I have some of the best canisters and explosives in Loom looking after me.”

“Oh, what did you use? The bomb of course, but a canister? I saw number three was missing. It was number three, right?” Florence ran over to the bed, jumping on it as Ari began to rummage through her wardrobe, dropping clothes she decided against into a pile on the floor that Florence would likely be the one to tidy later.

“It was number three, and it was one of your best yet.” Ari placed a tight-fitting white shirt onto the bed before returning to the wardrobe. “The disk had a nice blast radius. Incredibly effective but contained. Impressive destructive power.”

“Tell me about it?” Florence dreamed of someday watching Ari on one of her little missions. She had no interest in actually fighting herself. But just once, she wanted to see one of her explosions in person, not just as calculations on paper.

“The canister? Flash of white, red at the edges, and then it turned yellow when it hit the target. There was black smoke too.” Ari was awful at painting descriptions with words—she’d have had more success drawing it—but Florence hung on her every syllable all the same. “But it took a lot of energy and had a slow fire.”

“If you want explosive canisters that large, it will.” Florence picked at the white vest and silver necktie Ari had placed on the bed.

“You can do better, Flor. Make a canister like that, but designed for use with a refined gun by someone who isn’t a Chimera, and you’ll be a rich woman.”

“I know, I know.” Ari was right, as usual.

It had been two years since Florence had met Ari during her escape from the Ravens Guild and somehow convinced the woman to agree to be her teacher. In that time, Florence had been given ample opportunities to experiment with different ways to combine gunpowder, chemicals, refined metals, and even alchemical runes to create some of the best explosives Ari had ever seen. At least, that’s what Ari told her. But the woman wouldn’t lie, not even to spare her initiate’s feelings.

Their life was unconventional and mostly outside the law, but it was a life Florence had come to love. Ari was an acolyte of the old ways, unmarked on her cheeks and firm in her belief that every guild was connected. That overlap between fields of study was essential. She let Florence explore, create, question for the sake of it. It had all made the terror of escaping the guild worthwhile.

“Speaking of.” Ari adjusted the necktie, pinning it with a crossed wrench and bolt done in black iron—the symbol of a master in the Rivets’ Guild. “How many canisters do we have in stock?”

“I think I have thirteen made. Why?”

“We may need more for the journey.” Ari strapped the belt with her daggers and winch box high around her waist. “It’s a three-day train ride to Ter.5.2. Then a week-long airship ride to Keel.”

“We’re going to ride an airship?” Florence bounced to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Fastest way to get to the Alchemists’ Guild.”

“I’ll pick up materials in Mercury Town. But you better not blow up the first airship I ride on,” Florence mock-scolded.

“You never know what wrench could get thrown into the machine along the way, Flor.” Ari’s grin was playful, but her words were serious. “Use the dunca from the reagents to get what we’ll need for the trip. I trust your judgment. I’ll fill in the Dragon on the plan and the rules for travel.”

“He doesn’t seem bad.” Florence tried to smooth over the kinks she foresaw in their journey. After all the stories she’d heard of Dragons, she expected a horrible monster. While she wouldn’t call the Dragon handsome by any stretch—his colors were borderline headache-inducing—she wouldn’t call him evil incarnate, either.

Ari stilled. She crossed back to the bed and, with both hands, cradled Florence’s face delicately.

“Listen to me,” Arianna whispered. “None of them seem bad. But they are not what they seem. It’s that thinking that killed Loom, Flor. Don’t trust him. He will turn on you and kill you in a second if it suits him.”

Florence swallowed. She knew Arianna had real memories of the time before the Dragons, when the Five Guilds were free and the world was run by the Vicar tribunal; when Fenthri didn’t have to be marked—when they were free to study and learn as they wanted.

There was a terrifying lust for that time in Ari’s heart.

“Do you understand?”

“I do.” Florence nodded.

“Good.” Ari let go of her face and started for the door again. “Now, get to Mercury Town before it gets too busy. The ‘king’ will want his reagents before they get warm.”

Florence heard the muffled sounds of Ari and the Dragon talking on the other side of the door. She wondered if what her master said was true: if every Dragon was like the ones who had enslaved Loom and, if they were, why Ari had agreed to help one at all. But Ari would remain an enigma, and Florence knew better than to dig too deeply under her ashen skin. Florence said only quick goodbyes as she donned her favorite feathered top hat and grabbed Ari’s bag, heading out for Mercury Town.

Old Dortam had woken and the streets were busy with men and women going about their business. Lace parasols shaded faces and pearl pins adorned ties. Storefronts glistened, freshly washed and still dripping. The air smelled sweetly of welding torches and gunpowder, creating a welcoming potpourri to complement the sounds of metal on metal that echoed over the conversation in the streets.

It was as perfect as a schematic.

Mercury Town, on the other hand, was a schematic of a very different sort. The narrow alleyways and curtained windows created a heavy atmosphere that only grew weightier every time someone opened a door to a parlor and released thick clouds of scented smoke on the backs of jacket-clad patrons. Men in long frock coats stood at some doors, watching those who passed warily, casting a careful eye over the street for any who might feel bold enough to try to put an end to the shadowy dealings that occurred in this tiny pocket of Old Dortam.

Florence wasn’t uncomfortable. She’d been coming here for years now and most of the door guards gave her a nod as she passed. Two streets later, Florence stopped before a man with a shaved head.

“Ralph.” She smiled. “Here for King Louie.”

“Don’t tell me the White Wraith actually did it.”

“If you doubted she would, you shouldn’t have sent her.” Florence proudly flashed him the contents of Ari’s bag. Long enough to tease, never long enough to give away the goods.

“Well, I’ll be greased. Wait here.”

The man disappeared by side-stepping into a narrow door. Florence rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet impatiently, spending the time by making a mental list of the supplies she’d need. She was only ten items down when Ralph reappeared, motioning for her to enter.

Louie was a scrawny, anemic Fenthri who positioned himself chiefly against the Dragons and at the head of Old Dortam’s underworld by adopting the ironic title of “King”. His patent velvet jacket was cutaway, set over another heavy velvet vest underneath. Long black hair, teased into ropes, pulled back tautly and tugged at the skin of his face, making his piercing black eyes look even sharper and more angular. It was all in stark contrast to the white of his skin, not a trace of gray on him.

Florence didn’t let herself be intimidated. The man had more connections with powerful people than a refinery did slag, but that wasn’t going to dissuade her. If this little man was the King of Old Dortam’s underworld, then Ari was his champion knight—and that made Florence her page. The one thing that kings in stories never did was kill their champion’s second.

“I have a delivery from the White Wraith.” Florence slipped the bag off her shoulder, holding it out.

“Let’s see what presents you bring me today.” Louie hooked a bony finger and two men retrieved the bag from Florence. They placed at the foot of Louie’s wing-backed chair. With the toe of his pointed boots, he flipped open the satchel. His eyes lit up like sodium metal in water.

Louie reached forward, swooping down like a bird of prey. He held up one of the three gold canisters, still so cold it wafted mist into the dim and smoky air of his parlor.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” He turned the canister before handing it to another one of his lackeys. The man had crimson eyes and the black symbol of two triangles, connected by a line, on his cheek—an Alchemist. “Well?”

“Prime reagents, in healthy condition,” the man affirmed.

“Did you have any doubt?” Florence folded her arms over her chest.

“In my line of work, one must always check.” Louie chuckled at her haughtiness. “I have another job for your master.”

“My master has already accepted something.”

He gasped in mock offense. At least, Florence hoped it was pretend. “Who is the White Wraith cheating on me with?”

“I didn’t realize you two had become so serious,” Florence replied in kind.

“Name this other upstart’s price. I will double it.” Louie settled back in his chair as the Alchemists ushered the reagents out of the room. It unnerved Florence, letting them out of her sight before they were paid for.

“I’m afraid that’s something you can’t do.”

“Girl, do you know who I am?” He gripped the armrests of his chair as slowly and tightly as he enunciated his words.

“Louie, we’ve only been working together for a year now,” Florence said brightly, so sweet it could give the man cavities. “I know well who you are. But this job is personal for the Wraith.”

“I’ve never heard of a Wraith having feelings before.” Louie squinted his eyes. “So Dortam’s infamous thieving ghost is flesh and blood after all.”

Florence needed to tread lightly now. Arianna was strict that no one should know her identity, or anything about her. The few times someone had decided to get cheeky and tail Florence back to the flat, Ari had intercepted them and quickly flayed them with her daggers, leaving the body in Mercury Town as a warning.

In truth, even Florence didn’t know much about her benefactor. She couldn’t say with confidence that “Arianna” was the White Wraith’s real name. But unlike everyone else, the truth didn’t matter to Florence. She wasn’t trying to play detective. She was happy with her life, content to learn what the woman had to teach her. The only thing a person got when they stirred up a river was muck; Florence preferred clean hands.

“Ralph,” Louie called across the room. “Have you heard of a Wraith needing to tend to personal matters?”

“I can’t say I have,” Ralph obliged. He knew who paid his checks, and that meant he had to play along.

“How interesting. So the Wraith really is Fenthri after all.”

Florence didn’t say anything, waiting for Louie to exhaust himself with his futile discourse.

“Perhaps, if he could come himself, we could strike a deal that would put him on my retainer.” Louie hadn’t tried this for a few weeks.

“I don’t think the Wraith will be working for any one man or woman anytime soon,” Florence responded, as she did almost every time. “Now, the three-hundred dunca?”

“I can see why the Wraith chooses you, Florence; you’re quite stony when it comes to giving away his truths.” Louie waved a hand with a smug little smirk. Florence didn’t drive any bargains and they both knew it.

“My Master has taught me well.” Florence watched as Louie’s lackeys filled Ari’s satchel with three paper wads. She knew fairly well what a stack of one-hundred dunca looked like, and she didn’t think Louie would screw them. It wasn’t in his best interest. And if there was one thing King Louie didn’t do, it was anything that didn’t directly benefit him in some way. “I’m afraid I can’t be bought.”

“That’s the first rule, Florence: every man can be bought. What does he give you that I cannot?” Louie smiled, a somewhat sinister curve of the lips. There was an overtly sexual nature to the question.

Florence paid it no mind. Let them think she was the Wraith’s lover. It made no difference to her and it helped maintain Louie’s illusion that the Wraith was a man. The further he was from the truth, the better. Plus, her and Ari shared a bed anyway. “A certain type of knowledge.”

She smirked and excused herself, focusing once more on giant explosions and guns. Louie was likely thinking of explosions of a different sort, judging by the look on his face. Ralph saw her out and the transaction was done. Overall, she liked working with King Louie the best of all Ari’s patrons, and Florence had no doubt that helped Ari decide between jobs when it came down to choices.

It was as pleasant to look at Louie as it was a hairless anorexic cat, almost as bad as looking at a Dragon, and he had an equally appealing sense of humor. But the man paid on time, never backed out, and never wavered on the terms of the job. It made everyone’s lives easier when Ari didn’t have to go on any collection trips. The woman could hold a grudge.

Florence rested her hand on the pistol in her arm holster as she passed by some shady characters—and shady by Mercury Town’s standards was saying a lot. The regular patrons gave her no cause to worry. They knew her, and they wouldn’t risk the White Wraith’s ire by harming Florence. It was the new lot that would set up shop in the dark overhangs and grimy alleys she needed to be wary of, those beneath King Louie who had yet to ingrain themselves in Old Dortam’s illegal economy.

She made her way toward her favorite shop, the one that always had the things that made the biggest boom. This time, Ari had given her free permission to use the dunca as Florence saw fit to prepare for their trip, and she planned to see fit for quite a few things she’d been drooling over.

She was halfway to the shop when she heard the first Dragon Rider’s glider scream through the sky.