The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(36)

Florence paused, her rag hung off the gun barrel she’d been cleaning. “One thing I could control,” she said, finally. “When your life’s a mess, it feels a bit better to tidy something. Even if it’s just a bit of laundry, or a countertop.”

“Or all of Loom.” Will swiped away the dust on the empty secondary table in her room, hoisting himself up to sit on it.

“Loom is still a mess.”

“We’re getting better. That last meeting of the vicars was almost productive.”

Florence couldn’t keep in a groan. “I came to my workshop to escape that nonsense.”

She’d been all but silenced for the meetings subsequent to the first, relegated to sit behind Vicar Gregory and say as little as possible. Florence knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to actually leading the meetings, so she wasn’t sure why she still felt frustrated.

“No rest for the weary.”

“What do you want, Will?” Florence picked up a wire brush, working out some caked-on gunpowder from her gun barrel.

“I can’t just call on a friend?”

“Are we still friends?” Florence flashed him a small grin. “And here I thought you liked Louie more than me.”

“The man flies a few feathers short, that’s for sure.”

“I think you just said I’m not crazy enough for you.” Oh, the stories she could tell him to prove otherwise.

“We’re all afflicted with a different sort of madness.” Will shrugged. “Louie’s sort is more similar to mine and Helen’s, though.”

“Ravens.” Florence had suspected Louie’s actual guild for some time. The man was restless, wandering, driven to something unseen just over the horizon, just a few more steps away.

“You think so?”

“Birds of a feather.” Florence dipped her rag in gun oil, the familiar tang filling her nose.

“Helen wants to take over his work. The man’s on death’s doorstep.”

“What ‘work’ is that even?” Florence didn’t have the foggiest what Louie considered his magnum opus to be.

“There’s always something to steal, someone who will pay for it, and the people who need to broker the transactions.” Will put his elbows on his knees. “Plus, it’s pretty handy we’re here with this rebellion of yours.”

“We’ll see . . .” Florence had ideas for Louie, but none that had paid out dividends yet. The man was like a rare canister—very few occasions to use it, but when you found one, the resulting reaction was magnificent.

Speaking of canisters . . . Florence began reassembling her gun. She should have just enough time to make some additional ammunition.

“We got Ari to you.”

Her hands paused. Ari. The woman had been the kind of quiet Florence wasn’t sure she wanted to break. She’d attended every meeting, sat as directed, said what made sense and anything needed to reinforce the idea that Florence had been right to call the Tribunal. But there was a distance between them, rendering the woman untouchable.

“That was chance.” Florence tested the hammer and trigger of her gun, unloaded, with satisfying tension and clicks. “She would’ve gotten to me without you.”

“She was in bad shape.”

“I have no doubt.” Florence re-holstered her gun. “But you don’t know Ari like I do. She would’ve made it to me.”

Will hummed, opened his mouth to speak, and was interrupted by a familiar ghost in the doorway.

“Will, I think Helen is looking for you.” Shannra made her way into the small workshop.

“What does she need?” Will half-jumped off the table, waiting for Shannra to pass before he started for the door.

“Who knows? Something about a map?” Shannra shrugged.

“She with Louie?”

“Passed her in the hall.” Shannra paused where Will had been sitting, the small of her back against the high workshop table.

“Right, thanks.”

Florence set out four hollow canisters in a line, looking up at Shannra expectantly. The other woman’s mouth spread into a coy little smile.

“Helen is looking for him?” Florence repeated.

“I may have lied.” The woman’s face lit up with a wide smile.

She shook her head and laughter escaped.

“I hardly get to see you since everyone arrived.” Shannra straightened and stepped over to Florence’s table. Delicately, her fingers fell like fall leaves onto the surface; not a grain of powder was blown out of place or a canister disturbed.

“Help me,” Florence asked, her eyes traversing the line of the woman’s fingers, up her arm, to her face. “I could use an extra set of eyes on this.”

“With pleasure, Flor.”

Shannra was a capable teacher. She explained things thoroughly and kept her expectations both high and reasonable. It made Florence want to learn, want to earn her esteem. It also helped that she was a Revo as well, a journeyman at that, and contained a wealth of knowledge Florence had only just begun to scratch the surface of when she had last worked with a Revo teacher.

Florence watched the woman’s hands carefully, her eyes drifting upward when she knew Shannra wouldn’t see, to admire her face. Another beautiful spirit in her life. But beauty didn’t change that the woman was one of Louie’s minions, a fact Florence had been careful not to forget. Helen, Will, Shannra . . . all had to be kept at arm’s length.