Silverblind (Ironskin) by Tina Connolly Read Free Book Online

hard candies on an end table, next to a thick book wrapped in protective leather binding, tooled in gold. She took two of the candies anyway, then flicked open the book to a random page. “It is out of fashion for learned men to believe in basilisks. The only skeleton extant is dismissed as an overgrown wyvern. But in the small towns nestled in the mountains, the legend of the basilisk is very much real.…”
    A squawk behind her and she jumped, letting the book fall closed as she turned around. A large purple and scarlet parrot sat on a golden stand in the corner, its brilliant feathers blending into the riot of color in the room. “Pretty girl,” it said. “Pretty girl.”
    Dorie’s skin crawled. “Hush,” she said. She walked closer, studying its cocked head, its inquisitive eyes.
    “Feed me? Pretty girl.”
    A noise from the doorway made her turn. A man who could only be Malcolm Stilby stood there. He was quite average looking—a bit thin and pasty—yawning in a splendiferous lounging robe embroidered with birds of paradise. He laughed at her discomfort. “He says that to everybody. Amusing, no? I’ve had men threaten to punch me for it.” He shrugged. “It’s just a bird.”
    Dorie straightened. “I hear you pay for animals,” she said in her gruffest, most manly voice. She had modified her vocal cords as well, so she could not accidentally slip up and talk in treble. Nervously she wiped her palms on her trousers—Jack had borrowed clothes from a male friend for her—and held out her hand. “Name’s Dorian Eliot.” Malcolm kept his eyebrows raised, a carefully blank expression on his face, and she thought, oh, hell, what did I do wrong? Her mind raced, and then suddenly she remembered to add: “Fitzhaber sent me.”
    “Good, good,” Malcolm said, finally shaking her hand. “Can’t be too careful these days. Not technically illegal, but the silvermen are always looking for an excuse to shut me down under Subversive Activities. Jealous, I say. Birds in cages getcha birds on couches, ya know? But I envy you university men. A campus full of coeds these days, you get all the birds you want, eh?” He held out a wooden box and extracted himself a cigarette from it. “Last time Fitzhaber came we sat on this couch until three a.m. drinking whiskey and talking about his campus conquests. Really takes me back, ya know? Fancy a smoke?”
    “No thanks,” she said, wishing he would offer her a snack instead. It would almost make it worthwhile to be here. She had not known how uncomfortable it would be to listen to this kind of thing. This wasn’t true of all men, was it? Was this what she would encounter from day to day? It would be a rough haul if so. But Dorian came from nowhere. He didn’t have the credentials to waltz into the Queen’s Lab. She was going to have to work her way up.
    Malcolm did not seem put off by her unwillingness to spill the beans about the girls at school. Perhaps he figured it was only a matter of time and whiskey. From his dressing gown pocket he produced a bit of paper with penciled figures scrawled on it. “The list I give to all you chaps,” he said. “Current pricing for horns and eggs and so on—subject to change, of course! Ya never know when the market abroad is gonna decide that ground-up tortua shells don’t give them the … potency … they were hoping for, eh? And what would I do with a roomful of shells then. Certainly I got all the potency I need, but maybe you could use some, eh? Skinny-looking chap like you?”
    “Right. The list. Got it,” said Dorie. She turned to go. The contrast between this man and the Queen’s Lab was stark and humiliating. Her top marks, her careful letters of recommendation—none of it mattered now. All that mattered was that she was a boy, and the magic words “Fitzhaber sent me.” It’s a job, she told herself. No worse than Jack drawing nudie pics. (Blood money.) It will pay the rent. Bring him some cast-offs,