Page 28 of The Grip of Death
“Oh, here,” I said, passing along the basket. “Sorry, Gertrude. I should have helped you. Looks heavy, too.”
She shook her head. “Please, it’s nothing. Giuseppe knows to expect me around this time of the week.”
“And I’m always grateful.” Giuseppe offered her a toothy grin, both hands wrapped around the handle of the basket. “If there’s nothing else, gentlemen? I’m eager to get dinner started.”
Reza took a full step back from the door. “Of course, Giuseppe. Carry on. Have a wonderful night.”
I opened my mouth to say something — ”Until next time,” or “See you at the Halls of Making,” except I wasn’t sure if any of those things applied anymore.
Where did this new incident leave us as a guild? If we were somehow permitted to continue operations by the few people who knew, would Giuseppe even want to come back considering how I’d treated him? In the end I couldn’t say anything, only watching Giuseppe’s tight smile as he shut the door.
Gertrude looked from me to Reza and back. “How peculiar. Jackson, I realize that you and Giuseppe are working together to bring the guild of artificers back. But why are you here with a SEER officer? Only curious. No offense meant, Mr. Arshad.”
“None taken. And please, call me Reza. But what an interesting question.” Reza stared at me again, black eyes blazing so hot he could have burned the clothes clean off my back. “Do tell, Jackson. Why did we come here?”
I wrung my hands together, unsure of what to say, only confident that I wanted to tell Gertrude everything. No, I needed to. I thought that coming to see Giuseppe would help untangle the thread of this whole situation, but I’d only ended up with more knots. Gertrude’s warmth, the toasty, sugary scent that followed her like perfume — her very presence assured me that everything would be okay.
“Listen, Master Gertrude. About Xander. Could we maybe speak somewhere private?”
13
Gertrude nodded.“But of course. I was just heading back to my office. Come along.”
Reza stuck his hands in his pockets, walking abreast of Gertrude as she headed down the street back to her home guild.
“If I may be permitted a question myself: I didn’t know you made personal deliveries, Gertrude. Giuseppe must have quite the privilege to have baskets of baked goods delivered by the guild master of Mother Dough herself.”
Gertrude’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. There was a twinkle of something there, tinged with a drop of sadness.
“I try to do what I can for those of us in the Black Market who are — how to put it kindly? Those who have seen better times. Before you found him again, Jackson, poor Giuseppe had mostly survived on odd jobs and little favors. It wasn’t easy for him to find employment after — well, after the accident at the Halls of Making.”
As if the guilt wasn’t already tearing me up from the inside.
“A basket of bread from my kitchens means nothing to my bottom line at the end of all things. Some people are too proud to take money, but bread is fair game. Every bit helps, I suppose. Ifit means getting an unlucky soul back on his feet, then I’m more than happy to use my own feet to bring them a basket.”
Poor Giuseppe, indeed. I was a colossal piece of shit. My eyes fell on the ground, settling on the nearest pothole. Maybe if I stepped in, it would swallow me up and end my misery.
I didn’t think I’d find myself back at Mother Dough so soon, and this time with Reza Arshad, of all people. To his credit, he’d already stopped throwing me sharp looks not long after we’d left Giuseppe’s doorstep. Either that or he was too busy being enthralled by Gertrude’s story about her personal security system.
“You’ll meet one of them very soon, actually,” Gertrude said, leading us deeper into the spice-and-sugar scented halls of her guild. “Brutus is in charge of door duty today.”
“Brass guard dogs,” Reza said, a wistful hint in his voice. “I mean I knew they existed and I knew you employed a pack. I’ve just never met one.”
I tried to hide my smile from Reza. Gertrude Goodness employed sentient brass dogs to guard her office in place of an executive assistant. Maybe it was Reza’s professional curiosity that got him so excited, his work involving enforcement and security, after all. But I knew that he was a softie on the inside, just like the rest of us. He probably only wanted a chance to pet the brass dogs.
I sighed to myself, suddenly missing Xander. He was the first person to ever tell me about the Mother Dough dogs. We’d met a few of them during our various visits to Gertrude’s office. I twisted my fingers around the inside of my jeans pocket, wondering if Xander was okay. But no news was good news, and I was going to be home to see him very soon.
“And there he is,” Gertrude said, gesturing at the door to her office and the highly polished brass statue of a bulldog sitting by it.
The dog’s eyes narrowed at our approach, his little tail clunking against the tiled floor with stimulation. An odd sort of light sparked in his eyes when he focused on Gertrude, exactly like a dog recognizing his master. The excitement dropped each time he looked at me or Reza, his face scrunching into a menacing glower, a low, metallic growl in his throat.
“It’s quite all right, Brutus,” Gertrude said. “There’s no need for theatrics today. These are friends. This is Reza Arshad from SEER, and this is Jackson Pryde, the future master of the Halls of Making.”
That is, if the Halls of Making had any future to speak of. I gave the dog a little wave. Reza nodded politely, but I could tell from the straightness of his spine that he had something on his mind.
“Hello,” the brass dog growled begrudgingly.
“I’ve never met such a fine brass automaton before,” Reza said, his voice soft, almost reverent.
