Daja, remembering the counterfeiting case that was at the top of their list, and its potential for national disaster, nodded.

Ben unbuttoned his coat. “What do you need me to do? It must be about to snow-it’s warmer in here, don’t you think?”

Daja took the metal rods from her satchel. That afternoon she had cut them to fit the lengths shown in her tracings of Ben’s arms. “It is snowing,” she told him. “Could you make a clear spot on your desk?”

He shifted stacks of paper and accounting books. When he finished, Daja had him sit with his arms flat on the desk. “I thought you’d just mold them on me like clay, or maybe sew cloth gloves?” Ben asked.

Daja shook her head. “I need to make a metal form, like a dressmaker would use, only for gloves,” she explained. “And I have to be sure of all the dimensions in your hands and arms. Otherwise you’ll be fighting the gloves to hold things when all your mind should be on the fire.”

Ben commented, “So when I have to push burning material aside, I won’t cook the back of my hand again.”

“Exactly,” Daja replied. She positioned two rods on either side of his forearms, leaving room for him to wear the gloves over his outdoor coat. Taking the elbow and wrist rods, she channeled the earth’s heat up through a sheath of magic to shield the wood around her. She used it to warm her rods to the point where she could handle them like clay. It was tricky work. She had to add enough heat to the elbow and wrist rings both to make them curve around his joints, and to fuse them to the side rods, all without burning the man or his clothes.

“Raise your forearms until they’re straight up, palms facing out,” she said quietly. Ben obeyed, lifting his hands. Now Daja closed the elbow and wrist rings, heating them until the ends merged without a seam.

As Ben sat patiently, she added rod after rod to the forearm model, heating the ends and molding them around the rings. He remained silent and steady, a rare virtue. She’d had to stop using Briar as a model for this kind of thing because his ability to sit still was limited unless he worked his own magic. Then he had a tree’s patience.

“Do you need a rest?” she asked when the forearm and wrist segments were finished. “Move your arms?”

“I’m fine.” Ben said. “It’s soothing, in a way. You’re much better than the maid who fits my clothes. She chatters about silly things until I want to scream. What happens next?”

“I do the same thing, but with your hands. That’s trickier,” she explained, warming the shorter rods. “I have to work around the joints, so there are lots of little pieces to fit. Don’t worry, this is just the boring part. The finished gloves will feel like your own skin.” The short pieces for the palms were ready. As she began to attach them to each wrist ring, she said, “I saw that burned-out warehouse on my way in.”

“That,” he replied contemptuously. “It happened a month ago. Losing it was a blessing. It just held old furnishings and nonsense. I would have cleaned it out years past, but Mother saves everything. Mind, this was the first fire we’d had in the city since spring.” He smiled ruefully. “You’d think I’d be glad for a summer without fires, but… ” He shook his head.

“You keep waiting for the black ship to dock,” suggested Daja, working away.

“Black ship?” asked Ben.

“Sorry-a Trader thing. A ship with black sails carries bad news,” she explained.

“That’s a vivid image. A black ship-I’ll have to remember that. Yes, I suppose I was waiting for it. Expecting it, really, only it never came. And the longer we went between fires, the lazier the people I was training to fight them got. It was maddening.”

Daja nodded, most of her attention on her work. In a corner of her mind not fixed on her creation, she thought it a pity that a man couldn’t take up firefighting as employment. Ben’s heart wasn’t in trade. And Teraud was right, a little: it was odd that Ben had gotten entangled with the thing that had destroyed his early life.

“May I ask something?” he inquired as she checked the gaps between her framework and his body. Living metal didn’t stretch. If she didn’t leave plenty of room for clothes, he’d have to remove his coat to use the gloves against some fire and risk freezing outdoors some bitter night.

Daja nodded.

Ben tapped one metal-framed arm against the brass on her left hand, making it clink. “How did that happen? Doesn’t it hurt you?”

“Oh, that,” she murmured, stretching a thumb ring gently. “Remember the fire I told you I was in? I was holding my staff with that hand and the cap melted all over it. I guess it mixed with the magic my friends and I were using, and, well, there it is. Now that I’m accustomed to it, I don’t mind. You should see my foster-brother’s hands. They’re strange. He tried to tattoo them with plant dyes, and now ink plants bloom and grow all over his hands.” She eased each form off, setting them on the desk while Ben rubbed his hands and arms. “My thanks. You were very patient.”

Ben smiled. “It’s all to my benefit, after all. Surely my sitting for a short time isn’t too high a price to pay.”

Daja stowed her materials and the iron sleeve forms m her satchel, pulled on her coats, and picked up her staff. “I’ll send word when I have something to show you.”

Ben shrugged on his outdoor coat and lit a spill from his stove. In the outer hall he used it to light a lantern by the door. He took it from its hook. “I’ll walk you to the street. Are you hiring a sleigh to go home?”