“Like chickens?” Akstyr peered into the crate and licked his lips.
“Indeed so,” Maldynado said. “Anyway, this shopkeeper had all these chickens in the back making noise, needing to be fed, doing what chickens do after they’re fed. Apparently, one escaped and pecked a customer yesterday. The shopkeeper sent a message to the closest butcher, but he wanted to charge her to take away the chickens. So I smiled and said, ‘Why don’t I take those chickens for free?’ She was so relieved that she gave me a bunch of the other food the farmer had brought in. We have fresh bacon, goat cheese, dried apples, cider, and tomorrow, we’ll have eggs.”
“Nice,” Akstyr purred.
“Good work,” Amaranthe said. “Let’s have something to eat, then we’ll get busy. Maldynado you’re the official shopper for the group now.”
“Wise choice,” Sicarius murmured.
“Shopping?” Maldynado’s smugness melted away, replaced with a chagrinned slump.
“Yes, in fact, we’re going paper shopping right now,” she continued over Maldynado’s groan. “Books, we need a printing press. Akstyr, can you help him find one and bring it back here?”
“I don’t want to go on some stupid errand,” Akstyr said.
Amaranthe rummaged through her mind for something she could offer to make the task appealing to him. Of the three men she had recruited, Akstyr was the most likely to be a problem. She doubted Maldynado or Books would turn her into the enforcers, but if Akstyr saw a better opportunity than the one she offered…
Sicarius had the knack of moving without anyone noticing him move, so when he appeared at Akstyr’s side, the younger man jumped several inches. Sicarius rested his hand at the base of Akstyr’s neck. Though the touch was light, the meaning was unmistakable. Akstyr stood utterly still, not even breathing.
In the silence that descended, Amaranthe heard the breeze bumping the buoys hanging on the outside walls.
“Follow her orders,” Sicarius said softly.
Akstyr closed his eyes and gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”
Sicarius lowered his hand. His gaze flicked to Maldynado.
“Oh, I like her orders,” Maldynado said. “Official shopper, excellent. No strenuous labor for me.”
“Yes, I have no issues either,” Books said, almost as pale as Akstyr.
Amaranthe’s lips stretched, though she did not know if in a grimace or a smile. As handy as having some muscle to back up her wishes was, she detested the idea of winning people’s cooperation that way.
Books opened his mouth, hesitated, glanced at Sicarius, and then raised a finger as if he were a student asking a question in class.
“Yes?” Amaranthe asked.
“I’m not complaining about this task-” he shot another glance at Sicarius, “-but how do you propose I find a printing press? I assume you’re not providing funds for its purchase. And supposing I do acquire one, how should I get it back here?”
“I can allocate up to five hundred ranmyas if you find something.”
“That won’t buy the handle.”
“We don’t need a steam-powered press. Just find something old and rusty we can fix up.”
“I don’t think-”
“I came looking for you specifically,” Amaranthe said, rushing to speak before Sicarius could make any more sinister innuendoes, “a highly educated and experienced professor, because I knew you would be able to come up with solutions that I, a lowly ex-enforcer, could not. I know you can do this, Books.”
The narrowed eyes and head tilt Books gave her said he saw through her manipulation, but his expression suddenly grew thoughtful, and he tugged his beard. “Hm.”
“What?” she asked.
“I have an idea.”
• • • • •
Ink Alley, a frequent stop for business supply shoppers, meandered through four city blocks. Shops advertised stationery, accounting books, wax and seals, ink, and paper of various weights and sizes. Despite being a well-known destination, the ancient street was narrow, and Amaranthe had to dodge bundle-laden shoppers. Maldynado, who walked at her side, made no apologies for his broad shoulders and let others do the dodging. He did offer a smile if the person happened to be young and female.
“I gave Books a large portion of my funds,” Amaranthe told him, “so I need you to get me a good deal on paper and ink.”
“Your big plan involves blackmail and counterfeiting,” Maldynado said. “Why don’t we just steal your printing supplies?”
“And damage the livelihood of some poor businesswoman trying to make a living? I couldn’t do that.”
“You need to work on this criminal stuff.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, we don’t need to leave a trail of burglaries that would tell some enforcer investigator what we’re up to.”
Etchings in the window panes of a shop portrayed old-fashioned ink pots, quills, and scrolls of parchment. Bins of pencils and pens and myriad types of paper lay behind the glass.
“How about this place?” she asked.
“Sure. I’ll probably have greater success if you wait outside.”
“Why?”
“Because if you come in hanging on my arm, it’ll look like I’m not available. Charming women works best if they think they have a chance.”
Amaranthe hesitated, not sure whether to trust him to get the right items. But, if it meant getting a better deal… “Very well. I’ll write our needs down for you.”
“I don’t need a shopping list. I’ve got a great memory.”
“We’ll need rag paper, not pulp-based. And pay attention to the weight. We won’t find an exact match, but we want the closest we can find. Make sure to get printing press ink. Books says it’s made from soot and turpentine and nut oil. Anything else will smear. We’ll need a paper cutter too. And plates, but I’ll select those from an engraving shop.”
“Rags and what oil?” Maldynado asked.
“I’ll write it down.”
“Good idea.”
After he went inside, Amaranthe continued down the street. Newspaper articles plastered a brick wall near a window, and she stopped, wondering if any mentioned the “bear” slayings. The yellowed clippings only highlighted old stories featuring Ink Alley.
About to move on, she paused at a reflection in the window. A boy of ten or twelve watched her from across the alley.
Ensconced in numerous layers of raggedy clothing, he slouched against a wall. When she turned, he yawned and looked away.
Amaranthe wandered farther down the street. A low rail paralleling a wall offered a place to park bicycles and street skis. She propped her foot on it and peeked under her arm while pretending to adjust the fit of her boot.
The boy lurched to a stop, hunkered over a trash can, and rummaged through it.
Great, who set this child to following me? Enforcers used youngsters as informants, since adults tended to ignore them, but she could not assume he was one of theirs. Other people employed youths for similar reasons. Businesses used them to spy on other businesses. Gangs gathered intelligence on rival gangs. Even lovers sent children to watch partners suspected of cheating. Given how long it had been since Amaranthe’s last romantic relationship, she easily eliminated the last possibility.
A few stores down, she found a shop that sold engraving tools. She stepped inside and browsed the display case nearest the window. The boy appeared again, whistling as he strolled past the shop. He sat against a wall a dozen paces down, took off his fur cap, and begged for coins.
Definitely watching me.
“Help you, ma’am?” a clerk asked.
“I need a couple of metal plates about so big.” Amaranthe outlined the rectangles with her hands. “Better make it four of them.” Akstyr might need to practice first.
While the clerk wrapped the plates, Amaranthe glanced out the window again. The boy had not moved.