Maldynado perched atop it like a lizard rider from the desert. He leaned left and right in a semblance of steering. Shouting with glee, or maybe terror, he weaved and wobbled down the slick street with Books and Akstyr pounding after him. Runners scraped on sand and ice. The press slid from side to side, barely restrained by the flimsy rope tying it to the sled.
Amaranthe glanced up and down the waterfront, afraid someone would see the strange scene. Counterfeiters were supposed to be inconspicuous. Maldynado whooped, voice ringing from the buildings. Amaranthe shook her head. This was not inconspicuous. Fortunately, twilight had brought the end of the work day, and no one remained on the streets to witness this un-clandestine delivery method.
Through some feat of agility or raw strength, Maldynado and his cargo stopped in front of the cannery instead of skidding out onto the lake. Books and Akstyr came slipping after, shouting and laughing at their success.
“That was fun,” Maldynado said, eyes bright, lips peeled back in a toothy grin.
“I want a turn,” Akstyr said.
Only Books had the sense to peer uncertainly at Amaranthe.
“Whose idea was this?” She struggled to keep her voice even.
Akstyr and Maldynado pointed at Books in unison.
“We found it in the back room of a bookseller who’s closing her business,” Books said. “She was willing to sell it cheaply. It’s an archaic model, maybe the first one ever made if the rust is any indication, but I’m certain I can get it working. As for our arrival…” He cleared his throat. “It occurred to me that the bookshop, though many blocks away, is almost in a straight line from our current location and, uhm, at a rather higher elevation.”
“I see. Well, this was…” Something that could have attracted attention. Something that could have gotten one of them injured or killed. An insane idea that could have seen the printing press go careening onto the lake, through the ice, and straight to the bottom. “Inspired. Very clever of you, Books. I’m glad it worked. Thank you all.” So, this is command. If Hollowcrest doesn’t kill me, these men surely will. “Let’s get it inside.”
It took the group longer to manhandle the press into the cannery than it had to move it several blocks. Amaranthe chose the corner farthest from the street to set up. Through it all, Maldynado sported a grin he would probably wear to bed.
“There’s more to be done,” Amaranthe said, “but relax and have some dinner first.”
The men mauled the neatly spread table like bears crushing a hive to extract honey. She salvaged a hunk of ham and some apple slices for herself. While munching, she examined the press.
Dents gouged the wooden frame, and rust coated the screw and most of the metal joints. She doubted the press was functional at the moment. Remembering some oil and wire dish cloths from the supply closet, she retrieved the implements and set to work on the rust.
Books came over to help. “Have you figured out how to make the plates yet?”
“Yes.” She squirted oil between grooves on the giant screw and scrubbed with the wire mesh.
“We better board the windows. You do realize this is treason and death for all of us if we’re caught?”
“We’re not going to be caught.”
“Counterfeiters are always caught eventually,” Books said. “Debasing the currency is too much of a threat for the government to be anything less than hyper-vigilant.”
“People get caught because they try to pass the money. That’s not our plan.” She wiped a rag over the loosened rust and met Books’s eyes. “If we’re discovered, I’ll do everything I can to make time for you and the others to escape.”
“Sicarius too?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“If Sicarius is discovered, I’ll have to try and make time for the enforcers to escape.”
Books snorted but did not disagree.
Sicarius returned late that night. He walked directly to Amaranthe and handed her a folded poster. She opened it and found herself staring at her own likeness. She had expected it. The details, however, surprised her.
Amaranthe Lokdon wanted for attempted sedition and illegal magic use. Do not attempt to apprehend. Kill on sight. By order of Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest.
“Magic use?” she asked. “I didn’t even know the stuff existed until last week.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sicarius said. “Hollowcrest has learned of your survival and fears what you know. You must move around the city with caution.”
“Kill on sight,” she said.
“You get used to it.”
Amaranthe searched his face for humor. There was none.
Chapter 11
A maranthe woke several times during the night to pull her blankets tighter and throw more wood into the nearest fire barrel. Drafts like gusts off mountain glaciers whistled through the broken window panes, and what little heat the flames emitted floated to the rafters.
When she noticed someone else awake, she gave up sleep and rolled off the hard bunk. Sicarius sat at a counter, drawing by the light of a fire barrel. The roaring flames looked enticing.
Blanket wrapped about her, Amaranthe shuffled over and perched on the wobbly stool across from him. His hair was damp. Had he already been out running? No hint of dawn brightened the sky beyond the window, but daylight came late this time of year.
A twenty ranmya bill lay on the counter, the imperial army marching across the back. Sicarius’s pen moved with sure strokes, drawing a reverse version of the tableau.
Leaving him alone to work would be wise. Curiosity trumped wisdom, though, and she said, “You were gone a long time yesterday. Did you do anything interesting?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
Sicarius neither looked up nor answered. The pen continued to scrawl.
“I’m going to my old school today to start researching Forge,” she said. “I thought I’d take Books. Do you want to be in charge of getting the press running? We got a good portion of the rust off last night. I can leave Maldynado and Akstyr to help.”
Sicarius’s fingers moved with precision. “Books will doubtlessly know more about printing presses than I.”
“Yes, but we recruited him to be a research assistant.” Amaranthe raised her eyebrows. “Unless you want to help me shovel through piles of papers in dusty archive buildings?”
“I will go.”
Er. She had not expected him to accept the invitation. It was hard to imagine someone whose daily attire included a dozen knives wandering through shelves, delving into books and ledgers. But then, the same knife-clad man was sitting here, drawing her pictures with-she leaned closer for a good look-amazing accuracy.
“That’s unbelievable,” she said. “Where did you learn to draw?”
The pen left the completed soldiers to work on the numbers and borders.
“You know,” Amaranthe said after a moment of silence, “when someone asks you a question, the socially acceptable thing to do is answer.”
Another silent moment passed, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Burning boards shifted in the barrel, and a burst of sparks flew into the air.
Amaranthe tapped her finger on the counter. “If you answer my question, I’ll leave you alone.”
“For how long?” he promptly asked.
Her shoulders drooped beneath the blanket. She was annoying him.
“Never mind.” She slid off the stool and headed toward the food area.
“Lokdon.” Sicarius looked up.
She paused. “Yes?”
“I had cartography instruction as a boy.”
She bit her lip to hide a smile. A simple answer to a question shouldn’t mean so much. “Is that what you were hoping to do before you decided to take up your current, uhm, profession? Or-” a new idea struck her, “-was that a part of your training for your current profession? Like for spying? You could infiltrate an enemy stronghold and map the terrain and layout for your employer. You said you were just a boy though. You haven’t been training for this since you were a child, have you? It’s not like someone turns ten and decides they want to be an assassin. Do they?”