“Well, we’ve got three people already who are going to be privy to our plans. Perhaps adding another wouldn’t ma…” A chilling thought whispered into her mind. She glanced at Books, sitting on a bunk, and Akstyr, poking around in discarded debris. “Please tell me your logic doesn’t require killing everyone we work with over the next couple weeks.”
“You can’t trust random people acquired from the street. Don’t get attached.”
“Sicarius.” She gripped his arm, distantly aware that she had never dared touch him before. “I did not talk these folks into helping just to have you kill them at the end.”
“Once our need for them is done, they’re disposable.”
“And does that go for me too?” As soon as she asked the question, she regretted it. If the answer was yes, what would she do?
“You’re not disposable,” he said. She almost had time to wonder if he might actually care, but then he added, “It’s your plan.”
“Lucky me. Well, here’s an addendum to my plan: it will not involve killing the men we’ve coerced into helping us, nor will engravers be found in bed with their throats cut.”
“Propose an alternative.”
Amaranthe rubbed her chin and gazed thoughtfully about the building. Akstyr was stretched out under a table, digging through dirty sawdust. He came up with a copper coin and grinned.
“Akstyr,” she called.
He stuffed the coin in his pocket and threw her a suspicious look. Nonetheless, he slouched over.
“What?”
“Where’d you get all those keys?” She jerked her chin at the ring on his belt.
“Made ‘em.”
“Are they copies? Or originals?”
“Copies.”
“Am I correct in assuming you’re not a trained locksmith?”
“Yup. It’s pretty easy to make copies of keys, using…” he shrugged, “ways.”
Amaranthe took that to mean magic. “So, using these ways, you can carve things out of metal. Could you engrave something?”
“Oh, sure. I used to leave my gang sign all over the city that way. This one time, a man was in the water closet at the baths, and
I-”
Amaranthe lifted a hand. “Sufficient details, thank you.” The width of his grin convinced her she was right in cutting off the story. She fished out a ten-ranmya bill. “Think you could copy this into metal?”
“Sure, using the Sci-er, my way is even easier than tracing. It’s like burning a brand with your mind. As long as I’m just making an exact copy and not getting artistic.”
He reached for the bill, but Sicarius plucked it out of the air first.
“Copying this won’t get us anywhere,” Sicarius said. “It needs to be in reverse.”
“Like a stamp, of course.” Amaranthe sighed. “Too bad the Imperial Mint is in Sunders City, otherwise we could just steal plates. Though that would-”
“I’ll make it,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe and Akstyr stared at him.
“Make what?” she asked. “The reverse drawing?”
“Yes. I’ll need good paper and a fine pen. I hear Maldynado on the dock. Go get the supplies.”
She wanted to question him further-why would an assassin know how to draw?-but Maldynado staggered inside with arms full of bags, wrapped meat, a jug, and a crate with…
“Are those air holes?” Books asked.
Amaranthe hastened over to help Maldynado unload. The crate squawked.
“Chickens?” she asked.
“You could have sent someone to help me carry things,” Maldynado said.
“You bought all that for ten ranmyas?” Books asked.
“Actually, I got it for free,” Maldynado said smugly. After setting the crate down, he fished out Amaranthe’s bill and returned it. “I was just going to buy some cans of corned meat, but I started talking with the shopkeeper, and she told me about this problem she was having. Apparently, some farmer rode his dogsled-” Maldynado rolled his eyes at this notion of antiquity, “-out of the fields and across the lake to barter for supplies. He brought lots of fresh farm things to trade.”
“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-”
