“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.
“Mind if I cut through the back?” she asked after she paid.
The clerk pointed to the rear exit. Amaranthe entered an ‘alley’ as wide as the front street, though it smelled less pleasant. Discarded food wrappers frozen to the icy cobblestones crinkled beneath her boots. Streaks of yellow decorated the dirty snow piled against the walls.
Amaranthe knocked on the back door of the ink and paper shop. Nobody answered, so she tried the knob. Unlocked.
Inside, Maldynado was…posing? Amidst the shelves and cases of paper, he stood with one leg propped on a chair. One of his hands rested on his raised knee, the other on his waist. His jaw jutted toward the ceiling. A seated woman wearing a blouse and a long felt skirt hunched over a sketch pad in her lap, drawing him.
Amaranthe cleared her throat. “I thought you were-”
“Yes, yes,” Maldynado said without breaking his pose. “It’s all over there.”
Three boxes and several wrapped bundles waited on a counter next to a paper cutter. On the way across the room, Amaranthe shot Maldynado a what-are-you-doing look that he ignored. She peered under the lid of the topmost box to make sure he had purchased rag paper. She picked up a sheet and rubbed it between her fingers. It didn’t feel exactly like ranmya paper, but the heft was right. It would have to do.
“Maldynado, what are you doing?” she asked.
“Posing.”
“Why?”
The woman with the sketch pad frowned over her shoulder at Amaranthe. “Who’s she?” she asked Maldynado.
“Uhm.”
“I hope you’re being paid,” Amaranthe told him.
“What?” he asked.
The woman’s frown deepened.
“I suspect she’s going to use your likeness in her advertising literature. Your handsome face will be a marketing gimmick to sell more paper to her predominantly female clientele. That means she’ll make money, so you should too.”
Maldynado’s chin dropped, and he addressed the artist. “Is that true?”
The woman shrugged.
“You said you wanted to immortalize my face in your memory.”
“And on her promotional pamphlets.” Amaranthe tugged the paper cutter and one of the boxes into her arms, leaving the rest for Maldynado. “Finish up. I’ll wait outside.”
Before leaving, Amaranthe checked the front window to make sure the boy was not standing out there with his face pressed to the panes. In the alley, she tapped her foot until Maldynado came out the back door with the rest of the supplies.
“Is there a reason we’re taking the alley?” he asked. “The air is a tad ripe out here.”
“Unfriendly eyes out front.”
