Scholar's Plot (13 page)

“Or is this someone trying to disguise his usual hand, because Benton might recognize it?” I asked. “It looks a bit clumsy.”

Fisk was still studying the note. “No clue to the identity of the writer. Even the paper is thin and cheap, though not as bad as…”

He frowned, and picked up the two passes. “The paper here is different.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, I could see that the paper on which Hotchkiss’ pass was printed was more yellow than the other.

“So they ran out of one batch of paper in the midst of the job, and opened a new bundle.”

The print was smeared too, as if the printer had rolled his ink too often before he took the time to clean the gutters between the raised letters. But Fisk stared at the blurry letters as if they held the secrets of the universe.

“No,” he said. “They weren’t. But someone went to considerable trouble to get this one for Benton. Look here.” He shoved Benton’s pass toward us. “At the
y
on the end of ‘the second Finday.’ And here, in
anyone
. The tail is longer, and curlier. This was printed on a different press than Hotchkiss’ was. Or more precisely, with type face cut by a different carver.”

Now that he mentioned it, I could see a difference in the lowercase
q
as well. In the midst of such sloppy printing, ’twas not something most would notice, but once Fisk had pointed it out, I noticed that some of the other letters were subtly different as well.

“Is there any reason for a printer to change the typeface in the middle of a job?” I said.

“None I can think of.” And Fisk would know. “How hard is it to get one of these passes? Are they assigned to people?”

“No,” said Benton. “They’re given to professors to pass out to their students, and any townsman who wants to attend a lecture can ask for one at the clerk’s office.”

“So does that mean the killer didn’t have access to a pass?” Kathy asked. “Someone outside the university?”

“Either that, or the need arose after the regular passes had been given out,” I said, but Fisk waved this quibble aside.

“Either way, someone wanted to get Benton off the hook so badly they went and had a single copy of this pass printed, all for him. Maybe using a different press. Which means,” he finished, “that all we have to do is visit the local printers, find out who ordered just one copy of the lecture pass — or maybe just find this particular set of type — and we’ll have our man.”

All right, I might have been exaggerating. Though I didn’t think my theory was as ridiculous as Michael and Benton made it out to be. And Mistress Katherine, a sensible girl, agreed with me.

“There are other possible explanations. But Fisk’s explanation is possible too. I’ll go to the printers with you, and help you check it out.”

Which is how I found myself setting off to visit printers with Kathy, while Michael stayed home to introduce Benton to his new charge. He could have come with us, but Michael said he hadn’t spent much time with Benton yet.

I translated that to mean that he was going to take Professor Dayless’ advice and ask Benton for more details about the project. Though I was pretty sure it wouldn’t do him any good. Since Master Hotchkiss had turned out to be a blackmailer, I was fairly certain his murder was at the bottom of everything. As soon as I found a bit more evidence — that one of the victims had given Benton that lecture pass, for instance — then
I’d
be in charge.

For now…

“Why did you want to come?” I asked Kathy. “Really.”

We were making our way through the lighter crowds of midmorning. The early morning throng, as workers who lived in the outskirts of town came in to their jobs, had made it hard to cross the street to buy our breakfast. Now there were women with shopping baskets on their arms and delivery men with carts and wheelbarrows. The scholars, who’d been so prevalent before, weren’t as visible at this hour.

“Honestly? I’ve been cooped up in Benton’s rooms for almost a week. And he tries to hide it, but he’s 
so depressed he’s making me gloomy as well. This probably makes me a bad sister, but I think the dog 
did him more good yesterday than I did. Having to 
look after your mad friend will be a kindness for him.”

“He’s not my friend. I just went to check on him because, well… Is every place in this town only a few blocks apart?”

Benton hadn’t known where any print shops were, though the history department used a shop called Demkin’s Press and Ink. But he had known the people who’d have that information — there was a bookshop two streets from his lodging.

“’Tis all centered on Pendarian,” Kathy pointed out. “Any business that services the university would likely be nearby.”

“Everything centered on the university … including what happened to your brother. Do you still think the project is behind his troubles?”

“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” said Kathy with dignity. “Which is more than I can say for some.”

“I’ve never wanted an open mind,” I said. “It’s too easy for things to fly in.”

That had been an old joke between Father, Judith, and me … and somehow, remembering those silly, scholarly jokes didn’t hurt as it used to.

Kathy had a lovely giggle and she took my arm, in a friendly way, as we strolled on down the street. It had been a long time since I’d walked with a woman on my arm, and it felt … nice.

I
really
had to figure out something better to do with the rest of my life. It had been a pretty fair mess, to date.

The bookshop had a bell over the door, and shelf after shelf of books, with more lying open on stands, their sealed pages cut open so scholars could browse them more thoroughly. The scent of leather, glue, and ink brought the best part of my childhood back in one rolling wave. And that did hurt.

“Hey, the house! Anyone here?”

“A moment, sir.” The man’s voice came from an open door at the rear of the shop, and he hadn’t had to shout to be heard. Anything Katherine and I said would be audible to him too, so she turned to one of the open books and began studying pages.

“Are you looking for the curly ‘y’?” I murmured. “That cutter could have sold his type to shops all over the—”

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The man who emerged from the back of the shop had white hair, wrinkles to go with it, and was wiping his hands on an apron. “I’m repairing an old binding, and once you get the glue on you have to strap the leather tight before it cools. What can I do for you, Master and Mistress?”

“I’m looking for a printer,” I said. “For a small project. If you could give me a list of all the shops in town, I’d be grateful.”

I pulled a brass ha’ from my purse and flipped it, to show exactly how grateful I’d be.

“Who you’d want depends on the nature of your project,” the bookseller pointed out. “I can give you the full list, but if you’re looking for anything larger than a bound pamphlet, you’ll be happier taking it to the big presses in Crown City. I can give you their names too,” he added. “And you can see samples of all their work, right here.”

My gaze followed his to the well-stocked shelves. “What, there’s no book making here? Right next to the university?”

“None now,” the man said. “The scholars here are fussy about their proofing — as they should be — and with Crown City so near, I guess most book makers wanted a share of the city’s market.”

Most great universities support at least one press, sometimes several, and Crown City was a long day’s ride. But that had nothing to do with murder. I told the man my project was small enough for a local shop, and he gave me directions to Demkin’s and another press, Marleybone Printing. Two names weren’t worth a brass ha’, but with Mistress Kathy looking on I decided not to quibble.

The print shops weren’t near the university, one 
being on the outskirts of town to the east and the other to the west — which still wasn’t far enough to make 
it worthwhile to go back to the stables and saddle a horse. I’d already noted that Mistress Katherine’s sensible skirt and bodice were paired with sensible low-heeled shoes, chosen for walking over cobblestones. That bodice fit nicely enough to remind me she was no longer a little girl, but she was still Michael’s sister. So I might as well pick her brains.

“Does it seem odd to you that a university this size only supports two printers, and no book binding at all?” I asked, as we took to the streets once more.

“As the man said, Crown City’s not far. It probably makes sense for people to use the big presses there. How do you know so much about printing, Fisk?”

“My father was a tutor, who fancied himself a scholar as well,” I said. “His family couldn’t afford university tuition, and he couldn’t come up with a thesis that would get him in on merit.”

Though he’d beggared our family, and ultimately killed himself in trying. It had left me somewhat soured on the subject of scholarship. Which didn’t mean those books hadn’t tugged at me, too. The only reason I hadn’t gone looking for that y myself is that once I start reading I have a hard time stopping. Between me and my luggage, Tipple has enough to carry. I can’t start a library. And I didn’t want to talk about my father.

“How’s the Heir-hunt at court going? You wrote that you had a scheme to take yourself out of it, but you didn’t tell me what it was.”

Mistress Katherine had lifted her skirts to step around a patch of dung, so her grimace might have been for that … but I doubted it.

“Rupert’s scheme is working better than mine,” she said. “His tactic is to let the really determined girls corner him, and then he does nothing but talk about how wonderful Meg is.”

“And is she?” I asked. I thought that instead of summoning eligible maidens from all over the Realm to try to win his son, the High Liege would have done better to let the affair run its course. The worst likely outcome was that she’d produce a few bastards before the Heir tired of her and went on to marry the nubile and Gifted young noblewoman he was supposed to wed. Opposition only makes lovers more determined. Though as Jack had taught me, there were ways around that.

“So what was your tactic? Did you invent some mythical lover of your own to babble about?”

“Nothing so silly,” Kathy said, “though I might have been better off trying that. No, I decided to befriend Meg myself, thinking that would make it too awkward for me to chase after Rupert. And that wasn’t hard — she’s no brainless court ninny. She was studying law at Mortmain University when she and Rupert met. She was supposed to become an in-house lawyer for her family’s textile business — they raise both flax and sheep, though most of their money comes from weaving. There’s a good-sized town north of Crown City that does almost nothing but weaving for Merkle Cloth and Thread. Meg says that on a still day in summer, when the cottage doors are open, you can hear the clack of the looms half a mile away.”

I’d been through some of the great weaving towns, and what struck me most about them wasn’t the noise, but how much bolder women become when they’re making a decent wage. Having tried to save three sisters from poverty, I liked that better than most men would.

“So Mistress Margaret was supposed to be checking over the family’s contracts, but she fell in love with a prince instead. How very backward.”

The Heir’s romantic tangle was more interesting than I’d first thought.

“The irony didn’t escape them,” Kathy said. “Me, I think a queen with a thorough grounding in the Realm’s law and history would be a good thing, but…”

No Gifts. Which meant none could be passed to her sons, either.

“Young Rupert can’t be serious about dosing her with who-knows-what to try to give her Gifts. Not if he loves her the way you say he does.”

“He isn’t, really,” Kathy admitted. “Neither of them has discussed it with me, but I think their plan is to stall till the Liege gives up, and all this research is just an excuse to wait. They talked the Liege into offering that big reward for a successful result — they had to do that to prove they were serious, and Rupert doesn’t have that kind of money, not on his own. But part of the bargain was that they won’t try anything till ’tis proven safe. And how can you prove that, really?”

“So what went wrong with your scheme? It sounds like all you have to do is enjoy the court till either Rupert or his father gives up.”

But she wouldn’t do that — like Michael, she was a fighter.

“You wouldn’t say ‘enjoy the court’ if you had any idea how boring it is.” Kathy’s gaze swept over the street, where a baker was setting out fresh loaves and a delivery man tossed bundles of straw into a basket maker’s shop. If she thought this was as interesting as her delighted expression implied, then court must be
very
boring.

“’Tis like being a little girl’s doll, Fisk! You dress for breakfast, and then go right up afterward to dress for riding. You ride no more than half an hour, and then change clothing again for sewing, or some other proper lady’s pursuit, till you have to change for luncheon, and after that… I once changed my clothing nine times, in just one day!”

I had to laugh. “That’s exactly how Anna and Lissy played with their dolls — three hours’ dressing, to half an hour’s play. Even Judith did it, though she wasn’t so bad. I thought girls liked that kind of thing.”

“Not nine times a day,” said Kathy fervently. “I want to go home, where I can help Mother run the house, and Father and Rupert — our Rupert — run the estate.”

The current High Liege’s father had been Rupert, and half the noblemen in the Realm gave their sons his name in the years after he died. A confusion that was increased by the High Liege naming his own son Rupert, too.

“I’ve ended up doing what Father wanted Michael to do,” Kathy went on. “I spend half my days figuring out what to do about flooded fields, or crop blight, or fences that need mending. Court may look glittery and glamorous, but it’s
dull
!”

And what would her home life be like, if Benton went home and took that job from her? Yet another reason to find Hotchkiss’ killer, and clear Benton. Before someone else was hired for his job.

“It does sound like you’re wasted at court,” I told Kathy. “So what went wrong? You befriended Mistress Margaret, and then … pox. Really?”

“You’re quick,” said Kathy. “I didn’t see it coming at all.”

“To be fair, neither of us is the middle-aged ruler of a whole Realm. The High Liege is.” I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled, or to laugh.

“The perfect solution, the Liege called it,” Kathy said grimly. “We could just share Rupert. He could go right on loving Meg, get me pregnant on a regular basis, and none of us would fight or fuss about it, because we’re all such good
friends
. If you laugh, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, through helpless huffs. “It’s not the suggestion, which is appalling. It’s just … plans! I sometimes think you should never make them.”