Given the neighborhood in which Gherun lived, Skate had decided upon a dress that allowed movement, work, and play, a dress that could be worn with the powerful pride that the rich exuded wherever they went—clothing that both invited questions and at the same time put them off. If anyone asked, she planned to claim to be the daughter of a newly wealthy man trading wares out of the untamed region of Edge, a daughter who was easily entertained and tonight had chosen the large building as the focus of her disingenuous “attentions.” Of course, there was no guarantee that such an excuse would keep her out of any direct trouble, but it might cause enough of a distraction that she could give any over-curious Guard the slip, ready to head back to Belamy’s house until she was safely forgotten.
The thick coat and new dress were not her only sartorial boons; she was comfortable standing in the snow in new boots, and felt that she could have stayed right where she was for hours without needing to go elsewhere.
Skate had, over the past few days, learned much of Gherun’s lifestyle. He lived alone, without so much as a pet or plant to keep him company, and he had no other company call on him in the time that Skate had spent watching and learning.
He was also fastidious in keeping his living space clean; after he took his meals, he immediately placed the dirty dishes into the hallway, which the servants who maintained the entire building quickly took away to the building’s lower floors. When he read, which he did at almost exactly the same time every night, he placed a bookmark (he favored thin strips of cloth that hung outside the pages, trailing behind the book whenever he moved it like ribbons did in the rich girls’ hair) after about an hour of reading, and replaced the book exactly where he had taken it from to begin with.
Skate noted with annoyance that he always checked to make sure the row of books he’d disturbed was unmoved at the end of his efforts. What annoyed her was not so much that such attention to detail meant she would leave some noticeable evidence of her crime; that would best be avoided, of course, but some amount of detail was bound to slip her mind. No, she’d decided that she simply did not like Gherun for his obsession with organization, with order, with minute control of his living space. She couldn’t place why she found his fussiness so irritating, but her lack of clarity did nothing to mitigate the effect.
A useful aspect of his disdain for all things disorganized was that he kept a very rigid—and therefore very predictable—daily schedule.
Every aspect of the man’s life followed a pattern: for the three days Skate had observed him, she’d noticed nothing different at all about his habits or schedule. He didn’t have any visitors (aside from the help staff) during her observations. When she asked Belamy about Gherun, the old man informed her that he was a private man, and a wealthy one. It was why he could afford such luxurious living in an expensive part of the city without having to work to keep it. Belamy said he had inherited his wealth. “He prefers the company of books to that of people,” Belamy said, “though he can function quite well in a crowd. Given the option, I think he’d choose a book over conversation nine times out of ten.”
As she stood in the snow, her new boots wrapping snugly around her feet, Skate decided her only hope was to break in while the man was asleep and sneak back out before she was noticed. That would have to wait until the next night; she had an idea how to get in, but it would take some planning. She did not have Rattle with her, anyway. It needed to be with her, but she hoped that would not be the case for much longer; her lessons were going well.
As she turned on the spot and began the dark, muffled walk back to Belamy’s home, she reflected on her progress. That first lesson had been the simple mockery of letters. When Belamy had finally come up after saying farewell to Ossertine, he had explained that all words were made of these letters, and that beginning to read would require knowing these twenty-six symbols by heart. So her lesson was to practice writing each of these letters and naming them when shown.
Rattle was there to help for most of it, with Belamy monitoring silently from the corner of the room, a book ever open on his crossed legs. After a long while of these exercises (she thought it must have been hours), he rose from his seat and told her she could rest for the day. Rattle had prepared food for her while she’d grilled Belamy about her target.
Skate turned a corner at the sight of a trio of Guards; she was not doing anything wrong by being out this late at night, but a young lady alone on the streets—even a well-dressed one—was sure to cause suspicion, and she would rather avoid any probing questions.
Around the corner, Skate found another almost-deserted street, the plentiful lamps of the castle district casting a happy but subdued light as snow began to lazily fall to the earth in wispy, wind-stirred pellets. There was a pair of finely dressed people on the other side of the street, a man and a woman huddled close together. Instead of being engaged in conversation or whispering loving trifles in each other’s ears, though, they were purposefully walking faster than normal and avoiding eye contact with the other person on the block: a poorly dressed girl, who was weaving and bobbing as she walked, apparently in the throes of delirium. Skate noticed the urchin but didn’t think anything of it; she was used to seeing kids her age who had spent money on or been given alcohol. Of course, Ink members were not to indulge on the job, and the Bosses usually did not let any kids in their teams drink before they were at least fifteen. Skate had never found anything about alcohol appealing, and had never indulged.
This girl had had a lot of it, by the look of her. As she stumbled closer, Skate could smell the booze; it was as if the other girl had bathed in it rather than drunk it.
When they were about five feet apart, each girl’s eyes opened wide in recognition. It was Delly, and judging by her sudden alertness and stillness, she was not actually drunk. She eyed Skate’s attire curiously, and motioned toward a small space between nearby buildings.
Skate looked around and saw that the nervous young couple must have beaten their retreat very hastily, as they were nowhere to be found. She followed Delly into the cramped area, no longer worried about her disguise being blown.
“What’s with the costume?” Delly said without preamble once they were out of view. “You moving up to a lieutenant already or something?” Alert or not, the girl reeked of alcohol, and the stench was almost overpowering up close.
“Nah, not likely. Haman’s doing great, and the Boss don’t need any more help. What have you been drinking?”
Delly laughed. “Nothing but the boiled water they give us in the hideout with meals. This is just to throw off the Guards if they catch me and start asking questions about what I’m doing, see?” When Skate shook her head in confusion, Delly rolled her eyes. “I been picking! You know, bumping into people and nicking purses and coins. I’m ‘drunk,’ though, so they don’t think nothing of it except to worry about the poor kid in such a bad situation.” She laughed at the pity she had been getting. “Most of ’em don’t care, though. Most of ’em just want the stinky little rat out of their way, ’nd I am alls too gladsh to do sho.” She began slurring her words and giving a mock salute, falling easily into the cover story. “And if tha Guardsh wanted to shee me, I just tell ’em I’m not sure where my homes is at. No questions, and a swift kick out of the district. They only rough ya up a little when they gotta do that, since most of ’em don’t really want to hurt a kid.”