Haman snorted. “No surprise there.”
Skate smiled weakly, but she soon found the expression a waste of time and effort. “I can’t take from him, Haman. I just can’t. He’s done too much for me.”
“He’s an inhuman thing. He’s not alive. He’s a monster.”
“No,” Skate said, shaking her head after the first sentence, “he’s not. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he’s not. He…he taught me to read and to write.”
“And he’s done this out of charity? Out of the kindness of his heart?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he make you pay somehow? Or was it a free service offered?”
“Well…”
“Of course it wasn’t. He wanted your help to steal things, didn’t he? That was why he was letting you stay in his home, so it only makes sense that he’d be interested in securing more books in exchange for lessons. It was business. Though I’m sure he was quite friendly and hospitable, it’s all been for him. Business.” Haman paused to let his words sink in. “Now, my question to you is this: Have you overestimated the good nature of your teacher? Have you treated this as a business endeavor, as he has? Because to me, from the outside viewpoint, it looks as though you’ve been misled.”
Skate had stopped her nervous tapping. Instead, she was clutching her white cup. The warmth of it gave her something to focus on instead of Haman’s words. “He’s a kind man.” It was a sentimental triviality, she knew, but she also knew it was right. He is kind. And that matters.
“I’m sure.” Haman’s voice was dry and had a lilting humor to it, giving the impression that he seemed to find her answer both funny and sad. “But is that really worth throwing the Ink away, the only family you’ve had for most of your life?”
“Yes.”
The lack of hesitation in her answer surprised him, and he chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re so sure. If it had only been Kite, you’d probably be able to get away with telling people he’s just a liar. No one would’ve doubted that. But with witnesses and others attacked…there’s no going back. The choice has been made. The ink’s on the page.”
Skate tightened up, her stomach twisting into a knot of apprehension. She had just admitted to a lieutenant that she was breaking from the Ink, and that she had done so violently. She had no protection anymore, and Haman probably had orders from the Bosses to eradicate deserters in some violent way or other. Whatever he did, she needed to be ready.
What he did was to take another drink from his cup. He set it down, linked his fingers as he leaned on the counter, and turned his attention to the conversation of the other patrons. They had moved on to discussing some writer she’d never heard of, and how his work proved some crucial point or other.
Skate scooted her cup away. As it was scooped up by the servant boy, she decided to push her luck. “You’re not gonna blow me away with wind or burn me up with magic fire?”
Haman chuckled again. “Not in here,” he said with heavy irony. “It would upset the other guests, and I’d never forgive myself for breaking up such a meeting of minds.” The ghost of a smile remained on his face as he continued, “No, Skate, I’m not going to hurt you. No one else in here knows who you are or that you’re now a former member of the Ink. There may be two other people in here who know what the Ink is, but only from the customer side. I know no one who matters saw you come in, and I know you’ve got the good sense to make sure they don’t see you go out. I’ve got no reason to hurt you, other than a slavish devotion to the rules of the organization—and try as I might, I simply haven’t internalized those well enough to follow them when no one’s looking.”
“You really think he’ll show up here?” Skate asked, turning in her own seat to watch the endless coffee-fueled argument.
“One of them probably will, either Belamy or Tillby. If it’s the former, then we’re supposed to approach him and apprise him of his situation—or rather, now, to apprise him of a false situation that is, for all he knows, true. If the latter, we’re to simply have him followed until he makes whatever move he and his band of free agents are planning to make today. I hope if Belamy does show up,” Haman added, throwing a glance her way as he reached for his cup, “you’ll have the good sense to realize all that stuff I said about not needing to follow any rules goes out the window. You interfere in that conversation, and I’ll start a fire inside your gut.”
Skate smiled her own sarcastic grin, and nodded at the door. “Looks like I live to lie another day.”
Carsen Tillby let the door shut behind him with a satisfied air and swept his hat off with a flourish.
Chapter 27
In which a thief is followed, a heist is thwarted, and a trap is sprung.
Tillby was still kicking the ice off his boots when Skate slid from the seat. “See you around,” she said to Haman as she melted into the general hubbub of the shop. She found an elevated bench along the opposite wall, where she could keep a weather eye on the room as a whole—and on Tillby particularly.
Skate crossed her arms and scanned the crowd. On the bench with her was a young, aristocratic-looking couple gossiping away about those in the room, especially the old man and his “niece.” Skate ignored the prattle and followed Tillby’s progress to the bar.
He began by leaning on the counter and flashing his smile at the proprietress, who seemed to have no difficulty now with a genuine smile of her own. Tillby said something and brushed the back of her hand, which she promptly retracted to her mouth in a gasp that may or may not have been honest. The slight red that flushed her face indicated it was. A bit more conversation followed, during which the proprietress kept on smiling but avoided Tillby’s eyes. Tillby then left the bar with a wink and sauntered out the door.
Haman, who had continued sipping his coffee as if he were utterly uninterested in anything but the arguments playing out in the center of the room, set his cup down and followed the man. Skate waited a few seconds before following suit.
Tillby’s hat made for a conspicuous marker as he sauntered through the streets. Though Skate was several dozen feet behind him, it was almost impossible to lose track of the man.
Haman was nowhere to be seen. Whether he was simply following alongside Tillby through back alleys and staying out of sight or had made himself unseen through some trick of magic, his pursuit went undetected.
Other members of the Ink were not so stealthy. Skate recognized some members of Boss Marshall’s crew moving through the crowds and backstreets, dressed in borrowed or stolen clothing to better blend in. However, no amount of fine haberdashery would hide years of desperate, hard living etched into the eyes of those afflicted, and even the least-practiced observer could have found them out if they had brought any attention to themselves as they made their way around carriages and crowds.
Tillby’s hat disappeared through a side street, and Skate waited a moment to let his other pursuers follow suit before taking the same path he had. Once there, it was a simple matter of following the other thieves’ course. Now that they were out of sight of the main host of the district’s residents, they made no secret of their haste or intent; steps quickened and voices grunted with the effort of stomping over undisturbed piles of snow and ice that got in the way.