Thief’s Magic (7 page)

Tyen shrugged. “No, I really am going to the printery to see how it all works.”

Miko’s eyebrows rose. “You
know
how it works.”

“In theory. I’ve not seen it for myself. Have you?”

To Tyen’s surprise, Neel was nodding. “Like going to Mailand. You can read all about it, but you don’t properly know about anything until you see it.” Then to Tyen’s dismay, he stepped up beside him. “I’m in. Let’s go.”

“Very well then,” Miko said, then grinned. “So long as afterwards we go and see something
I
want to see.”

“Sounds fair,” Neel said, and looked at Tyen expectantly.

Suppressing a sigh, Tyen nodded. “And you after that, Neel?”

Neel shrugged. “If I think of something, and there’s time.”

The printeries of Leratia were within half an hour’s walk of the Academy. Closer than most industries because the institution was a good customer, but not so close that the academics would be bothered by the noise and smells. Tyen picked a company name he recognised, Leadbeater & Sons, walked into the reception and enquired if he and his fellow students might see how it all worked.

Eager to please potential future customers, Mr Leadbeater himself took them on a tour of the premises, first showing them some paper samples.

“We use the best paper-makers in West Leratia,” the man assured them.

“And vellum?” Tyen asked.

Leadbeater nodded. “We
can
get it. It is rarely asked for due to the expense, and we have very satisfactory alternatives.” He moved to a chest of wide, shallow drawers and drew out a small, creamy sheet, then took what appeared to be a book from a case but which was, in fact, bound samples of paper. Placing both on a table, he opened the sample book to a page near the back. “Examine these, and see if you can tell the difference.”

Tyen fingered the sheet and the page of the book, noting the surface texture and flex when he curled the page, then passed them to his friends. “I can’t tell which is which.”

Mr Leadbeater smiled and pointed at the sample book. “Paper can simulate vellum, but to do so involves extra processing therefore extra cost. For most purposes, ordinary paper will suffice – and I think people have come to expect the crispness of modern paper and its particular crinkle as the page turns. Would you like to see the printing machines?”

“Yes, please.”

He ushered them to a heavy door. As it opened, their senses were assaulted by a cacophony of noise and a mixture of smells both unpleasant and familiar. They followed Leadbeater into a long room filled with men and machines. Tyen immediately noted the arms extending from each machine to a long, revolving shaft stretching across the roof to a hole in the far wall. Not all the machines were working, so not all the arms were attached, but those that were pumped steadily. The printery owner followed Tyen’s gaze.

“We’re connected to the same engine as four other printeries,” Leadbeater told him, shouting to be heard above the noise. He waved at the far wall. “Behind there.”

Tyen did not need to be told. The printery was dark with Soot. Even had he needed to use magic now, he would have had a difficult time finding any within his reach.
Though if I …
He stretched his senses beyond the high ceiling and felt magic flowing down to a point not far beyond the end wall.

Which meant a sorcerer must be there as well, directing the flow and keeping the engine working.

I could end up with a job like that one day.

As always, he had mixed feelings about the prospect. His father had been employed as a machine driver for most of his life. It was menial work, but it paid well. Enough that he’d been able to send Tyen to the Academy in the hopes his son would do something more interesting with his gift.
Trouble is, interesting uses of magic that pay well are few and far between.
Which was why he’d chosen to study history as well. If he didn’t make it as an archaeologist and treasure hunter, or find something exciting to do with magic, at least he could stay at the Academy and teach.

Mr Leadbeater had stopped beside a two-tiered table. A man with blackened fingertips was plucking type from trays spread over the table and slotting it into a device rather like a short dustpan. As the printery owner explained the steps in setting the type, then led them over to printing machines to see the inking of type and sheets of paper being pressed to the plate, Tyen focused on the pressure of the book tucked into his shirt and wondered what Vella was making of all this.
Is the demonstration going too quickly? Does she understand all of what she is being shown? I wish I could take her out and see if she has any questions.

They moved on to cutting and folding machines, slicing the printed sheets of paper to size and bundling them ready for binding. A row of men were sewing these together. Their guide took them aside to a corner of the printery that smelled strongly of glue. A grey-haired man wearing a leather apron peered at them through a single eye lens set within a bracket affixed to his hat brim.

“Mr Balmer is our cover-maker,” Leadbeater explained. He turned to the employee. “Could you demonstrate to these young future academics the construction of a cover?”

The man’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded then beckoned them over to a table. He moved aside stacks of stiff cloth rectangles piled on the table then turned to what looked like a bin of offcuts and drew out a scrap of dark green fabric.

“The cloth covering is more than decoration,” he explained. “It forms the hinge. We use two thicknesses of card. These are for the covers…” – he took two rectangles of card from a shelf, cut into what Tyen guessed were standard measurements – “… and the spine is done with thinner, flexible strips of card.” He now cut a strip from a large roll. “Glue it all into position.” With practised efficiency, he took a brush from a large tin of glue and slathered the sticky substance over the front of the cards. Taking the thin strip, he laid it down the centre, then he picked up the two rectangles of thick card and placed them on either side.

“Now we cut.” Taking a knife, he deftly sliced away fabric until there was an even overhang on all four sides of the card, and removed a wedge at each corner. Taking away the scraps of fabric, he smiled. “Glue and fold.” He wetted the overhang then picked up a tool made of bone and began to coax the fabric over the back of the cards, first starting at the corners to tuck the excess in before concentrating on the edges.

“It must be dried in a press to avoid warping. Of course, this is very plain. We can create impressions by gluing thinner card with areas removed onto the front before applying the cloth, or add string to form ridges around the spine which, while only decorative now, emulates a form of binding from the past. Any questions?”

Tyen opened his mouth but Miko spoke before he had a chance. “How do you get the pages into it?”

The old man gestured to a long table in the centre of the bindery, where men were operating smaller machines. “You will see that in a moment, but essentially we glue them in, using a sheet of heavy paper at the front and back.”

“Do you use leather for covers?” Tyen asked.

The binder nodded, and the skin crinkled around his eyes. “Yes, on more valuable books. It is a pleasure to work with.”

“Do you prepare the leather yourself?”

“No.” His nose wrinkled. “Tanning is an unpleasant process, best done well away from cities. The skin must be soaked in lime and the hairs scraped from it, then stretched and worked to make it supple. By the accounts I’ve heard, it makes quite a stink.”

“Like that glue?” Miko asked.

The man laughed. “That makes a fragrant perfume compared to tanning.”

Tyen grimaced.
I suppose he’s used to the printery smells after all these years.

“Any more questions?” Balmer asked.

Tyen hesitated as one came to mind. His friends would think he was crazy. But he couldn’t ignore the opportunity. He steeled himself for ridicule.

“We’re history students. I’m interested in strange old books. Ever heard of a book made of bones and skin and hair?”

The binder’s eyebrows rose. “No.” He looked thoughtful. “I suppose it could be done. Vellum is skin. Thread can be spun from hair. The bone … perhaps if you found a piece flat enough it could be used instead of the cover card. Though you’d need a flat bone, and I don’t know enough about the bones of animals to say if there’s one suitable.” He shrugged. “You’d have to ask a meat man about that.” Then he smiled. “Are you writing a book about that? A book about books?”

Tyen shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll have to see if there’s a story in it.”

The man laughed. “Good luck to you, then.”

Mr Leadbeater returned and took them past the machines that attached the covers to shelving where he stored books waiting to be delivered to their owners. Tyen thanked the man for sparing them the time to show them the process, and said he had gained a lot of useful information. The man ushered them out into a sunny late afternoon.

As they walked back towards the Academy, Tyen was conscious of Vella’s form pressed against his skin. He itched to take her out and see what she had thought of the printery. It had been a good demonstration of industrial processes driven by magic. Did she have any questions? What would she like to learn about next?

Thinking back, he hoped she didn’t mind him asking if the binder had heard of a book made of bones, skin and hair.
Was that a bit too personal a question? Would she rather I didn’t know the details?

A hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Well, that was more interesting than I expected,” Miko said, steering Tyen in the direction of a side street. “But those fumes! I think we need to stop and have a drink to clear our heads.”

Neel laughed. “Since when does drinking clear anyone’s head?”

“And you promised we could go somewhere I picked next,” Miko added.

The side street was more of an alley, and Tyen felt a chill as they moved into its cooler shadows. Men and women in work clothing hurried along it, hunched and frowning. “Where are we going?”

Miko let his arm go and took the lead. “A short cut. Don’t worry. I know where we are. I’ve been here before.”

The alley kinked and curved, never staying straight enough for them to see its far end. They stepped into a doorway to allow a woman carrying a huge bundle to pass. Two children followed, tottering under equally large burdens. After a few hundred paces Miko turned into another alley, as busy as the previous, and a familiar smell tickled Tyen’s nose – the mingled smells of overly sweet perfume, cheap drink and blocked drains.
It reminds me of …

“Nectar Alley?” Neel asked.

“No,” Miko said. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Its more respectable cousin, Flower Court.”

“More respectable?” Tyen muttered. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

Neel sent him a curious look, but Miko grinned.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re too well behaved, Tyen.”

Tyen huffed. “How many times do I have to come with you to these places to convince you I’m not?”

Miko laughed. The sound sent a thrill of apprehension down Tyen’s spine. It wasn’t that he hadn’t visited places like Flower Court before, thanks to his friends, but he’d never done so in the company of a woman – even if she was a book.

“It’s still light,” he said. “They won’t be open.”

Miko patted the pocket of his coat. “They won’t mind a few early customers.”

“How are you going to afford…?” Tyen stopped as he realised Miko must have sold the bauble. “Hey! You haven’t paid me back for the ride from the station yet.”

Miko had turned away. “I’ll buy you a drink,” he tossed over his shoulder.

The alley descended via crumbling steps. The damp smell became stronger and the perfume more powerful as if to compensate. Tyen could hear the sound of many voices, growing louder at every step. The final flight of stairs made a twist to the right and they stepped out into the roar and hectic swirl of a crowded, bustling courtyard.

Looking back once to make sure they were following, Miko started wending his way through the crowd. At the edges of the courtyard men and women stood talking and drinking, some sitting on old half-barrels or boxes. In the centre, people strode about their business, their paths criss-crossing. As far as Tyen could tell, all of the buildings facing the yard were drinking houses. Plant boxes below the windows of the higher floors were filled with flowers, but, from the gaudy colours and stiff shapes, Tyen guessed they weren’t real.

He and Neel followed their friend into one of the drinking establishments. The inside was furnished with sturdy chairs and tables, and a high bar and stools. There were fewer customers inside than out, but the sense of relaxed expectation suggested the calm was due to the hour and it would be busy soon. Miko hopped up onto a stool and waved at the server, who was talking to a thin young woman with large, startlingly blue eyes.

“A round of your best dusky,” he declared.

Tyen sighed. He doubted he’d ever get his money back now. He didn’t particularly want a drink so early in the day, but there was no point refusing. Miko would insist, then berate and tease Tyen for being no fun to be around.

The server nodded and turned back to the woman as he poured their drinks. She was staring at Miko appraisingly. Miko was staring at her. He grinned. She smiled back. Tyen groaned silently.

If this goes where I think it’s going …
He was all too conscious of Vella resting against his skin.
If it weren’t for Miko I’d have never set foot in a place like this
, he told himself. But a part of him didn’t mind – no, was glad – that Miko had. He’d have never had the courage to come alone.
Because Father had warned me against it.
Yet it was almost expected that the spirited young students of the Academy would enjoy all the city had to offer.
Just … I wish Miko hadn’t picked now
, he thought.

Miko turned to face the woman as she walked over.

“I’m Gija. You look like you’re celebrating,” she said as the server set down their drinks.