Scholar's Plot (27 page)

“What do you mean, ‘He didn’t do it?’” Michael demanded. “The man all but confessed to burning those papers.”

“Oh, he may have done that. But he didn’t kill Hotchkiss, and there are so many holes in this case you could use it for a sieve. Think about it, Michael.”

I turned back toward Benton’s rooms. And for once, my mind wasn’t on seeing Kathy again.

Michael fell into step beside me. “I agree he’d no motive to kill Master Hotchkiss. But Hotchkiss’ murder may have nothing to do with Benton’s troubles.”

“Then why did the killer print out that pass, to make sure Benton had an alibi? I could see Quicken doing that, except it’s such a … scholarly alibi. Quicken would have had someone lure Benton to a tavern, or some other public place. And it’s not just the murder,” I went on. “If Quicken got the money months ago, why did 
he wait so long to burn those papers? Why did someone keep paying him, for months, while he did nothing? And why didn’t he just mix up the rabbits, or give them the wrong formula, or replace them with new-caught rabbits that had never been dosed? He could have sabotaged the experiment by doing any of those things, 
and he’d probably never have been caught. I’m not even sure he burned those papers, and I know he didn’t kill Hotchkiss.”

Michael trudged beside me in silence, for several long moments.

“You’re right. We know Quicken took a bribe, most probably to sabotage the project — though we don’t even
know
that. And there’s far too much going on that we haven’t a clue about. But aside from seeing what Quicken says at his hearing, what more can we do?”

One of the things I like best about Michael is that he has the courage to admit it when he’s wrong. And when he doesn’t know what to do next. Unfortunately…

“I don’t have any answers,” I admitted. “Just questions. But maybe…”

My steps were getting faster, before I’d even completed the thought.

“Maybe Kathy can think of something.”

“How would I know?” Kathy said. “I’ve never even met Master Quicken. Though looking for someone else, who may or may not have been bribed, seems like a long shot.”

“But with Quicken under arrest, whoever paid him may do something else to sabotage the project,” Michael said hopefully. “That might give us another thread to pull.”

“Then they’d better do it in the next few days,” said Kathy. “Because once the third applicant for Benton’s job arrives in town, we’re out of time.”

“Maybe we don’t need to rely on that,” I said. “We may be out of suspects, but we still have one piece of physical evidence.”

I went over to one of Benton’s shelves and sorted through the pile of clutter that had accumulated over the past ten days. I carried the forged lecture pass back to the table.

“We never found where this came from. We got distracted.”

“You spoke to both of Slowbend’s printers,” Michael pointed out. “Do you want to go to Crown City, and ask among the printers there?”

“We may have to,” I said. “But you don’t need a print shop to own a press, particularly in a university town. The presses aren’t that expensive; it’s a complete set of type that costs. In fact, that’s probably why they were forced to use a slightly different set, because it was the closest match they had to the one Demkin’s used for the original passes — but it wasn’t a perfect match.”

“How are you going to find out who might have a printing press tucked away in their attic?” Kathy asked.

“By asking the helpful Peebles, of course.”

Clerk Peebles looked wary as we trooped into her 
office, all of us but Benton, who cringed at the thought of approaching his friends, colleagues, and scholars while he was still considered a cheat. Though if they all felt like Clerk Peebles and Mistress Flynn, he might have been pleasantly surprised.

Peebles knew of two professors who owned presses, though one had taken his apart for cleaning several months ago, and she didn’t know if he’d reassembled it.

“…and there’s that deserted shop by the river the university picked up,” she finished. “If you start asking the hobbyists, you’ll be sure to hear that story. But it’s been locked up for years now.”

“There are ways around locks,” I said. “Are you telling me the university owns a print shop? Then why does Demkin’s do most of your printing?”

“It’s closed,” she said. “It’s hard to print without a printer, not to mention half a dozen assistants. When the old printer died, his two sons thought they could make more money by printing more of the items that sold best. Why bother to print and bind some engineering book that would only sell four or five hundred 
copies? So they put out nothing but … scholar’s fare,” she finished primly.

“Bawdy ballads?” Kathy guessed. “I take it they’d forgotten that scholars are always broke.”

“And less than a year later, so were they,” Peebles said. “The shop went cheap. They just wanted a stake so they could go to the city, and become clothing decorators.”

“You mean embroiderers?” I asked. My mother took in mending and did a bit of embroidery. It was easier than carrying bricks but it didn’t pay well, and as the hours stretched it was a harder job than you might think.

“No,” said Peebles. “They’d concocted a glue that would stick most things to fabric, and survive a number of washings. Glass gems, silk braid, ribbons. They planned to set up a shop selling little pots of the stuff, along with beads and so on, to those who wanted to look well-dressed without paying a seamstress to actually be well-dressed.”

“It sounds cheap.” Lady Katherine was wearing a cinnamon brown skirt with a soft leather vest, and a shirt whose only extravagance was the tightness of the weave and the foam of lace at her elbows. It might not have cost half the reward I’d earned for bringing down a murderous traitor, but I bet it would put a dent in it.

For a moment I despaired. But she was rich, I wasn’t, and my plan was to get that small estate by way of reward, not purchase. So I’d better get on with it.

“It is cheap,” said Peebles. “But Crown City’s full of people who want to be courtiers and don’t have money. There’s a fair chance they’re making a fortune.”

There was an even better chance they’d gone broke, and were now carrying bricks. But what interested me was the shop they’d left behind. I smiled hopefully at Peebles.

“Since that shop belongs to the university, you’ve probably got a key?”

She didn’t want to give it to us, but I wanted to get into the shop now, instead of waiting till the middle of the night to burgle the place. I pointed out that there wasn’t much damage we could do — which was a lie, because if it was still there we could have made a decent sum by stealing the type. Kathy talked about how Benton’s whole future was riding on this, and Michael added that it wasn’t impossible that their father might buy the shop for Benton, if his academic career fell through. I was pretty sure this was a lie too, though I suppose it wasn’t
impossible
— just unlikely.

The excuse that we might be interested in buying the place was enough for Clerk Peebles, who handed over the key with a pointed request that we get it back to her before she left work that evening.

We stopped for luncheon on the way but the shop wasn’t far, midway between the university and the
 waterfront. Close enough to pick up deliveries from the docks, and near enough to the school that scholars wouldn’t hesitate to make the trip. In fact, it was closer to the university than either of the other print shops. Across the street were a boot maker and a baker, both of whom seemed to be thriving.

The boot maker’s clerk came out on his front step to watch us, and I nodded pleasantly at him. “I’m glad I’ve got a key.”

“’Twould be hard to break in without being seen,” Michael agreed. “At least, here at the front.”

“We’ll check the back,” I said. “But meanwhile…”

I opened the door and we all went in. But before I shut it, I took a minute to try all the likely keys on the ring we’d taken from Hotchkiss’ desk. None of them worked.

“So ’tis not a key the professors are likely to have,” said Kathy.

“Mayhap,” her brother replied. “But that still leaves anyone with access to Clerk Peebles’ desk drawer, and as Fisk told the good sergeant, that’s most of the university.”

I closed the door and the dusty stillness settled around us. There was a lot of dust in the front room where we stood, on the shelves, small tables and bookstands. Through an archway I could see at least two presses in the workroom beyond. In its time, this place had bustled with printing and sales … now it only rustled with mice.

“Come on. Let’s take a look.”

It took only a glance to know we’d found what we were seeking — the smallest of the four presses was the only thing in the shop that wasn’t coated with dust and spider webs.

“But we’d better make sure, anyway.” I went over to the big rack of cases where type was stored. They too were locked, and Mistress Peebles hadn’t given 
me those keys. But they were labeled with the fonts stored in them, and I’d come prepared. Kathy watched with considerable interest as I pulled out my picks. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that it had been too late to present myself as a solid, upstanding citizen before we’d even met — her brother had rescued me from the judgment scaffold.

“This is a good building,” she said. “Sound. And you can see the river through that alley across the street.”

It didn’t sound like much, after all these years roving with Michael, but I’d grown up in a town where the smallest sliver of a sea view was treasured.

“You like dust and mice?”

“Dust can be cleaned. And I also like cats. You seem to know a lot about printing. Is it just from your father’s work?”