now sitting dully at the edge of the cobblestone street, her arms wrapped around her skirts. No one was paying her any mind, and she looked quite forlorn indeed. Lucy strode up to her. “Pardon, ma’am.”
“What do you want?” the woman growled. “Can’t you see I’m not in a good way? Just got my pocket stolen and two good bones. What I shall tell my master, I don’t know.”
Lucy held out the woman’s worn pocket. “Yes, I saw what that witless lad did. But wouldn’t you know it? He dropped your pocket, the clumsy oaf.”
The woman’s mouth parted, but she said nothing.
Lucy turned away. Before she had taken two steps, however, she felt a hand claw at her elbow, forcing her to turn around. The woman twitched the left half of her lips in what might have been a smile. Lucy nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
* * *
Doubling back, Lucy entered the print shop where she was to meet Adam, a heavy acrid smell jolting her nose. Two men were working the presses, shouting back and forth. Adam was nowhere to be seen. As she waited, she read haltingly through some of the ballads and broadsides drying on the great racks. All told stories of monstrous births, unnatural events, and the like, or else offered quick recipes or advice. Having gone to petty school as a girl, Lucy had learned her letters and numbers but little else. Only in the last two years, when she’d found ways to listen to Sarah’s tutors in secret, had she figured out how to pick through her letters and read at a reasonable pace.
The title of one of the woodcuts now caught her eye. “‘Murder, or a Vengeance Cast upon a Candlemaker,’” Lucy read out loud.
“Murder most foul,” said a man stepping into the room, followed by Adam. Lucy guessed he was Master Aubrey. A fat and balding man, the printer had spilled ink all across his person, so that it had stained his beard, his forehead, and his smock, as well as his hands. “But fortunate, too,” he added. Seeing Lucy’s quizzical look, he explained, “The dismal act of murder—vile, disgusting, monstrous—will make this piece easy to sell. Watch.”
Stepping out of his shop, Master Aubrey climbed onto a small bench. Adam and Lucy followed him outside. “Good people!” the printer called. “Let me tell you the true and most horrible story of Anne Johnson of Scarsbruck, a she-devil who poisoned her husband with an ill-begotten stew.”
Hearing Master Aubrey’s call, several passersby stopped to listen. A good story was always a treat, a murder even more enjoyable. Pushing up his sleeves on his heavy, sweaty arms, Master Aubrey launched into a sordid tale of greed, lust, and murder—the desperate plot of a woman weary of her husband’s adulterous ways. “The moral of this candlemaker’s sad end?” The printer wagged his finger at the men in the crowd. “Do not dip your wick in the neighbor’s tallow!”
The crowd let out a collective satisfied sigh. A few people cheered. The story complete, the people began to drift away, returning to their homes and stalls, with details of the murder carefully memorized. Master Aubrey and one of his printer’s devils scurried about, collecting coins from people who purchased the penny broadside to share with their families and neighbors, or even to post on their walls at home.
As they took their leave, Master Aubrey murmured something to Adam that Lucy did not catch. Lucy wondered what his business with the printer had been, but she knew she could not be so forward. Instead, she asked Adam how he knew the man.
“What? Oh, I’ve known Aubrey for some time now,” he said, sidestepping the question. “Say, Lucy, you have a brother? Will, is that right?” When Lucy nodded in surprise, he continued. “I know Aubrey’s looking for an apprentice, a turner. He wants an eager lad who knows his letters and who could belt out a right good story. Father says you’re quick enough, so I thought it might run in the family.”
Lucy shook her head. “Will cannot read so well. ’Sides, he’s fair settled with the smithy. I thank you for thinking of him, sir.” Her lips twisted ruefully. “Although if I were a man, I could think of no finer trade in which to apprentice.”
They fell silent as they walked along. Adam glanced at her. “So there was no coffee to be had at the market?” He looked pointedly at her basket.
Lucy