Arzath the Red's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Arzath returned to the warehouse the next morning with a notebook and pencil. He needed to understand the basics before risking everything. His fingers traced the metal type pieces in his satchel, feeling each raised letter. A printing press required more than courage—it demanded knowledge. He sat on the dusty floor and sketched designs from memory, trying to recall diagrams he'd seen years ago. The mechanics escaped him. He needed a teacher, someone who knew the craft. Standing, he brushed off his coat and headed back toward the streets. The Black Cask would have answers if he asked the right questions. The barkeep pointed him toward a man at the corner table. The stranger wore ink-stained gloves and smelled of chemicals. He asked for coin first, then leaned close. Paper would be the hardest thing to secure. The mills tracked every sheet they produced. Arzath needed a supplier outside the city's control. Three days later, a cart arrived at the warehouse entrance. The driver unloaded stacks bound in dark leather, each bundle wrapped tight. Gothic patterns decorated the covering. Arzath carried them inside and counted. Enough paper for a hundred pamphlets, maybe more. Working in darkness drew too much attention. Arzath needed light that wouldn't alert the patrols. He returned to the Black Cask and asked about alternatives. A woman at the bar mentioned a trader who dealt in strange goods. Arzath found him two streets over. The man pulled out a glass orb that glowed with soft light. Shadows and brightness mixed together inside it. Perfect for night work without the telltale flicker of torches. Arzath bought two. Storage presented another problem. He couldn't keep everything inside the warehouse. If soldiers searched the building, they'd find it all. Arzath walked the streets looking for something ordinary, something that belonged. He found it outside a shuttered shop—a black metal newspaper box with gothic details carved into the sides. He bought it from the owner and placed it where he needed it most. The box had space beneath the false bottom. Ink bottles fit perfectly inside, along with extra paper. To anyone passing by, it looked like it had always been there. Arzath had his materials now. The press itself would come next.