“Railway Street,” Emily said. She was due to meet Caleb and Frieda there. “I hear it’s quite impressive.”
“It is,” Callam assured her. “I’ll be happy to take you there. It’s Mr. Vesperian’s pride and joy.”
Chapter Nine
RAILWAY STREET WAS DOMINATED, UNSURPRISINGLY, BY a steam engine that was only three years old, but already outdated. The first steam engine was in Alexis, on display near Paren’s former workshop; this one, according to the placard underneath it, was the first steam locomotive to be designed in Beneficence. It looked like a giant wooden kettle, mounted on a wooden carriage. Emily suspected it had been outdated long before it had first been driven up the track, but building it had probably taught the local artisans a great deal about how to complete the job.
She took a moment to admire the sight, then allowed her gaze to wander down the street. A dozen other steam engines stood there, all clearly wooden mock-ups rather than real locomotives. Dozens of children clambered over them, waving to their friends and families as they posed on the tops or jumped down to the street. One of the engines – a little tank engine – had a large smiley face drawn on the front. The children seemed to find it delightful.
“Emily,” a voice called. She turned to see Caleb, hurrying over to her. “Did you have a good time?”
“I had an odd invitation.” Emily gave him a quick hug, then drew back. If Vesperian and Callam had identified her, who else might be watching? She’d have to use a glamour if she wanted to go out in public. “Where’s Frieda?”
“Just visiting the bookstalls,” Caleb said. “I said I’d wait for you here.”
Emily had to smile. Frieda hadn’t made a bad guess. Emily probably would have visited the bookstalls, if Caleb hadn’t found her first. Frieda had certainly followed Emily through a dozen bookshops and stalls back in Dragon’s Den. She took Caleb’s hand and allowed him to lead her into a side street lined with small stalls. A dozen of them sold newly-printed books. Beyond them, a broadsheet singer offered the latest broadsheets from three different printers.
“There she is.” Caleb nodded towards one of the larger stalls. “Do you think you should be concerned about her reading matter?”
“Not as long as she doesn’t take it back to Whitehall,” Emily muttered, as she saw a particularly lurid cover. “She’ll be in trouble if someone catches her with it.”
She shook her head in annoyance as they walked over to join Frieda. She’d introduced the printing press, knowing it would make books cheaper…yet she hadn’t considered all of the ramifications. Textbooks had become cheaper and more widely distributed, true, but the publishing industry had also boomed. Cheap novels had started to spring up all over the continent, including hundreds – perhaps thousands – of blue books. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by the growing mass of erotic fiction, almost all of it tame compared to some of the fan fiction she’d read, but it was still disconcerting. Blue books were banned at Whitehall, Mountaintop and probably every other magical and mundane school in the world. Somehow, that hadn’t put a dent in their popularity.
“Emily.” Frieda turned, holding a pair of books tucked under her arms. Emily decided it would be better to pretend she hadn’t seen the cover. She doubted anyone’s body could bend that way. “What happened at the bank?”
“I’ll tell you over lunch,” Emily said. “Coming?”
Frieda paid, then jerked a hand towards the furthest store. “You probably should take a look at that one,” she said. “There’s stuff about Zangaria there.”
Emily frowned. “Stuff?
“About King Randor, about Alassa…about everyone,” Frieda said. “I glanced at a couple of pamphlets, Emily. They make Alassa out to be like one of the girls from Sapphic Sorceress Sisters. She’s having an affair with her handmaid as well as her husband…”
She led Emily down the street and up to the stall before Emily could formulate a coherent response. The stall was covered in pamphlets and broadsheets, including a handful of hand-drawn cartoons. She glanced through a couple, then shook her head in disgust. Alassa wasn’t the only one being slandered, depending on the writer. King Randor, Baroness Harkness and Baron Gaunt were accused of all sorts of perversions, while Sir Roger of the Greenwood had apparently been partying in Farrakhan during the war. That, at least, she knew to be a lie. He and his men had played a major role in saving the city from the first enemy attack.
“They’ve been fighting the battle of the broadsheets for a long time,” Caleb said, quietly. “I don’t think anyone’s managed to ban them from the city.”
Emily nodded, reluctantly. Journalism in Zangaria – and the rest of the world – was still in its infancy. Truth and justice took a backseat to sensation and titillation. King Randor had probably banned most of these broadsheets – she could pick out a couple of familiar names – but he’d find it impossible to keep them out of his kingdom completely. The printers could pay a couple of kids to distribute them, then pull up stakes and vanish. They’d never be caught.
“I’ll have to discuss it with Alassa,” she said. She suspected it would be pointless – Alassa couldn’t do anything about it either – but it probably needed to be mentioned. The tensions in Zangaria continued to rise, from what she’d heard. Slanderous suggestions about the Crown Princess’s personal life would only undermine her position when she took the throne. “Do you want to pick a place for lunch?”
Frieda nodded and led the way back to Railway Street. Emily followed, holding Caleb’s hand and thinking hard. Were there stories about her on the stall? It was hard to imagine anything worse than the songs she’d heard, shortly after defeating Shadye, but she knew her imagination in such matters was limited. The bards had come up with all sorts of explanations for her victory, ranging from the possible to the outrageous. And there was nothing she could do about that, either.