Chapter 112 - Hundred And Twelve
The small, worn wooden table in the corner of the bustling marketplace felt surprisingly private amidst the chaos. Delia carefully placed a small leather pouch, heavy with the promised coins, onto the table. " Here’s the remaining payment I promised you, Owen." She said. The dull thud of the pouch landing was almost swallowed by the surrounding sounds of vendors hawking their wares and the chatter of the crowd.
Across from her, Owen, his face smudged with crumbs and sugar, was deeply engrossed in devouring a stack of pastries. His small hands clutched a half-eaten tea cake, and his cheeks bulged with the next bite he was determined to take. He ate hurriedly, as if afraid the treats would vanish before he could finish them all.
"Don’t hunch down your food like that, you will choke," Delia said gently, a hint of amusement mixed with her concern. She watched him with a fond expression, her own meal untouched beside her.
Owen paused, a sheepish look spreading across his face. He swallowed quickly, a slight cough escaping him. "I’m sorry, Lady Delia, sorry, Your Grace," he mumbled, his eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and continued hunger.
Delia smiled softly. "You can call me Lady Delia, don’t worry about it."
Owen nodded his head eagerly and returned to his tea cake. "This is delicious," he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I have never had anything like it." He took another large bite, a crumb falling onto his worn tunic.
Delia’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a touch of sadness. "Didn’t you eat last night? I thought with how good the gossip was, you would have had lots of profit for your master." She knew the harsh realities of Owen’s life, a twelve-year-old boy working tirelessly for a printing press owner who often prioritized profit over the well-being of his young apprentice.
Owen’s chewing slowed. "Well, I did sell a lot of pamphlets yesterday, my lady." A flicker of pride crossed his face. "My master was so pleased with how I got a good story, he rewarded me with a small bed." He paused his eating, his gaze meeting Delia’s with a hint of curiosity. "But how did you find information about your dyes being sold in the southern isles?"
Delia leaned back slightly in her chair, the seriousness of their conversation settling over her. She glanced around the bustling marketplace, ensuring their conversation was not being overheard. "I received an anonymous note on my honeymoon," she began, her voice low and steady. "That was when I sent you that letter, asking you to share it around the printing press as a gossip." She watched Owen carefully, ensuring he was following her explanation.
"A friend of mine sent me a letter that confirmed the note," she continued, a hint of a wry smile playing on her lips. "Lady Isla, you remember her, the owner of the Gilded Cage? She wrote to me, mentioning that a friend in the southern isles had seen the same unique shade of red dye I sold to her. That was when I was absolutely sure about my plan."
Delia paused, allowing Owen to process the information. He looked thoughtful, the half-eaten tea cake still clutched in his hand.
"When you told me the papers were ready," Delia continued, "I told you to deliver them to everyone except the Ellington manor" A shadow of determination crossed her face. "I had my reasons. I was targeting someone within that circle, and I knew no one would suspect a twelve-year-old boy delivering pamphlets."