"Klaussen is not lying to you," Karl told Annabet. He took a seat close to Bertha and accepted a batch of narrow wooden rods from her. He began whittling them into hooks.

"So we have a printer who knows how to print." Annabet waited for the excited whispers to die down. "We still have to deal with the Groenenbachs and the city council. If they suspect anything, we will still lose the press."

Bertha, searching through her bag for her misplaced hook, said, "So hide it."

Two weeks later, the door to the shop slammed open again. Gottfried Groenenbach swaggered in backed by five bravos. "Where's the printer?"

Twelve women scrambled to keep their lights from being blown out by the wind gusting in. Annabet ordered him to shut the door. "Were you raised in a barn?"

She had the pleasure of seeing him gape at the freshly painted walls. Racks of spindles, knitting needles, crochet hooks and sewing scissors were on the wall opposite the door. There were bundles of prepared fiber waiting to be spun. Stiff paper bobbins that held various kinds of crocheted lace filled in any gaps. It was a craft woman's dream and a bully boy's ultimate confusion.

"Well, were you?" Annabet demanded.

"This is a print shop!"

The women tittered. The bravos shifted uneasily.

"Does this look like a print shop?" Annabet asked.

Gottfried looked around and tromped through the assembled maids.

The women drew their feet back and pulled their skirts out of his path, much like they would do for a filthy, snarling mongrel.

"You're up to something," he said.

"Yes," Annabet agreed. "I am up to teaching crochet. Would you like to learn? I charge by the hour."

Gottfried snarled at the sniggerer by the door. He gave the shop one last glare then stomped out.