Paper! Paperboy!

Later that afternoon, Willem found himself sitting cross-legged on the edge of St. Pete's fountain, munching on a roll Roland had snuck him as "payment" for delivering some flour. He was halfway through when Elizabeth reappeared, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"I've got an idea," she announced, plopping down next to him.

"That's already terrifying," Willem said, chewing. "You've got that look—like the time Tommy tried to juggle chickens. Didn't end well for him or the chickens."

Elizabeth ignored him. "I want you to come with me to the capital."

Willem choked on his bread. "What?"

"You heard me," Elizabeth said, her eyes sparkling. "You're clever, quick on your feet—well, mostly—and you're not afraid to speak your mind. You'd be perfect."

"Perfect for what exactly? Cleaning nobles' boots?"

"No," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "I mean as my... assistant."

"Assistant?" Willem repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Do I look like I know how to polish a tiara or whatever it is assistants do?"

Elizabeth grinned. "No, but you're resourceful. And besides, you could use a change of scenery. Don't you want to see the capital? It's bigger, brighter—"

"Busier, louder, and probably full of people like your friend Sir Stuck-Up," Willem interrupted.

Elizabeth huffed. "You're impossible."

"And you're delusional," Willem said, leaning back on his hands. "No offense, but people like me don't just waltz into the capital. It's not exactly a paperboy-friendly place."

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him. "Why not?"

Willem shrugged, his usual humor dimming slightly. "Because people see this"—he gestured to himself—"and think, 'Oh, another poor street rat. Better keep an eye on my purse.' That's just how it is."

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, then smirked. "You're underestimating me, paperboy."

"Am I?" Willem said dryly.

"Yes," she said confidently. "Because I've already thought of a solution."

"Oh, this should be good," Willem muttered, taking another bite of bread.

"You'll be my scribe," Elizabeth declared.

Willem nearly spat out his bread. "Your what?"

"Scribe," she repeated. "You'll carry my books, take notes, and maybe fetch the occasional pastry. It's perfect!"

"Perfectly ridiculous," Willem said. "I can't even read half the words in those fancy books of yours."

"That's fine,"

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. "You don't need to actually read them. Just look official. Stand around with a quill and parchment, nod a lot, and occasionally mutter, 'Fascinating.' No one will question it."

Willem stared at her. "You're serious."

"As serious as Sir Eamon's boot collection," Elizabeth said, grinning.

Willem groaned, rubbing his face. "You really think this'll work?"

"Of course!" she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And think of the possibilities! You'll see the capital, meet interesting people, maybe even eat something other than Roland's bread for once."

"I like Roland's bread," Willem muttered.

Elizabeth leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And best of all, you'll get to annoy Sir Eamon as much as you want."

Willem hesitated. The thought of seeing the capital was tempting. And annoying Sir Eamon? That was practically a dream job. Still, there was the matter of... well, everything else.

"I don't know," he said finally. "What if someone recognizes me as a nobody?"

Elizabeth smirked. "Then we'll make sure you don't look like a nobody."