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- Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Iris Rourke feels useless. She’s an underpaid copy editor, which means she usually spends her days battling misspellings, unnecessary Oxford commas (like the one the editor has inserted here!), and bad font choices that most people won’t even notice. But then she gets an email that offers her a surprising new use for her grammar skills and eye for detail: taking on an international crew of hackers.
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Seitenzahl: 19
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
i, by Steve Hockensmith
ACTUAL EDITOR’S NOTE
ACTUAL PUBLISHER’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2017 by Steve Hockensmith.
Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Sept/Oct 2017.
Published by Wildside Press, LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
i,by Steve Hockensmith
It was that damn f again. That sneaky, thieving, Chance Bold f.
“What about it?” said Brian, the designer.
Iris pointed over his shoulder at the layout on his computer screen.
“Look at ‘fiscal’ and ‘fiduciary’ and ‘fiberboard,’” she said.
Brian squinted at the text on the page he was designing. “Yeah?”
“You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
Iris stifled a sigh.
Brian was new. Young. He didn’t know about the Chance Bold f.
He didn’t know about her.
“Look at the f and the i,” Iris said.
Brian squinted harder.
“Ohhhh,” he said.
There was no dot over the i.
In the Chance Bold font, the line across the middle of a lowercase f—the “cross stroke,” Iris knew it was properly called—stretched itself out beyond its usual borders. And if an i followed: no dot. The cross stroke invaded its space, stole its spot, blotted it out.
“Does it matter?” Brian said.
Iris stared down at him in shock. She tried to loom over him in a wrathful, righteously indignant sort of way, but she was barely five feet tall, and he was more than six, so it was hard to work up a good loom even when he was seated.
Brian just kept squinting at his Mac.
“I mean, no one’s gonna notice,” he went on. “Who cares?”
“I do,” Iris snarled.
Brian finally looked up at her in surprise.
Iris usually didn’t snarl. Her voice was the opposite of the fat, brash, brassy Chance Bold. It was a wispy, thin Calibri Light kind of voice. Not even 12 point. More like 6. Barely there.
“Adjust the kerning around the f’s or use a different font. I don’t care which,” Iris said, not snarling now but not purring either. “Just make sure every i has its tittle.”
“Its what?” Brian said, eyes widening even more.
Iris felt her face flush. Had she ever referred to the dot over an i by its proper name and not ended up embarrassed? Would she ever learn not to bother being correct?
