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  The street was anything but deserted, despite the darkness. People came and went from cookshops and taverns, groups of young toughs strolled about looking for whatever they could get into, streetwalkers sauntered wherever there was a bit of illumination, with their keepers (if they had one) lurking just out of sight of potential customers. There were ordinary working men and women, too, coming home late from their jobs. For a bit it would only be a little more dangerous to be out on the street than it was during the day.

  Skif had figured that this "Jarmin" would be somewhere nearby, but apparently he was wrong. They must have gone a good ten blocks before Lyle made a turn into a dead-end street that was very nicely lit up indeed.

  If the dim and sullen Hollybush had been at one extreme of the sorts of taverns frequented by the poor, this was at the other. The whole back of the cul-de-sac was taken up by a tavern blazing with tallow-dip lights; that had torches in holders right outside the door, and light spilling from parchment-covered windows. There was music, raucous laughter, the sounds of loud talk. A group of men were betting on a contest between two tomcats out in the street, and with them were three or four blowsy females of negotiable virtue, hanging on their arms and cheering on the two oblivious cats.

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  On either side of the tavern were shops, still open. Skif never got a chance to see what the one on the left sold, because they turned immediately into the one on the right.

  This was their goal; an old-clothes shop that specialized in fancy goods of all sorts, but mostly for women. Skif had a shrewd idea where most of the females from the tavern spent their hard-earned coins.

  Jarmin, a perfectly ordinary, clerkly sort of fellow, had an assistant to help him, and when he saw Lyle entering the front door, he left the customer he was attending to the assistant and ushered them both into the rear of the shop.

  "Have you got sleeves?" Jarmin asked, as soon as he dropped the curtain separating front from back behind them. "I particularly need sleeves. And veils. But particularly sleeves. And I don't suppose you've got silk stockings—"

  Lyle shrugged out of his pack, and Skif did the same. "Aye, Jarmin, all uv that. This's Skif; 'e's wi' us now. I'm be showin' 'im th' way uv things."

  "Yes, yes." Jarmin dismissed Skif entirely, his attention focused on the packs. "You know, if you just have some good sleeves and stockings, I can sell a dozen pairs tonight, for some reason—"

  "All or nowt, Jarmin. Ye know that. Ye takes all or nowt." Lyle had gone from lazy boy to shrewd salesman in the time it had taken to reach this place, and Skif marveled at him as he bargained sharply with the fretful shopkeeper. At length they arrived at a price that was mutually satisfactory, and Skif tried to look as indifferent as Lyle did. It was hard, though; he'd never seen so much money before in all his life.

  Aye, but that's from how much work? A week, mebbe? An' there's five uv us t'feed.

  Lyle divided the cash between them. "Just i'case," he said darkly, and showed Skif how to wrap it so that it didn't clink and tuck it inside his tunic where it wouldn't show. Only then did they ease out of the shop, 63

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  where already Jarmin had frowsty girls crowding around the counter demanding shrilly to see the new goods.

  If Lyle had set a brisk pace going out, he did better than that coming back.

  Only when they were safely in the building and heading up the stair did he finally slow down, with Skif panting behind.

  "Sorry," he said apologetically. "Hate goin' out. Got caught oncet, 'fore I worked fer Bazie."

  "No worries," Skif assured him. "I don' like it much, neither."

  In fact, he didn't feel entirely comfortable until he was safely back in Bazie's room, where they pulled out their packets of coin and turned the lot over to a grinning Bazie.

  "Good work," he told them both. "Fagged out?"

  " 'Bout ready t' drop," Skif admitted; now that they were back in the warmth and safety, the very long day, with all of its hard work and unexpected changes in his life suddenly caught up with him.

  "Not me!" Lyle declared, and made a growling face. "Ready t' match ye at draughts, ol' man!"

  Bazie chuckled. "Show th' young'un 'is cupbard, then, an' I'll get us set."

  Lyle pulled on Skif's sleeve, and took him to the side of the room opposite the laundry cauldron, where he opened what Skif had taken to be shutters over a window. Shutters they were, but they opened up to a cubby long enough to lie down in, complete with a straw-stuffed pallet, blankets, and a straw-stuffed cushion. By Skif's standards, it was a bed of unparalleled luxury, and he climbed up into it without a moment of hesitation.

  Lyle closed the shutters for him once he was settled, blocking out most of the light from the room beyond. Within moments, he was as cozy and warm as he had ever been in his life, and nothing was going to keep him awake. In fact, the sounds of laughter and dice rattling from the other room couldn't even penetrate into his most pleasant of dreams.

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  5

  If Skif thought he was going to get off easy by no longer attending lessons at the Temple, he got a rude awakening the next day.

  He was used to getting up early, and he woke— or so he guessed— at or near his usual time. For a moment, he was confused by the total darkness, scent of clean laundry and the lack of stench, and most of all, by the fact that he was warm and comfortable. He had never awakened warm and comfortable before. Even in the middle of summer, he was generally stiff from sleeping on the dirt floor, and except in the very hottest days and nights, had usually had all the heat leeched from his body by the floor.

  Initially he thought he was still dreaming, and moaned a little at the thought that now he was going to have to awaken to Kalchan, cold, and misery.

  Then he sat up, hit his forehead on the inside of the sleep cubby before he got more than halfway up, and remembered where he was. He lay back down— he hadn't hit his head that hard, since he hadn't tried to get up very fast.

  I'm at Bazie's. Ol' Kalchan's in trouble, deep, 'n so's m'nuncle. An' I don't never have t' go back t' th' tavern!

  He lay quietly on his back, stroking the woolen blanket with one hand, tracing the lines of each patch. It must have been patched and darned by Bazie; the seams were so neat and even. No one else was stirring, though, and for the first time he could remember, he lay back in his bed and just luxuriated in the freedom to lie abed as long as he cared to. Or as long as the others would let him— but it looked as if the rest were in no hurry to get about their business.

  What was this new life going to be like? The other three boys seemed content and well-nourished, and he couldn't see how a legless man like Bazie could force them to stay if they didn't want to. There would be hard work, and a lot of it; he knew that much from yesterday, when he'd hauled water all afternoon. Danger, too. Despite the fact that the other boys had a cavalier attitude about being caught, there was a lot of danger involved in 65

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  the life of even a petty thief, and the penalties were harsh. Plenty of people meted out their own punishments on those they nobbled, before the beaks were called, which generally meant a bad beating first, then being clapped in gaol, then any of a variety of punishments.

  Official punishments were many and varied, none of them very appealing.

  Which's the point, I s'pose. A thief could be transported to work in someone's fields, could be sent to work as a general dogsbody for the Guard, could be left in gaol, could get lashes— it all depended on the judge. That was for the first time you got caught. After that, the punishments were harsher.

  But he wouldn't think about that until after he'd been caught for the first time. If he was. If he was clever, fast, smart— he might never be. Why not? I bin keepin' from gettin' caught 'till now, an' I'm just a young'un.

  Ye'd think I'd just get smarter as I get bigger.

  There would be a lot of learning time, though, a great ma
ny menial chores as well, and he couldn't expect to share in the profits even his own hauls brought in for a while. That didn't matter; life here would be a paradise compared with what his life had been like at the tavern. In fact, he didn't much care if all he did was wash the stuff the others brought in for the next year! It wouldn't be any harder than working at the tavern, and he'd be full and warm all the time, with a bed like he'd never had before and clothing that wasn't more hole than fabric.

  He lay in the darkness contemplating his future until he heard someone stirring, heard the shutters of another bed open, and the pad of feet on the floor. He turned on his side and saw a flicker of light through the cracks in the shutters of his cubby. He pushed them open cautiously, and looked out.

  "Heyla, 'nother lark, eh?" Raf said genially. "Come gimme 'and, then."

  Skif hopped out and shut the cubby doors behind him. Raf was bent over the fire under the wash cauldron, coaxing a flame from the banked coals.

  "Take yon tallow dip, take a light from here, an' light them lamps," he ordered, jerking his head at a tallow dip on the otherwise clean table 66

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  behind him, barely visible in the dim and flickering light from the hand-sized fire. Skif picked it up, lit it at Raf's little fire, and went around the walls to relight the lamps he vaguely recalled hanging there. There were a lot of oil lamps— four! —and all of them were cobbler's lamps with globes of water-filled glass around the flame to magnify the light, the most expensive kind of oil lamp there was. Skif was impressed; he hadn't paid any attention before, other than to note absently that although this room didn't have any windows there was plenty of illumination. It was interesting; Bazie didn't spend money on luxuries, but in places where it counted— the good soap for the laundry, for instance, and the lighting, and decent fuel for the fireplace under the wash boiler, Bazie got the best.

  When he was done, he blew out the tallow dip and put it with the others in a broken cup above the firebox. By this time the shutters of another cubby, one just above Skif's, had been pushed open by a foot, and Deek's tousled head poked out.

  "Eh, Bazie?" he called, yawning. "Yon ge'op? Me'n Raf'r op. Young'un Skif, too."

  "Aye," came a muffled reply, and the shutter to a third eased open. This one was larger— taller, rather— and Bazie was sitting up inside, peering out at them, the stumps of his legs hidden under his blanket. Satisfied that the fire was well started, Raf got up, and Deek swung himself out and down onto the floor. The two of them went to Bazie's cubby and linked hands. Bazie put an arm around each of their shoulders and swung himself onto the "chair" made by their hands.

  They carried him to a door beside the one that led outside— one that Skif hadn't noticed before. Bazie let go of Raf's shoulder, which freed one of his hands, and opened it, and they carried him inside. There was evidently another room there that Skif had no notion existed.

  The door swung open enough to see inside. The room was a privy! Skif gaped, then averted his eyes to give Bazie a little privacy— but it wasn't just any privy, it was a real water closet, the kind only the rich had, and there was a basin in there as well. The boys shut the door and left their leader in there with the door closed until a little later, when a knock on the 67

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  door told he was finished. They carried him back to his usual spot beside the fire, directly under one of the lamps.

  "And mornin' t'ye, young'un," Bazie said genially.

  "Mornin' Bazie," Skif replied, wondering with all his might just how anyone had gotten a water closet built down here, and where Bazie had gotten the money to do so. And why—

  "Skif, ye're low mun now— 'tis yer task t' fetch water fer privy an' all,"

  said Bazie, which answered at least the question of where the water for flushing came from. "An' t'will be yer task t' keep it full. Which—" he added pointedly, "—it needs now."

  "Yessir," Skif said obediently, and went for the buckets. Well, at least one thing hadn't changed— here he was, fetching water first thing in the morning!

  It took about three trips to fill the tank above the privy and the pitcher at the basin, and another trip to fill the water butt that served for everything except the wash boiler. By that time all three boys were up and tidying the room at Bazie's direction. After a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and tea, he ordered them all to strip down and wash off, using the soapy laundry water and old pieces of towel which were dropped back into the wash cauldron when they were done. Then, much to Skif's utter amazement, instead of putting their old clothing on, they all got new, clean clothing—smallclothes and all— from the same cupboard as his outfit from yesterday had come out of. Their old clothing went straight into the piles waiting to be washed.

  "What's on yer mind, young'un?" Bazie asked as he tried to keep his eyes from bulging.

  "D'we— get new duds ev'ry day?" he asked, hardly able to believe it.

  "D'pends on how hard ye bin workin'," Bazie replied, "But aye, an' it'll be ev' third day at least. Ye're dirty, ye stan' out. Ye canna stan' out— an'

  mind wut I tol' ye 'bout smell. "

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  Skif minded very well, and he couldn't believe how thorough Bazie was; it was brilliant, really.

  "Thas' why yon fancy privy—" Raf said with a chuckle.

  "Heh. 'Twas coz ye didn' fancy carryin' me t' t'other, up an' down stair,"

  Bazie countered, and they both laughed. "But aye, could'a had earth closet, or jest dropped privy down t'sewer 'thout it bein' water closet, but there'd be stink, ye ken, an' that'd be on us an' on t'goods we washed, eh? So we got mun t' put in water closet when' we took't this place."

  Raf sighed. "Took a mort'o th' glim, it did," he said wistfully. "Didn' know ye'd saved tha' much, ye ol' skinflint."

  "Kep't fer when we needed't," Bazie replied. "Yer wuz liddler nor th'

  young'un. Had Ames an' Jodri an' Willem then— an' we made 't up quick enow."

  "Wut happened t' them? " Skif asked cautiously, fearing to uncover some old, bad news.

  But Bazie laughed. "Ames's off! Took't up wi' some travelin' show, run's t'

  cup'n'ball lay, liftin' i' th' crowd. Jodri, 'e's on 'is own, took't t' sum place t'South. An' Willem made th' big 'un— got hisself th' big haul, an' smart

  'nuff t' say, thassit. Bought hisself big 'ouse uv flats, like this'un, on'y in better part uv town, lives i' part an' rents out t'rest. Set fer life." Bazie chuckled, and Skif sighed with relief. If Bazie wasn't lying— and there was no reason to think that he was— then his "pupils" had done well for themselves.

  And so should he.

  It also spoke well that Bazie was perfectly pleased about their success and didn't begrudge them their independence.

  "Nah, young'un, ye did good yestiddy, but 'tis in m'mind that mebbe ye shouldn' be seed fer a bit?" Bazie made a question out of it, and Skif was in total agreement with him.

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  "If th' Guard's got inta it— what wi' th' girl Maisie an' all— mebbe they lookin' fer me," Skif replied. "Ol' Kalchan, well, 'e got hisself in bad deep, an' Guard'll be lookin' fer witness t' whut 'e done. An' ol' Londer, 'e'll be lookin' fer me t'shet me up."

  "No doubt. Mebbe— permanent." Bazie lost that expression of pleasant affability that Skif had become accustomed to. "I know sumthin' uv ol'

  Londer, an'— mebbe 'e wouldn' dirty 'is 'ands personal, but 'e knows plenty as would take a 'int 'bout gettin' ye quiet."

  Skif shuddered. He had no doubt about that. " 'F I'm not 'bout, 'e'll let ol'

  Kalchan 'ang. Specially 'f Kalchan don' ever wake up. An' 'e'll say, 'e didn'

  know nothin' 'bout th' girl, an' no one t' say otherwise."

  Londer had three sons, after all. He could afford to lose one.

  Hellfires, 'e'll prolly get a girl and breed him a couple more, just t' be on th' safe side, Skif thought with disgust. He rather doubted that his uncle's long-dead spouse had
enjoyed a love match with the man, for Londer never mentioned or even thought of her so far as he could tell. And Londer wouldn't have any trouble finding another bride either. All he had to do was go down to the neighborhood where the Hollybush had been or one like it, and he could buy himself a wife with a single gold piece. There were dozens of husbands who would sell him their own wives, or their daughters, brothers who would sell sisters, dozens of women who would sell him their own selves.

  Well, that was hardly anything Skif could do something about.

  "I think ye're gonna be m'laundry maid fer a fortn't or so, young'un," Bazie said. Skif was disappointed by that, of course, but there really wasn't any way around it. He had to agree, himself. He didn't want to get picked up by the Guard, and he surely didn't want his uncle looking to keep him quiet. There wasn't going to be any excitement in washing up scarves and veils— but he figured he might as well put a good face on it.

  "Nawt s'bad," he replied, as cheerfully as he could. "Don' mind doin'

  laundry, 'specially bein' as it's pretty cold out there."

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  Raf, Lyle, and Deek looked pretty pleased over the situation, though.

  Well, they should be, since it got them out of hauling water, washing, and taking out whatever trash couldn't be burned.

  "Cheer up," Raf said, clapping him on the back. "Bazie's nawt s'bad comp'ny, eh, Bazie? An' 'tis warm enuf in 'ere, real cozy-like. Better nor that there 'Ollybush, eh?"

  "Oh, aye, an' 'e ain't 'eerd all me tales yet," Bazie laughed. "So I got an audience wut won' fall asleep on me!"