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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, 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.
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 f 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 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 many 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
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