Take a Thief (5 page)

Deek paused at the end, and grinned back over his shoulder at Skif.

"Figger it out, yet?" he taunted, then pulled on a hook.

A door separated itself from the cracked plaster, the lines of the door previously completely hidden in the cracks.

Deek motioned to Skif to go inside, and closed the door behind him. Now they went down a stair, more of a ladder than a staircase, one somehow sandwiched between the walls of buildings on all four sides; and in a moment, Skif realized that this must be an air shaft, and at some point someone had jury-rigged a stair inside it. There were windows looking into the shaft, but most of them had shutters over them to keep out the cold air. They climbed down and down until they passed through the bottom of the shaft, and Skif knew that they were below street level. If he hadn't already guessed that, the sudden increase in dampness would have given it away.

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Take a Thief

There was a door at the bottom of the stair; Deek knocked on this one in a definite pattern that Skif didn't quite catch. The door swung open, and Deek grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

Another boy, this one older than Deek, with hair of a mousy blonde color, closed the door behind them. Skif stood at Deek's side, and took it all in without saying a word.

It was warm down here, warm and humid. The source of the warmth was a—

—copper wash boiler. Which was also the source of the moisture. It sat in a brickwork oven in the far corner of the stone-walled room, a chimney running up the corner behind it, with a fine fire burning beneath it, and presumably, laundry soaking in it. Hanging just below the ceiling were strings of drying wash.

Silk objects hung there, expensive silk, mostly scarves and handkerchiefs, a few veils, some lady's stockings and finely-knit silk gloves— and a few perfectly ordinary shirts and tunics and trews, stockings, all darned and patched.

Well, hey, if they're washin' the swag, they might's well wash their own
stuff, I guess.

The fire beneath the cauldron, despite the name of "wash boiler" was not hot enough to boil the water, only to keep it warm. Next to the cauldron was a remarkable figure, seated on a stack of flat cushions, busily darning the heel of a silk stocking with fingers as fine and flexible as a woman's.

He was bald, shiny-pated in fact, with enormous shoulders and chest muscles beneath a shabby tunic. The legs of his equally patched trews were folded under at the knee, as Deek had implied. He didn't look up from his work.

There were two more boys in the room, one stirring the laundry with a stick, the other cracking and peeling hardboiled eggs at an old table with one broken leg propped up and crudely nailed to an old keg. Skif tried not to look at the eggs; his pilfered lunch had long since worn thin. Besides 25

Take a Thief

the table and the stool the boy sat on, of furnishings there were none.

There were boxes in various states of repair, old kegs, half-barrels, and a wide variety of cushions, quilts, and other linens. Anything that was made of fabric, unlike the rest of the contents of the room, was neatly patched and darned and in good repair— and clean, very clean. There was plenty of light here, from a motley assortment of lamps and candles. And there was definitely one thing missing— the usual smell of poverty, compounded of dirt, mildew, grease, mouse, and sweat.

The man finished his darning and, with a gusty sigh, tossed the stocking in with the rest of the laundry in the wash boiler. Only then did he look up.

His eyes, a startling black, seemed to bore right into Skif's brain.

"Where ye get this'un?" he asked Deek, turning his gaze on Skif's companion.

If Deek had possessed such a thing as a cap, he'd probably have snatched it off and held it diffidently in front of him in both hands. As it was, he ducked his head. " 'E caught me, Bazie," Deek told the man. " 'E wuz in th'

wash-house loft, an' 'e caught me cummin' in." Then, having gotten the difficult bit over with— admitting that he'd been caught by a mere child, he continued with more enthusiasm, describing Skif's own "lay" and his wish to be taught. The other two boys pretended not to listen, but Skif caught them watching him surreptitiously.

"Figgered 'e cud take Larap's place, mebbe, if'n 'e makes it past sixmun,"

Deek concluded, looking hopefully at his mentor.

Now Bazie transferred his unwavering gaze to Skif. "Ye livin' rough?" he asked, and Skif knew that he'd better tell the truth.

"At Hollybush," he replied shortly. "Kalchan's m'cuz, Londer's m'nuncle."

Evidently Bazie knew the Hollybush, since he didn't ask where or what it was. His gaze became even more piercing. "Bonded?"

With relief Skif shook his head. "Nuh-
uh!
" he denied vigorously. "Ma didn' bond me 'fore she croaked. Londer's pretty het 'bout it, but ain't 26

Take a Thief

nothin' 'e kin do now. An' 'e niver cud put me out, 'cuz 'e took me in, on th'

rolls an all, reckonin' t' get me bonded."

A bonded child was just short of property; required to serve in whatever capacity his "guardian" chose until he was sixteen, for the privilege of being sheltered and fed. Skif's mother had neglected (perhaps on purpose) to bond her toddler to her brother when her man left her and she fell ill—she worsened and died before Londer could get the bond signed and sworn to. It was too late now; no notary would swear to a faked bond. Well— no notary would swear to a faked bond for the pittance of a bribe that was all that Londer would offer.

By the point when Skif's mother died, Londer was already on record with the same Temple Beel served at as the responsible party for his sister and nephew (hoping to get Skif's bond). As such, he was technically required by law to care for Skif until the age of twelve without any benefit. At twelve, which was no more than a couple of years away, he
could
turn Skif out, but he probably wouldn't. Skif was still supplying free labor at no real cost to him, and as long as that was going on, Londer would let sleeping dogs lie.

Now, the fact was that although Skif was under no obligation to serve at the Hollybush for his keep, the
only
thing he could coerce out of Kalchan and Londer was a place to sleep. The food they offered him— the leavings from customers' meals— a pig wouldn't touch. If he wanted to eat, he had to either find alternate ways of getting meals (as he had) or do even more work than he already was. And as long as he wanted to sleep at the Hollybush, which though wretched, was infinitely better and safer than trying to find a place on the street, he had to obey Kalchan's orders whenever he was around the tavern. There were a lot of things that could happen to a child on the street— "living rough" —and most of them were far worse than being beaten now and again by Kalchan, who had no taste for little boys or girls.

'Course, if 'e thunk 'e cud get away wit' it, 'e'd hev no prollem sellin' me.

Kalchan would sell his own mother's services if he thought he wouldn't get caught. As it was, on the rare occasions when Skif got dragooned into

"helping," he often had to endure the surreptitious caresses and whispered enticements of some of the customers who had wider ideas of pleasure 27

Take a Thief

than Kalchan did. As long as Kalchan didn't actually accept money in advance for the use of Skif's body, there was nothing that Skif could report to Temple or Guard.

And as long as Kalchan didn't take money in advance, the customers could only try to entice a boy; they wouldn't dare try to force him in public. The likelihood of one of them cornering Skif somewhere private was nonexistent. There wasn't a wall built he couldn't climb, and he knew every dirty-fighting trick there was for getting away from an adult.

After some time, during which Skif felt very uncomfortable, Bazie nodded. Now, at last, he showed a faint sign of satisfaction. " 'E might cud do," he said to Deek. "Give 'im a try."

Deek grinned, and elbowed him.

"Wouldn' mind puttin one i' th'eye uv that bastid Londer," Bazie continued, a gleam in his own black eyes. "Yew work out in one moon, yer in."

Deek sucked in his breath; he had told Skif it would be
six
moons, not one, before he'd be accepted into the gang. Skif was amazed himself, and tried hard not to grin, but failed.

Bazie raised an eyebrow. "Don' get cocky," he cautioned. " 'Tis as much t'

put one i' the eye uv Londer."

Skif ducked his head. "Yessir," he said earnestly. "I unnerstan' sir." But he couldn't help feeling excited. "Ye'll be teachin' me, then?"

"Ye kin start now, at boiler," Bazie grunted, gesturing to the boy at the cauldron. "Ye take Lyle's stick."

Skif was not at all loath. For the second time today— the first had been when he was asleep in the wash-house loft— he was warm. Stirring a cauldron full of laundry was nowhere near as much work as toting rubbish for the rag-and-bone men.

28

Take a Thief

Lyle was happy enough to give over the stick to Skif, who industriously stirred away at the simmering pot. Every so often, at Bazie's imperious gesture, he'd lift out a kerchief or some other piece of fabric on the stick. If Bazie approved, the second boy took it and hung it up to dry; if not, it went back in the pot.

Meanwhile Deek sorted his loot by color into baskets along the wall; Bazie, darning yet another silk stocking, noted Skif's incredulous stare as he did so, and snorted. "Ye think 'm gonna ruin goods w' dye runnin'?

Think agin! We gets
twice
fer th' wipes 'cause they's clean an' mended, boy— thas a fair piece fer damn liddle work wi' no risk!"

Well, put that way—

Skif kept stirring.

Lyle began taking down kerchiefs that were dry; Bazie continued to mend, and Deek picked through one of the baskets, looking for more things that needed fixing. The third boy finished peeling the hard-boiled eggs, and stood up.

" 'M off, Bazie," he said. He was clearly the oldest, and Bazie looked up from his mending to level a measuring gaze at him.

"Ye mind, now," the man said, carefully. "Ye mind whut I said, Raf. Ye slip
one,
an' move on. No workin' a crowd on yer lone."

The boy Raf nodded impatiently with one hand on the doorknob. As soon as Bazie finished speaking, he was already out the door. Bazie shook his head.

"He don' lissen," the man said with gloom.

"Ah, he lissens," Deek assured their mentor. " 'E's jest inna hurry. They's a street fair a-goin' by Weavers, an' 'e wants t' get to't afore they pockets is empty."

Bazie didn't seem convinced, but said nothing to Deek. "Lemme see yer hands," he said to Skif instead, but shook his head sadly over the stubby paws that Skif presented for his inspection. "Ye'll not suit th' liftin' much,"

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Take a Thief

he decreed. " 'Least, ye'll nivver be a master. Ye got t'hev long finners fer the liftin'. Kin ye climb?"

Deek answered for him. "Like a squirrel, I seen 'im," the boy chimed in cheerfully. "An' look at 'is nose an' feet— 'e ain't gonna get big for a good bit yet, maybe not fer years."

Bazie examined him carefully from top to toes. "I thin' yer right," he said after a moment. "Aye. Reckon ye got a matey, Deek."

"That'll do," Deek replied, with a grin, and turned to Skif. "We'll be learnin' ye th' roof walkin', then, wi' me. In an' out— winders, mostly."

"An' ye live t' see summer, ye'll be doin' the night walks," Bazie said with a little more cheer. "Won't be wipes yer bringin' 'ome then, nossir."

Deek snorted, and Skif felt his heart pounding with excitement. "Not likely!" Deek said with scorn. "Wipes? More like glimmers!"

"Ye bring 'ome the glimmers, and we'll be findin' new digs, me lads,"

Bazie promised, his eyes gleaming with avid greed. "Aye that, 'tis us'll be eatin' beef an' beer when we like, an' from cookshop!"

Lyle, however, looked worried, though he said nothing. Skif wondered why. It was clear from the wealth of kerchiefs— "wipes" —and other things here that Bazie was a good teacher. Skif saw no reason why that expertise shouldn't extend to second-story work and the theft of jewelry.

He'd never actually seen any jewelry that wasn't fake, all foiled glass and tin, but he could imagine it. He could imagine being able to eat all he liked of the kinds of food he served to Lord Orthallen's guests, too, and possessing fine clothing that wasn't all patches and tears—

" 'Nuff moon-calfin'," Bazie said sharply, recalling them all to the present.

"Boy— Skif— be any more i' the pot?"

"Jes' this," Skif said, fishing out the last of the garments on the end of the stick. Bazie examined it, and grunted.

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Take a Thief

"That'll do," he decreed, and Lyle took it to hang it up. "Deek, next lot."

Deek brought over the next batch of wash, which was of mingled saffrons, tawnys and bright yellows, and dumped it in the cauldron. Lyle got up and took the stick from Skif without being prompted and began energetically thrusting the floating fabric under the water.

"Ye kin hev two eggs, Boy, an' then Deek'll get ye 'thin sight uv Hollybush," Bazie declared. "Eat 'em on th' way."

"Yessir!" Skif said, overjoyed, mouth watering at the idea of having two whole boiled eggs for himself. He picked a pair out of the bowl, tucking them in a pocket, and followed Deek out the door and up the rickety staircase.

Once down on the street he and Deek strolled along together like a pair of old friends, Deek putting in a laconic comment now and again, while Skif nibbled at his eggs, making them last. He'd had boiled eggs before this—they were a regular item at Lord Orthallen's table— but not so often that he didn't savor every tiny bite. Once Deek darted over to a vendor's wagon and came back with a pair of buns, paying for them (somewhat to Skif's surprise) and handing one to his new "mate."

"Why didn' ye nobble 'em?" he asked in a whisper.

Deek frowned. "Ye don' mess yer nest," he admonished. "Tha's Bazie's first rule. Ye don' take nuthin' from neighbors. Tha' way, they don' know what we does, an' 'f hue-an'-cry goes up, they ain't gonna he'p wi' lookin'