Blue eyes? Whose blue eyes? He didn't know anyone with blue eyes.
Abruptly, the bell signifying the end of the service rang, and he started awake.
Huh, he thought with bemusement. Haven't dreamed this much in — can't 'member when. Must've been ev'thin' I et!
He got to his feet when the priests were gone, sauntered out of the sanctuary, and joined the rest of the pupils now gathering for their lessons.
But today was going to be different. For the first time ever, he put real effort into his attempts to master numbers. If he was going to have a position with Bazie's gang, he didn't want the authorities looking for him to clap him back into lessons. There was always a chance that they would catch him. If that happened, his uncle would know exactly where to find him.
No, the moment that Bazie had a place for him, he wanted to be able to pass his test and get released from school. Then he could disappear, and Uncle Londer could fume all he wanted. At the moment, he couldn't see how hanging with Bazie's gang could be anything but an improvement over the Hollybush.
His determination communicated itself to his tutor, and the younger boy put more enthusiasm into the lesson than Skif had expected. By the end of it, he'd made more progress in that single morning than he had in the four years he'd been taking lessons.
When lessons were over and the bell rang, he got ready to shoot out the door with the rest, but before he could, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him in his seat.
Beel. He must have noticed something was different. Skif's stomach knotted, and his heart sank. He was in trouble, he must be — and for once, he didn't know why, or for what reason. And that made it worse.
“You can all go — ,” said Beel, whose hand, indeed, it was — but Beel's hand kept Skif pinned where he was.
Only when the room had emptied did Beel remove his hand from Skif's shoulder, and the young priest came around in front of him to stand looking down at him soberly.
“Skif — do you do work at the tavern in the afternoons?” Beel asked, a peculiarly strained expression on his face.
What?
Skif hesitated. If he told the truth, surely Beel would tell his father that Skif was a regular at playing truant from the Hollybush, and he would be in trouble. But if he didn't — Beel was a priest, and might be able to tell, and he would be in worse trouble.
But Beel didn't wait for him to make up his mind about his answer. “I want you to do something for me, Skif,” he said urgently, his eyes full of some emotion Skif couldn't recognize. “I want you to promise me that today you won't go near the tavern from the time lessons let out until the time darkness falls.”
The look Skif wore on his face must have been funny, since Beel smiled thinly. “I can't tell you why, Skif, but I hope that you can at least trust the priest if you can't trust your cousin. My father… is not as clever as he thinks he is. Someone is angry, angry at him, and angry at Kalchan. I think, unless he can be persuaded to curb his anger, that he is going to act this afternoon. You have nothing to do with all this, and you do not deserve to be caught in the middle.”
And with those astonishing words, Beel turned and left, as he always did, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transpired between them.
After a moment, Skif shook off his astonishment and slowly left the building. Once out in the sunlight, he decided that whatever Beel was hinting at didn't really matter, because he had no notion of going back to the tavern during the day anyway. He was going to meet Deek, and get his first lessons in the fine art of thievery!
Deek wasn't lurking anywhere on the way to the building where Bazie's “laundry” was, but Skif remembered the way back to Bazie's, including the secret passages, perfectly. He suspected that this was his first test, and when he rapped on the door in an approximation of Deek's knock, it was Deek himself who opened it with a grin.
“I tol' ye 'e'd 'member!” Deek crowed, drawing Skif inside.
“An’ I agreed wi' ye,” Bazie said agreeably. “If 'e hadn', 'e wouldn' be much use, would'e?”
There was new laundry festooning the ceiling today — stockings and socks. Only Lyle was with Bazie and Deek; the third boy was nowhere to be seen.
“ 'J'eet yet?” asked Lyle, as Deek drew him inside. At Skif's head shake, the other boy wordlessly gestured at the table, where half of a decent cottage loaf of brown bread waited, with some butter and a knife. Beside it was a pot of tea and mugs. Buttered bread, half eaten, sat on a wooden plate next to Bazie. All in all, it was the sort of luncheon that wouldn't disgrace the table of a retiring spinster of small means.
Not that Skif cared what it looked like — he'd been invited to eat, and eat he surely would. He fell on the food, cutting two nice thick slices of bread and buttered them generously, pouring himself a mug of tea. Bazie watched him with an oddly benevolent look on his face.
“Eat good, but don' eat full afore a job,” he said, in a manner that told Skif this was a rule, and he'd better pay close attention to it. “Nivir touch stuff as makes ye gassy, an' nothin' that'll be on yer breath. Whut if ye has t’ hide? Summun smells onions where no onions shud be, or wuss — ,” He blew a flatulent razz with his lips, and the other boys laughed. “Oh, laugh if ye like, but I heerd boys been caught that way! Aye, an' growed men as shoulda knowed better!”
Skif laughed, too, but he also nodded eagerly. Bazie was no fool; no matter that what his gang purloined was small beer compared with jewels and gold — it was obviously supplying them with a fair living, and at the moment, Skif wouldn't ask for more.
“Nah, good gillyflar tea, tha's the stuff afore a job,” Bazie continued with satisfaction. “Makes ye keen, sharp. Tha's what ye need.” He waited while Skif finished his bread and butter and drank a mug of the faintly acidic, but not unpleasant, tea. He knew gillyflower tea from the Temple, where it occasionally appeared with the morning bread, and it did seem to wake him up when he felt a little foggy or sleepy.
“Nah, t'day Deek, I don' want wipes,” Bazie continued. “I got sum'thin' I been ast for, special. Mun wants napkins. Ye ken napkins?”
Deek shook his head, but Skif, who had, after all, been serving in Lord Orthallen's hall as an ersatz page, nodded. “Bits uv linen — 'bout so big — ,” He measured out a square with his hands. “Thicker nor wipes, kinda towels, but fine, like. Them highborns use 'em t' meals, wipes their han's an' face on 'em so's they ain't all grease an' looks sweetly.”
“Ha!” Bazie slapped his knee with his hand. “Good boy! Deek, where ye think ye kin find this stuff?”
Deek pondered the question for a moment, then suggested a few names that Skif didn't recognize. “We h'aint touched any on 'em for a while.”
“Make a go,” Bazie ordered. “I needs twa dozen, so don' get 'em all in one place, eh?”
“Right. Ye ready?” Deek asked, looking down at Skif, who jumped to his feet. “We're off.”
“Not like that 'e ain't!” Lyle protested. “Glory, Deek, 'e cain't pass i' them rags!”
Bazie concurred with a decided nod. “Gi'e 'im summat on ourn. 'Ere, Lyle — i' the cubberd — ”
Lyle went to the indicated alcove and rummaged around for a moment. “ 'Ere, these're too small fer any on' us — ,”
The boy threw a set of trews and a knitted tunic at Skif who caught them. They were nearly identical to Deek's; the same neat and barely-visible patches, the same dark gray-brown color. Happy to be rid of his rags, Skif stripped off everything but his smallclothes and donned the new clothing.