“Hoo!” Skif said, eyes wide with glee. “Wisht I’da been there!”
“Oh, nay ye don' — cuz it went bad-wrong,” Raf corrected with relish. “Th' cook, she comes a-runnin' when she hears th' ruckus, lays in w' stick, an th' girl, she tries t' run fer it, an' slippet an starts t' scream, an' that brings beaks. So beaks get inta it, an' they don' love Kalchan no more nor anybuddy else, an' they commences t' breakin' heads. Well! When 'tis all cleared up, they's a mun dead wi' broke neck, an' Kalchan laid out like cold fish, t'cook ravin', an' t'girl — ,” Raf gloated, “ — t'girl, she turn out t'be bare fifteen, no schoolin', an' pretty clear Kalchan's been atop 'er more'n once!”
“Fifteen!” Skif's eyes bulged. “I'da swore she was eighteen, sure! Sixteen, anyroad!”
Then again — he'd simply assumed she was. There wasn't much of her, and she wasn't exactly talkative. She had breasts, and she was of middling height, but some girls developed early. Wasn't there a saying that those who were a bit behind in the brains department were generally ahead on the physical side?
“Thas’ whut Londer, 'e tried t'say, but they got th' girl's tally from Temple an' she's no more'n bare fifteen an' that jest turned!” Raf practically danced in place. “So ol' Londer, he got it fer not schoolin' th' girl, an' puttin' er where Kalchan cud tup 'er, an not turnin' over Hollybush proper. Cook's hauled off someplace, still ravin'. Girl's taken t' Temple or summat. Kalchan, he's wust, if'e wakes up, which Healers sez mebbe and mebbe not, 'e's up fer murder an fer tuppin' the girl afore she be sixteen.”
Skif had to sit down. Kalchan and Uncle Londer had always come out on top of things before. He could scarcely believe that they weren't doing so now.
“Good thing ye weren' there,” Bazie observed mildly. “Kalchan 'ud say t'was you was tuppin' girl.”
“Me? Maisie?” Skif grimaced. “Gah, don' thin' so — ugh! Druther turn priest!”
“Well, wouldna' be call fer th' law if 'twas you. Couple kids foolin' 'round's a thing fer priests, not the law. Summun old's Kalchan, though, thas different, an' reckon 'f ol' Londer don' 'ang 'is boy out t' dry, he'll say 'twas you.” Bazie rubbed his chin speculatively. “Don’ 'magine girl 'ud conterdick 'im.”
“Don’ fergit, she's in Temple,” Lyle piped up. “Dunno 'f they'd git 'er t'talk. Mebbe use Truth Spell.”
“It don' matter,” Skif decided. “I don' want nothin' t'do wi' em. I ain't goin' back.”
Londer wouldn't know where he was, nor would Kalchan, who was, in any event, in no position to talk. The trouble was Beel knew he had stayed away. So would Beel send anyone looking for him? And should he tell Bazie about all of this?
Reluctantly, he decided that he had better.
“This's gettin' complisticatered,” he said unhappily, and explained about Beel, and Beel's warning.
The others all sat silent for a moment, their eyes on him.
“This Beel, 'e knows nowt 'bout us?” Bazie asked, his head to one side, quizzically.
Skif shook his head. ‘“E ain't niver sed much t'me afore this,” he replied. “I allus figgered 'e wuz jest Londer's eyes. Niver reckoned on 'im warnin' me.” He considered the odd conversation a little further. “Must've known, an' didn' warn his Da neither. Niver reckoned on 'im stickin' t' th' law — an' ye kin bet Londer wouldn't. Huh. Turned on 'is own Da!”
Bazie nodded slowly. “Niver know wut bein' in Temple'll do wi' a mun,” he said sagely. “Gets t'thinkin' 'bout 'is own soul, mebbe. Starts thinkin' 'is ol' man cud stan' bein' took down a peg, mebbe figgers th' ol' man cud stand t' get held 'countable. Figgers a kid don' need t' get mixed up in't.”
“Point is, ain't nobuddy knows 'bout us,” said Raf. He stared intently at Skif for a very long and uncomfortable moment. Finally, the older boy seemed to make up his mind. “Bazie, I sez we votes now. Young'un ain't behind wi' helpin', an' Deek sez 'e's good over roof. Bring 'un in.”
Bazie looked at the other two as Skif blinked with bewilderment, what on earth was he getting at?
“Aye!” Deek exclaimed. “In by me!”
“Makes three,” said Lyle lazily. “ 'E's already done more'n a couple days than You Know did in a week.”
Now Skif realized what they were saying, and his heart leaped as he looked to Bazie, the leader, the teacher —
“Oh, I'd already reckoned,” Bazie said with a smile. “ 'E might's well jump in. Lyle, ye take 'im wi' ye t' Jarmin, so's Jarmin gets t' know 'is face, an' 'e gets t' know th' proper pay fer th' goods.”
He clapped Skif on the back. “Yer in, young 'un. They's room 'nuf an' a bed nobuddy got, an' plenty t' go 'round. Ye're well-come.”
“Hey! Les' eat!” Deek exclaimed, before Skif could really get it fixed in his mind how his life had just been turned around, that he had just been fully accepted into the gang. That he never had to go back to Kalchan and the misery of the Hollybush again.
And no more lessons!
Bazie laughed, and distributed the labor. Skif was set to cutting the loaf and buttering the slices, Deek to frying slices of fat bacon over the fire beneath the cauldron, Lyle to get the plates and pot of mustard, Raf to pour small beer for all of them. Skif was a bit surprised by that last. Kalchan never shared beer with anyone — but Raf divided the quart equally among the five of them with Bazie's approval.
It was the first friendly meal that Skif had ever shared with anyone; the first time he had ever, within memory, eaten in a leisurely manner.
While they ate, Bazie decided what goods they would take to each buyer as soon as darkness fell. It would be better to take their bundles of goods out under the cover of night, just to be certain that no one in their building saw them toting around unusually bulky packages. Once they were out in the street, of course, they would just be three boys carrying out errands, but their neighbors in the building shouldn't be given the excuse to be nosy.
As soon as dinner was polished off and the last of the laundry hung up to dry, Skif and Lyle packed up the goods for Jarmin, the old clothes seller. Evidently Jarmin was a man who catered to those with a taste for finer things; almost all of the fancier goods were going to him. When everything had been selected, they each had a fairly bulky bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Bazie showed Skif how to use a piece of rope to make a crude backpack of it, to keep his hands free.
“Take a stick,” he cautioned Skif; Lyle had already selected a stout cudgel from six or so leaning over in a corner near the door. “Plenty uv folk out there'll beat ye jest hopin' ye got summat they want.”
Like I don't know that! Skif thought — but he didn't make any comments, he just selected a stick for himself.
The packs made negotiating the stairs a little awkward, but they got out all right, and Lyle strode down the street with the air of someone who had a place to get to in a hurry. Skif had to trot to keep up with him. For all that Lyle acted lazy back in the room, he could certainly put out some energy when he chose to!
He didn't waste any breath on talking either. What he did was to keep his eyes moving, up and down the street, peering at doorways, watching for trouble. Skif followed his example. Until now, he hadn't been out on the street much at night, and he was very conscious of how vulnerable two boys were. There wasn't much light. Nobody wasted much money on street-lamps around these neighborhoods. What little there was came from windows and a few open doors, and from the torches people carried with them.