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 dip, take a light from here, an' light them lamps,” he ordered, jerking his head at a tallow dip on the otherwise clean table 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 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.”
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.