“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’ sough! 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.