Obediently, Skif went to the set of shelves that held their daily provisions—Bazie never kept much around, because of the rats and mice that couldn’t be kept out of a room like this one—and found the book Bazie wanted. It wasn’t difficult, since it was the only book there, a battered copy of a housewife’s compendium of medicines, recipes, and advice lacking a back cover. He brought it over and started to hand it to the old man.

“Nay, nay—” Bazie said. “Sit ye down, ’ere, where light’s best, an’ read it. Out loud.”

Puzzled, but obedient, Skif opened it to the first page and began to read. It was hardly the most fascinating stuff in the world, but Bazie followed his every word, frowning with concentration as he sounded out a few terms that were unfamiliar to him, and correcting him on the one or two occasions when he didn’t say the words quite right.

“That’ll do,” Bazie said with satisfaction when he finished the chapter. “Ye read good ’nuff. Na, get ye bit uv charcoal from fire, an’ copy out that fust receipt on table.”

“On table?” Skif asked, flabbergasted. “That’ll make right mess!”

“An’ ye kin wash’t off, after,” Bazie countered, in a tone that brooked no argument. So Skif fished out a burned bit of stick and did as he was told, with Bazie leaning as far forward as he could to see just how neat Skif’s writing was.

“That’ll do,” he said again, when Skif finished. “Wash that, but don’ drop th’ charcoal. Ye’re gonna do sums.”

“Sums?” Skif squeaked, turning around to stare at the old man. “Sums? Wut good’re sums gonna do a thief?”

“They’re gonna make sure ye ain’t cheated by fence, tha’s wut,” Bazie replied, as sternly—no, far more sternly—than ever Beel was. “Ye thin’ I’m gonna let ye tak’ th’ swag t’ fence if ye cain’t even tell if’s cheated ye? ’Ow ye think me other boys did so well, eh? ’Ow ye think Raf an’ Lyle an’ Deek knows wut’s wut?”

“Aw, Bazie—” Skif wailed.

“An’ none uv yer ‘Aw, Bazie.’ I ain’t havin’ no boys here wut cain’t do th’ bizness. Get th’ coal in yer ’and an’ sit ye down.” The look in Bazie’s eye warned Skif that if he argued, he might find himself out on the street, promises or no promises. With a groan, he bent over the scrubbed table, and prepared to reveal the depth of his ignorance.

And it was abysmal. It wasn’t long before Bazie called a halt to the proceedings, with Skif wondering the whole time if Bazie wasn’t going to reconsider, now that he knew what a dunce his “new boy” was.