Finally, Skif found a moment to make a cautious overture to the young priest. Halcom had hobbled out to the stable to assist, not a Healer Trainee, but a farrier who often donated his time and expertise, and Skif was also called on to help. The injury was a split and overgrown hoof on a lamed carthorse; Halcom was asked to hold the horse’s head, since he, more than anyone else, was able to keep animals calm during treatment. And Skif was there to hold the hoof while the farrier trimmed it and fastened a special shoe to help the hoof heal.

When the farrier had left, and Skif had taken the horse back to its stall, Halcom seemed disinclined to leave. “You’ve been doing good work here, friend,” Halcom said, looking around at the rest of the stable without getting up from the hay bale he was sitting on. “I’m glad you came here. Poor old Brother Absel just isn’t up to the heavy work anymore.”

“Thankee, sor,” Skif said, keeping to his persona of country bumpkin, and bobbing his head subserviently. “Would ye might be a-givin’ me a character, too? That be what’m here for.”

“I could probably do better than that, if what you want is stable work,” Halcom admitted, but with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve no doubt I could recommend you to several people for that. Is that what you want?”

“Oh, aye, sor,” Skif replied, feigning eagerness.

“Balderdash,” Halcom countered, startling Skif. “You’re better than that. You don’t really want to be a lowly stablehand for the rest of your life, do you?” His eyes gleamed with speculation. “You are much too intelligent for that. What are you aiming at? Master of Horse? Chief Coachman?”

“Ah—” Skif stammered, before he got his wits together. “But I’ve got no training, sor. Dunno much but burthen beasts, and never learnt to drive.”

Halcom waved that aside as of no consequence. “Nor have most boys your age when they go into service. As small as you are, though—learning to handle the reins could be problematic. I’m not sure you could control a team.”

“I be stronger nor I look, sor,” Skif said, stung.

Halcom laughed, but it didn’t have that sly, mean sound to it that Skif had half expected. “Oh, you’d make a fine smart little footman, sitting up beside your master on a fashionable chariot, but I’ll tell you the truth, lad, there is not a single highborn or man of means and fashion that I’d feel comfortable sending you to in that capacity. The good men have all the loyal footmen they need—and the others—” He shook his head. “I won’t send you to a bad master.”

“Ye might tell me who they be, sor?” Skif offered tentatively. “If I didna know it, I might take a place I was offered—”