“If there is need for silver to loosen tongues, or even gold, the Queen’s coffers will provide,” Alberich said gravely, giving Skif a sudden chill, for it seemed as if the Weaponsmaster read Skif’s mind before Skif even finished the thought. “And for the rest—for there are Fairs, and there are taverns, and perhaps there will be the giving and receiving of gifts among friends, there is the stipend.”

“Stipend?” Skif asked.

“Stipend.” Alberich smiled wryly. “Some of ours are highborn, used to pocket money, some used to lavish amounts of it. We could forbid the parents to supply it, but why inflict hardship on those who deserve it not? So—the stipend. All Trainees receive it alike. Pocket money, for small things. Since you have money already—”

He paused.

And I am not asking you where it came from, nor demanding that you give it back, said the look that followed the pause.

“—then you will have yours on the next Quarter-Day, with the others.”

“Oh. Uh—thank you—” Skif, for once, felt himself at a loss for words. Blindsided, in fact. This wasn’t something he had expected, another one of those unanticipated kindnesses. There was no earthly reason why the Heralds should supply the Trainees—him in particular—with pocket money. They already supplied food, clothing, wonderful housing, entertainment in the form of their own games, and the Bardic Collegium on the same grounds.

Why were they doing these things? They didn’t have to. Trainees that didn’t have wealthy parents could just do without pocket money.

But Alberich had already turned away. He brought out a longer knife, and was preparing the salle for another lesson in street fighting. That, Skif could understand, and he set himself to the lesson at hand.

* * *

“It’s a fool’s bet,” Herald-Trainee Nerissa cautioned a fascinated Blue four weeks later. “Don’t take it.”

But the look in her eyes suggested that although honesty had prompted the caution, Nerissa herself really, truly wanted to see Skif in action again.

Eight Trainees, two from Bardic Collegium and six from Herald’s, and three Unaffiliated students, were gathered around Skif and a fourth Blue in the late afternoon sunshine on the Training Field.

The group surrounding Skif and the hapless Blue were just as fascinated as Nerissa, and just as eager. Skif himself shrugged and looked innocent. “Not a big bet,” he pointed out. “Just t’fix my window so’s the breeze can get in and them—those—moths can’t. He says he can, says he has, for himself and his friends, and I don’t think it’d put him out too much.”