“It seems fair enough to me,” said Kris. “Neither one of you is wagering anything he can’t afford or can’t do.” He pointed at the Blue. “And you swore in the Compass Rose that Skif could never pull his trick on you, because you in particular and your plumb-line set in general were smarter than the Heraldic Trainees.”

The Blue’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?” he gasped.

Kris just grinned. “Sources, my lad,” he said condescendingly, from the lofty position of a Trainee in his final year. “Sources. And I never reveal my sources. Are you going to take the bet, or not?”

The Blue’s chin jutted belligerently. “Damn right I am!” he snapped.

“Witnessed!” called four Herald Trainees and one Bardic at once, just as Alberich came out to break the group up and set them at their archery practice.

At the end of practice, once Alberich had gone back into the salle, virtually everyone lingered—and Skif didn’t disappoint them. He presented the astonished Blue with the good-luck piece that had been the object of the bet, an ancient silver coin, so worn away that all that could be seen were the bare outlines of a head. The coin had been in a pocket that the Blue had fixed with a buttoned-down flap, an invention against pickpockets of his own devising, that he was clearly very proud of.

In a panic, the boy checked the pocket. It was buttoned. He undid it and felt inside. His face was a study in puzzlement, as he brought out his hand. There was a coin-shaped lead slug in it.

Skif flipped his luck piece at him, and he caught it amid the laughter of the rest of the group. He was good-natured about his failure—something Skif had taken into consideration before making the bet— and joined in the laughter ruefully. “All right,” he said, with a huge sigh. “I’ll fix your window.”

As the Blue walked off, consoled by two of his fellows, Herald-Trainee Coroc slapped Skif on the back with a laugh. “I swear, it’s as good as having a conjurer about!” the Lord Marshal’s son said. “Well done! How’d you think of slipping him that lead slug to take the place of his luck piece?”

Skif flushed a little; he was coming to enjoy these little tests and bets. Picking pockets was something he did fairly well, but he didn’t get any applause for it out in the street. The best he could expect was a heavy purse and no one putting the Watch on him. This, however—he had an audience now, and he liked having an audience, especially an appreciative one.