“Hush,” said the woman. “His papa swings tomorrow night.”

“What’s the charge, Boy?”

“Leave him alone,” repeated the woman, but the boy lifted his head and stared defiantly at the thief until the water hardened in his eyes and he could speak. “Robbery,” he said. “Aggravated by violence, so they say. I don’t believe it. He’s an old man. They picked him up with seven dollars and a book.”

“Book? What for?”

“He just liked the gilt along the pages,” said the boy. “It was just the pictures, that’s all. No harm in it.

Starbridge nursery rhymes.”

“First offense?”

“Eighth. He’s been branded on both cheeks, and over his heart ten months ago. This time he’ll swing for sure. The inquest is tomorrow morning.”

“And . . . ?”

“And nothing,” said the boy. “He was a drunken old pig,” he said, his eyes filling up with tears again.

“Then what’s to cry about?” Mock grinned. “Now I once had a mother and two brothers. Not recently.

Larceny was in our horoscopes. Look here.” He showed his hand. His palm was covered with a strange tattoo. It looked like a spider’s web.

The boy stared up at him. “Fuck you,” he said slowly, savoring the words in his mouth before he spat them out.

Mock grinned. “That’s all right then. That’s the attitude you want. Remember that.” And he struck the boy on the ear so that his head snapped back.

Abu was sick of the high voices. He had sat there drinking the whole afternoon, and now he made a motion with his hand to bring the landlady over to his table.

“How much do I owe?”

The woman squinted. “Eighty cents.”

Abu picked out some coins from his pocket and selected a silver sequin. “Can you change this?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything smaller.” He put it down on the table, and the woman reached for it. But her fingers hesitated at the last moment, and she drew her forefinger around it in a circle on the surface of the table without touching it. “You’re a slick one,” she remarked, eyeing him closely. “Where did you get that?” Abu was finishing his wine.

“Seven dollars change,” said the woman, still without picking up the coin. “And my risk if it’s stolen.”

“There’s no risk,” answered Abu. “Seven dollars is fine. Really, it doesn’t matter.”

She was still looking at him. “Where did you get that coat,” she asked. Then, not waiting for a reply, she called out, “Jason. Come look at this.” And the thief came over, smiling. But when he saw the money on the table, his expression changed. Again, it changed by itself, without him moving a muscle.

“Look at that,” said the woman. “Not particular about the rate, either.”

Mock bent down and took a fold of the prince’s cloak between his finger and thumb. Then he reached out and pushed the hood back from Abu’s face, and bent forward to look at him, so that Abu could smell the rotten cheese still on his breath. The man seemed puzzled momentarily, until he saw the golden earring in the prince’s ear, and then his eyes took on a misty, distant expression, as if he were trying to remember something. “Let me see your hands,” he said.