“Figgered ‘e cud take Larap’s place, mebbe, if’n ’e makes it past sixmun,” Deek concluded, looking hopefully at his mentor.

Now Bazie transferred his unwavering gaze to Skif. “Ye livin’ rough?” he asked, and Skif knew that he’d better tell the truth.

“At Hollybush,” he replied shortly. “Kalchan’s m’cuz, Londer ’s m’nuncle.”

Evidently Bazie knew the Hollybush, since he didn’t ask where or what it was. His gaze became even more piercing. “Bonded?”

With relief Skif shook his head. “Nuh-uh!” he denied vigorously. “Ma didn’ bond me ‘fore she croaked. Londer ’s pretty het ’bout it, but ain’t nothin’ ‘e kin do now. An’ ’e niver cud put me out, ‘cuz ’e took me in, on th’ rolls an all, reckonin’ t’ get me bonded.”

A bonded child was just short of property; required to serve in whatever capacity his “guardian” chose until he was sixteen, for the privilege of being sheltered and fed. Skif’s mother had neglected (perhaps on purpose) to bond her toddler to her brother when her man left her and she fell ill—she worsened and died before Londer could get the bond signed and sworn to. It was too late now; no notary would swear to a faked bond. Well—no notary would swear to a faked bond for the pittance of a bribe that was all that Londer would offer.

By the point when Skif’s mother died, Londer was already on record with the same Temple Beel served at as the responsible party for his sister and nephew (hoping to get Skif’s bond). As such, he was technically required by law to care for Skif until the age of twelve without any benefit. At twelve, which was no more than a couple of years away, he could turn Skif out, but he probably wouldn’t. Skif was still supplying free labor at no real cost to him, and as long as that was going on, Londer would let sleeping dogs lie.

Now, the fact was that although Skif was under no obligation to serve at the Hollybush for his keep, the only thing he could coerce out of Kalchan and Londer was a place to sleep. The food they offered him—the leavings from customers’ meals—a pig wouldn’t touch. If he wanted to eat, he had to either find alternate ways of getting meals (as he had) or do even more work than he already was. And as long as he wanted to sleep at the Hollybush, which though wretched, was infinitely better and safer than trying to find a place on the street, he had to obey Kalchan’s orders whenever he was around the tavern. There were a lot of things that could happen to a child on the street—“living rough”—and most of them were far worse than being beaten now and again by Kalchan, who had no taste for little boys or girls.

‘Course, if ’e thunk ‘e cud get away wit’ it, ’e’d hev no prollem sellin’ me. Kalchan would sell his own mother’s services if he thought he wouldn’t get caught. As it was, on the rare occasions when Skif got dragooned into “helping,” he often had to endure the surreptitious caresses and whispered enticements of some of the customers who had wider ideas of pleasure than Kalchan did. As long as Kalchan didn’t actually accept money in advance for the use of Skif’s body, there was nothing that Skif could report to Temple or Guard.