Then pulled out the two glasses and half-bottle of wine from beneath the chair. The boy gaped at him—then shut his mouth and looked at the wine. There was a brief flash of greed there. But thankfully, no need. Good. That was one thing that Alberich had worried about. Trouble with drink started early among those who lived near Exile’s Gate. Alberich had seen children as young as ten caught by the addiction of drink, there.

“I didn’ think we was allowed—” Skif began, though his nose twitched as Alberich uncorked it, and he was young enough that his yearning showed, a little more. He must be getting very weary of the spring water, fruit juice, ciders, teas and milk that were all the Trainees were ever offered.

“It is only half a bottle, and I intend to share it with you,” Alberich replied, pouring the glasses full and handing him one. “That is hardly enough for even an innocent to be drunk upon. I suspect you’ve had a deal stronger in your time, already.”

The boy accepted the glass and to his great credit, took a mouthful and savored it, rather than draining the glass. “So this’s what all the fuss is about,” he said, after he allowed the good vintage to slip down his throat. “This is what the good stuff’s like.”

“It is,” Alberich agreed. “And now, I fear, it is spoiled you’ll be for the goat piss that passes itself off as wine near Exile’s Gate.”

“Dunno how you drunk it, and that’s for certain-sure; I allus did my drinkin’ a little higher up the street,” Skif replied, putting his glass down and reaching for the nearest tidbit, a pasty stuffed with morels and duck breast. Of course, he didn’t know that until he bit into it, and as it melted on his tongue, the boy’s face was a study that very nearly made Alberich chuckle. He didn’t, though; children’s dignity was a fragile thing, and this lad’s rather more so than others.

“They been passin’ those under my nose all night, and if I’d known how they tasted—” Skif shook his head. “This is too much like reward, Weaponsmaster. The plain fact is there were three men that sounded something like the one we want, and not one I’d be willin’ t’finger.”

“Reward is not exclusively earned by accomplishing a task,” Alberich noted, pushing the platter toward the boy, but taking a pastry himself. He hadn’t eaten any more than the boy had, though Selenay had nibbled all evening, and he wanted something in his stomach to cushion the wine. “Sometimes reward is earned just in the making of the attempt.”

“Huh.” Skif chose a different dainty, and washed it down with wine. “Now what d’we do?”