Given all of that, Londer probably didn’t engage in child snatching for his own puerile entertainment. But that didn’t mean he didn’t help it along, just because he got a thrill out of doing so. He probably had been frightened enough by his brush with the law not to do anything so dangerous for his own profit either. But it was increasingly likely, in Skif’s estimation, that he knew something about it. The Hollybush hadn’t, by any means, been Londer’s only property. He owned warehouses in places where there wasn’t anyone around to notice odd things going on at night.

So, a very good place to start would be with his uncle. Skif knew the ins and outs of Londer’s house, for more than once, he’d contemplated getting some of what he considered that he was owed out of his uncle. He’d eventually given up on the idea, for the fact was that anything Londer had of value was generally too big to be carried off easily. But because of that, Skif knew the house, and he knew the twisty ways of Londer ’s mind almost as well as he knew the house.

The best way to get information out of him would be to frighten it out. Londer was good at keeping his mouth shut, but not when he was startled, and not when he was genuinely frightened.

So Skif set himself to figuring out exactly how he could best terrify his uncle into telling Skif everything he might know or guess about the child stealing and the slavery ring.

In his bed, in the dead of night, Skif decided. Skif was short, even for a boy his age—but a shadowy figure dressed in black, waking you up with a knife to your throat, was likely to seem a whole lot bigger than he actually was. And a hoarse whisper didn’t betray that he was too young for his voice to have broken yet.

Alberich had brought the all-black night-walking suit when he’d collected Skif’s clothing. Skif knew a way into Londer’s house that not even Londer knew about. Good old Londer! Every window had a lock, every door had two, but he forgot completely about the trapdoor onto the roof. All Skif had to do was get into the yard and shinny up the drainpipe from the gutters. Once on the roof, he was as good as inside.

Right enough, if Londer knew anything, Skif would have it out of him. But he needed a suitably convincing story for his black-clad terrorist to ask the questions he needed the answers to. I’ll say I’m lookin’ for m’sister, he decided. That’s a good story, an’ Londer’ll probably believe it.

Now, getting from here to there.