Good, he’s already gotten everything from Cymry and Kantor and maybe the Guard but the “who” and maybe the “why.” That was a bit less explanation he’d have to give. “I visited m’uncle Londer Galko,” Skif said, then smiled. “Though he didn’t know ’twas me. Went masked, and in over roof. You know. I scared him pretty thorough, good enough I figger he told me the truth.”

As well Alberich should know, since he’d been the one who brought Skif’s things from his old room, and had probably examined every bit. Skif experienced in that moment a very, very odd sensation of comfort. It was a relief to be able to sit here and be able to be himself completely. It was like being with Cymry, only a more worldly sort of Cymry.

“That was wise.” Alberich leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked thoughtful. “I would not have thought of Londer Galko as a source of information for our needs.”

“I didn’ either, till I stopped lookin’ for a man what needed a building burned, and started thinkin’ about what I picked up while I was lookin’ for him,” Skif replied. “An’ put that with what you tol’ me about the slavers. There’s summat snatchin’ younglings off the streets—not many, just the ones that have-ta sleep there. More of ‘em than you thought, I bet. You don’t hear ’bout it, ’cause they ain’t the kind that’d be missed.”

“We hear more than you might think,” Alberich put in, but also nodded. “Although if this is true, we are not hearing of most of them. Go on.”

“Londer ain’t the kind t’get his fingers where they might get burned, not after that mess with th’ Hollybush, but if there’s somethin’ dirty goin’ on, he probably knows summat about it. He likes bein’ on the edge of it, not so close he gets hurt, close enough he can kind of gloat over it. So—I paid ’im a visit.” Skif launched into a full explanation, frankly describing everything he had done last night, leaving nothing out. He hadn’t, after all, done anything that he’d been forbidden. Nobody had put a curfew on the Trainees, no one had told him not to leave the Collegium grounds, he hadn’t stolen anything. All he’d done was to terrorize one filthy old man who’d been the cause of plenty of misery himself over the past several years.

Still—

Alberich didn’t look disgusted, and he didn’t look annoyed, but Skif got a distinct impression that he was poised between being amused and being angry. “You—” he said at length, leaning back in his chair and pointing a finger at Skif, “—are the sort who would find a way around any order, so I shall not give you one. This information interesting is—useful, possibly—”