:A thief that gets noticed doesn’t stay out of gaol long,: he replied, though he was secretly flattered. Now, if he’d really been trying to make his way as a beggar, he would never be doing it this way. He’d have bound up his leg to look as if he’d lost it, or done the same with an arm. No sores, though; people around here would stone him into some other quarter for fear of a pox. Then he’d stand as straight as he could and catcall the people passing by, a noisy banter that was impossible to ignore. He’d be cheeky, but funny, and not insulting. People liked that; they liked seeing a display of bravado, especially in a cripple. He’d be making a better go of it than this thin, wistful waif he was impersonating. And the child snatchers would avoid him. A child like that would never tame down, and would cause nothing but trouble.

In his persona of woeful beggar child, he had a single possession that was going to make this entire ruse work—a wooden begging bowl. Perfectly in character with what he was, no one would even remark on it. And it was going to keep him from being knocked unconscious, because it was much deeper than the usual bowl and fit his head exactly like a helmet. Once he curled himself up in his chosen spot for the night and pulled his ragged hood over his head, he’d slip that bowl over it under the rags. When the snatchers came along and gave him that tap on the head to keep him from waking up when they grabbed him, he’d be protected.

He also had weapons on his person; his throwing daggers were concealed up his sleeves. Alberich hadn’t needed to tell him to bring them. Having them made him feel a good deal safer, although his first choice of weapon wouldn’t have been one that you threw at the enemy. Or it wouldn’t have been if he wasn’t so certain of his own accuracy. It was very unlikely that he’d be searched. These beggar children never had anything of value on them. If they once had, it was long snatched by those older and stronger than they were.

As he trudged away from the streets where people were still carrying on the minutiae of their lives and toward the warehouses and closed-up workshops, he felt eyes on him. The back of his neck prickled. The warehouse section of Exile’s Gate was where most of the children had vanished from, and he knew now, with heavy certainty, that the snatchers were somewhere out there watching him, waiting for him to settle.