Alberich was out there, too, and had taken to the same covert skulking as Skif’s stalkers. He was hunting the hunters, watching the watchers, to make sure that if anything went wrong, Skif wouldn’t be facing it alone.

:He’s seen two of them, anyway,: reported Cymry.

He would never, ever have attempted this by himself, or even with someone who didn’t also have a Companion. The key to this entire plan was that Kantor and Cymry could Mindspeak to each other, keeping Skif and Alberich aware of everything that was going on.

The buildings here were large, with long expanses of blank wall planted directly on the street—you didn’t want or need windows in a warehouse. There weren’t a lot of places where a tired child could curl up to sleep. But where there was a doorway that was just big enough to fit a small body, or a recessed gate, it was dark and it was quiet, and no one was likely to come along to chivvy one off until dawn. Mind, any number of adult beggars knew this too, so the first few places Skif poked his nose into were occupied, and the occupants sent him off with poorly-aimed blows and liberal curses. He lost his bacon rind to one of them, not that he fought for it.

But when he did find a place, it was perfect for the child snatchers, and thus perfect for his purposes. It was a recessed doorway, a black arch in a darkened street, with no one in sight in either direction.

He sat down on the doorstep and pretended to eat his crust and cheese rind, then with a calculatedly pathetic sigh that should be audible to his stalkers, he curled up with his back to the street and his rags pulled up over his head. If that wasn’t an invitation, he’d turn priest.

As he stirred and fidgeted, “trying to get comfortable,” he slipped his wooden bowl over his head, exactly as he had planned. Once he had, he felt a good deal safer, and the back of his neck stopped prickling so much. There had been the possibility that the snatchers, lured by how harmless he seemed to be and the loneliness of the street, would try for the grab before he curled up for the night. He was glad their caution had overcome their greed.

Gradually he stopped moving around, as a child would who was settling into sleep. He wouldn’t find a tolerable position on this stone doorstep anyway, not after he’d gotten accustomed, not only to a bed, but to a comfortable bed.

Spoilt, that’s what I am.