“Aaa—” Bazie said, in a note of pain, as he lowered himself down to his seat and quickly took off the wooden legs. “When ye brings back th’ glimmers, young’un, I’ll be gettin’ proper-fittin’ stumps, fust thing.” He gestured in disgust at the crude wooden legs. “Them’s no better nor a couple slats. How’s it that a mun kin be sa good wi’ needle an sa bad wi’ whittlin’?”

He put the crutches aside, and looked at them expectantly.

“Here ye be, Bazie!” said Deek, taking the lead, and pulling napkins out of his trews the way a conjure mage at a fair pulled kerchiefs out of his hand. Skif did the same, until all two dozen were piled in front of their mentor.

“Hah! Good work!” Bazie told them. “Nah, young’un—ye look an ye tell me—wha’s the big problem we got wi’ these fer sellin’ uv ’em?”

That was something Skif had worried about. Every single napkin they’d taken had been decorated with distinctive embroidered initials or pictures on the corners. “Them whatchacalls in th’ corners,” Skif said promptly. “Dunno what they be, but they’s all different.”

“They’s t’ show what owns ’em, but ol’ Bazie’s gotta cure for that, eh, Deek?” Bazie positively beamed at both of them, and took out a box from a niche beside his seat. He opened it, and Skif leaned forward to see what was inside.

Sewing implements. Very fine, as fine as any great lady’s. Tiny scissors, hooks, and things he couldn’t even guess at.

His mouth dropped open, and Bazie laughed. “Ye watch, an ye learn, young’un,” he said merrily. “An’ nivir ye scorn till ye seen—”

Bazie took out the tiniest pair of scissors that Skif had ever seen, and a thing like a set of tongs, but no bigger than a pen, and several other implements Skif had no names for. Then he took up the first of the napkins and set to work on it.

Within moments, it was obvious what he was doing; he was unpicking the embroidery. But he was doing so with such care that when he was finally done, only a slightly whiter area and a hole or two showed where it had been, and the threads he had unpicked were still all in lengths that could be used.

“Nah, I’ll be doin’ that t’ all uv them, then into th’ bleach they goes, an’ no sign where they come from!” Bazie rubbed his hands together with glee. “An’ that’ll mean a full five siller fer the lot from a feller what’s got a business in these things, an’ all fer a liddle bit uv easy work for ye an me! Nah, what sez ye t’ that, young’un?”

Skif could only shake his head in admiration. “That—I’m mortal glad I grabbed fer Deek’s ankle yesterday!”

And Bazie roared with laughter. “So’m we, boy!” he chuckled. “So’m we!”

4

SKIF did not go out again, nor did Deek. Instead, they emptied out the cauldron of its warm, soapy, green-gray water, pouring it down a drain hole in the center of the room, and refilled it with fresh. This was no mean feat, as it had to be done one bucketful at a time, from the common pump that everyone in the building shared—which was, predictably, in a well house attached to the side of the building to keep it from freezing. Bazie had special buckets, with lids that kept the water from slopping, but it still made for a lot of climbing.