“Righto,” Deek affirmed. “Takes a mort’o learnin’. They’s old thieves, an’ they’s bold thieves, but they ain’t no old, bold thieves.”

That seemed excellent advice to Skif, who stirred the cauldron with a will.

It wasn’t until he began pulling garments out with the stick that Skif noticed his own clothing was in with the rest—and that Bazie had neatly mended and patched it while he was gone. He’d resewn Skif’s clumsy work to much better effect, and Skif felt oddly touched by this considerate gesture.

Raf returned as he started on the next lot of purloined scarves, carrying a packet and another loaf of bread. “They’s mort’o doin’s over t’ Hollybush,” he said as he handed Bazie the packet.

Skif’s head snapped around. “What doin’s?” he asked sharply.

“Dunno fer certain-sure,” Raf replied. “Summun sez a couple toughs come in an’ wrecked t’ place, summun sez no, ’twas a fight, an’ ev’un sez summun’s croaked, or near it. All I knows’s theys beaks an’ a Guard there now. Figgered ye shud know.”

Bazie mulled that over, as Skif stood there, stunned, the wash stick still in his hands. “Reckon five fer supper,” he said judiciously. “Huh.”

“I cud go wi’im arter dark,” Lyle offered. “We cud reck th’ doin’s.”

Bazie shook his head. “Nay, no goin’ near—Raf! Ye good fer goin’ out agin? Hev a drink i’ th’ Arms?”

The grandly named “King’s Arms” was the nearest rival to the Hollybush, and its owner had no love for Kalchan or Uncle Londer. One reason for the rivalry was economic—the Arms didn’t serve the kind of swill that the Hollybush did, and charged accordingly. Many, many of the poorest customers opted for quantity over quality, and their custom went to Kalchan. If anything bad had happened to the Hollybush or its owner, the buzz would be all over the Arms.

“Oh, aye!” Raf laughed. “They don’ know me there, an’ leastwise ye kin drink th’ beer ’thout bein’ choked.”

“Arms beer’s nought so bad,” Bazie said complacently. “Here—” he flipped a fivepenny coin at Raf. “Get a drink and fill me can, an’ come on back.”

Raf caught the coin right out of the air, picked up a covered quart beer pail, and saluted Bazie with two fingers. “I’m be back afore the bacon’s fried,” he promised.

Skif could only wonder what had happened—and how Beel had known that it would. And what if Beel hadn’t given him that timely warning? He could have walked straight into a fight, or a trap, or who knew what trouble.

A shiver ran down his back—for his own near miss, and not for anything that might have happened to Kalchan. In fact, he sincerely hoped that Kalchan was at the very least cooling his heels in the gaol. Given all the rotten things that Kalchan had done—just the things that Skif knew about—he had a lot coming to him.

He shook his head and went back to his stirring. Bazie had been watching him closely, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Ye mot not hev a home,” he ventured.