Bazie looked at the other two as Skif blinked with bewilderment. What on earth was he getting at?

“Aye!” Deek exclaimed. “In by me!”

“Makes three,” said Lyle lazily. “’E’s already done more’n a couple days than You Know did in a week.”

Now Skif realized what they were saying, and his heart leaped as he looked to Bazie, the leader, the teacher—

“Oh, I’d already reckoned,” Bazie said with a smile. “‘E might’s well jump in. Lyle, ye take ’im wi’ ye t’ Jarmin, so’s Jarmin gets t’ know ‘is face, an’ ’e gets t’ know th’ proper pay fer th’ goods.”

He clapped Skif on the back. “Yer in, young ‘un. They’s room ’nuf an’ a bed nobuddy got, an’ plenty t’ go ’round. Ye’re well-come.”

“Hey! Les’ eat!” Deek exclaimed, before Skif could really get it fixed in his mind how his life had just been turned around, that he had just been fully accepted into the gang. That he never had to go back to Kalchan and the misery of the Hollybush again.

And no more lessons!

Bazie laughed, and distributed the labor. Skif was set to cutting the loaf and buttering the slices, Deek to frying slices of fat bacon over the fire beneath the cauldron, Lyle to get the plates and pot of mustard, Raf to pour small beer for all of them. Skif was a bit surprised by that last. Kalchan never shared beer with anyone—but Raf divided the quart equally among the five of them with Bazie’s approval.

It was the first friendly meal that Skif had ever shared with anyone; the first time he had ever, within memory, eaten in a leisurely manner.

While they ate, Bazie decided what goods they would take to each buyer as soon as darkness fell. It would be better to take their bundles of goods out under the cover of night, just to be certain that no one in their building saw them toting around unusually bulky packages. Once they were out in the street, of course, they would just be three boys carrying out errands, but their neighbors in the building shouldn’t be given the excuse to be nosy.

As soon as dinner was polished off and the last of the laundry hung up to dry, Skif and Lyle packed up the goods for Jarmin, the old clothes seller. Evidently Jarmin was a man who catered to those with a taste for finer things; almost all of the fancier goods were going to him. When everything had been selected, they each had a fairly bulky bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Bazie showed Skif how to use a piece of rope to make a crude backpack of it, to keep his hands free.

“Take a stick,” he cautioned Skif; Lyle had already selected a stout cudgel from six or so leaning over in a corner near the door. “Plenty uv folk out there’ll beat ye jest hopin’ ye got summat they want.”

Like I don’t know that! Skif thought—but he didn’t make any comments, he just selected a stick for himself.