“D’we—get new duds ev’ry day?” he asked, hardly able to believe it.

“D’pends on how hard ye bin workin’,” Bazie replied, “But aye, an’ it’ll be ev’ third day at least. Ye’re dirty, ye stan’ out. Ye canna stan’ out—an’ mind wut I tol’ ye ’bout smell.”

Skif minded very well, and he couldn’t believe how thorough Bazie was; it was brilliant, really.

“Thas’ why yon fancy privy—” Raf said with a chuckle.

“Heh. ‘Twas coz ye didn’ fancy carryin’ me t’ t’other, up an’ down stair,” Bazie countered, and they both laughed. “But aye, could’a had earth closet, or jest dropped privy down t’sewer ’thout it bein’ water closet, but there’d be stink, ye ken, an’ that’d be on us an’ on t’goods we washed, eh? So we got mun t’ put in water closet when’ we took’t this place.”

Raf sighed. “Took a mort’o th’ glim, it did,” he said wistfully. “Didn’ know ye’d saved tha’ much, ye ol’ skinflint.”

“Kep’t fer when we needed’t,” Bazie replied. “Yer wuz liddler nor th’ young’un. Had Ames an’ Jodri an’ Willem then—an’ we made ’t up quick enow.”

“Wut happened t’ them?” Skif asked cautiously, fearing to uncover some old, bad news.

But Bazie laughed. “Ames’s off! Took’t up wi’ some travelin’ show, run’s t’ cup’n’ball lay, liftin’ i’ th’ crowd. Jodri, ‘e’s on ’is own, took’t t’ sum place t’South. An’ Willem made th’ big ‘un—got hisself th’ big haul, an’ smart ’nuff t’ say, thassit. Bought hisself big ’ouse uv flats, like this’un, on’y in better part uv town, lives i’ part an’ rents out t’rest. Set fer life.” Bazie chuckled, and Skif sighed with relief. If Bazie wasn’t lying—and there was no reason to think that he was—then his “pupils” had done well for themselves.

And so should he.

It also spoke well that Bazie was perfectly pleased about their success and didn’t begrudge them their independence.

“Nah, young’un, ye did good yestiddy, but ’tis in m’mind that mebbe ye shouldn’ be seed fer a bit?” Bazie made a question out of it, and Skif was in total agreement with him.

“If th’ Guard’s got inta it—what wi’ th’ girl Maisie an’ all—mebbe they lookin’ fer me,” Skif replied. “Ol’ Kalchan, well, ‘e got hisself in bad deep, an’ Guard’ll be lookin’ fer witness t’ whut ’e done. An’ ol’ Londer, ’e’ll be lookin’ fer me t’shet me up.”

“No doubt. Mebbe—permanent.” Bazie lost that expression of pleasant affability that Skif had become accustomed to. “I know sumthin’ uv ol’ Londer, an’—mebbe ‘e wouldn’ dirty ’is ‘ands personal, but ’e knows plenty as would take a ‘int ’bout gettin’ ye quiet.”

Skif shuddered. He had no doubt about that. “‘F I’m not ’bout, ‘e’ll let ol’ Kalchan ’ang. Specially ‘f Kalchan don’ ever wake up. An’ ’e’ll say, ‘e didn’ know nothin’ ’bout th’ girl, an’ no one t’ say otherwise.”

Londer had three sons, after all. He could afford to lose one.

Hellfires, ’e’ll prolly get a girl and breed him a couple more, just t’ be on th’ safe side, Skif thought with disgust. He rather doubted that his uncle’s long-dead spouse had enjoyed a love match with the man, for Londer never mentioned or even thought of her so far as he could tell. And Londer wouldn’t have any trouble finding another bride either. All he had to do was go down to the neighborhood where the Hollybush had been or one like it, and he could buy himself a wife with a single gold piece. There were dozens of husbands who would sell him their own wives, or their daughters, brothers who would sell sisters, dozens of women who would sell him their own selves.