Roots like tatties and neeps were cheap enough, too, and cabbage, and onions—even old Kalchan had those at the inn. Dried pease and beans made a good soup, and Kalchan had those, too, though more often than not they were moldy.

Skif had eaten better with Bazie than he ever had in his life, even allowing for what he’d snitched from Lord Orthallen’s kitchen. Good butter, though—butter that was all cream and not mixed half-and-half with lard—they didn’t see much of that. Deek’s cheese wasn’t the cheap stuff that they generally got, made after the cream had been skimmed from the milk. And as for ham and sausages—sausages where you didn’t have to think twice about what might have gone into them—well, those were food for the rich. And sugar—

Skif had never tasted sugar until he started snitching at Lord Orthallen’s table. Bazie had a little screw of paper with some, and once in a while they all got a bit in their tea. Now they’d be able to sweeten their tea at every meal.

Each of them had a slice of bread well-buttered, with a thin slice of onion atop, and a slice of hard sausage atop that. The aroma of sage and savory from the sausage made Skif’s mouth water. Bazie had put some of his sprouting beans on his slice, and had taken a second slice of buttered bread to hold it all together. Skif hoped the sprouts wouldn’t taste bad with all that good stuff in and around it. They were going to eat like kings for a while.

“Kalchan croaked.” That was from Lyle, with his mouth full. “They sez. Nobuddy sez nothin’ ‘bout Londer. I ast ’round ‘bout Skif. Don’ seem nobuddy’s lookin’ fer ’im now. Reckon they figger ’e saw t’set-to an’ run off.”

“Huh.” Skif shrugged. “Tol’ ye about th’ fire. Tha’s all we saw.” Deek nodded agreement, but his mouth was full, so he added nothing.

“White shirt’s sniffin’ ’round Little Puddin’ Lane,” said Raf. “Dunno why; askin’ a mort’uv questions, they sez.”

Huh. Wonder what Herald wants down there? There wasn’t anything down in that part of town that a Herald should have been interested in; Little Pudding Lane was just a short step above the neighborhood of the Hollybush so far as poverty went.

“Stay clear uv them for now,” Bazie advised. “They got ways’uv tellin who’s lyin’.”

“No fear there!” Raf promised. “Ain’t gonna mess wi’ no witchy white shirt!”

Be stupid to, Skif reflected. Not that he’d ever actually seen a Herald, except once, passing at a distance. Even then, he wasn’t sure it had been a Herald. It could just have been a pale-colored horse.

Bazie shrugged. “Dunno they be witchy, jest sharpish. Ah, like’s not, ’tis summat got nawt t’do wi’ likes uv us. When any’un seed a white shirt down here, eh?”

“Not so’s I kin ’member,” Raf, the oldest, said at last. Skif and Deek both shook their heads.

“Saw ’un oncet, passin’ through,” Lyle offered, and grinned.