After a brief whining plaint, Skif trotted off, exactly like a younger brother chased off by an elder. And once away from the Fair, he broke into a loping run. In no time at all he had left the pouch with Bazie to be examined and counted, and he was on his way back, more than warmed up by his exertions.

It took longer for Raf to return the second time; Skif hoped that this meant he was being very careful. He also hoped that by the time he brought back Raf’s second or third lift, Bazie would tell him that they’d collected enough for the day. Although this Fair was exciting and completely fascinating, Skif couldn’t help being nervous about the composition of the crowd—mostly male, and mostly drinking. It wouldn’t take much for an ugly situation to develop.

The ropedancers didn’t seem to mind his being there, though, which was a plus; he’d been afraid they might chivvy him off. While he waited for Raf to appear again, he watched them closely, trying to figure out how they did it. There were four of them; two girls, a young man, and a little boy; the latter didn’t walk the rope himself, he seemed to be there mostly to balance on the shoulders of the young man.

Reckon since ye cain’t see up his skirt fer an extra thrill, they figger they gotta have th’ little’un there t’ make it more dangerous.

Of the two girls, the youngest was the most skilled; while the older one just walked the rope, stopping midway for some one-footed poses, the younger one had an entire repertoire of tricks. So far Skif had seen her balance on one foot while she drew the other up with her hands to touch her heel against the back of her head, dance a little jig in the middlemost part of the rope, jump up and come down on the rope again, and make three skips with a jump rope out there. It was even-up between her and the older one for the dancers called out most often—the older one was, well, older, and had breasts and all, but the younger one was more daring.

It soon became obvious to Skif that the young man and the little boy were there to draw the crowd—they were the ones that went out for free. The girls didn’t dance unless there was enough money collected in the tin bucket hung at the side of the stone staircase—and there was an older man with them who emptied it every time one of them went out. Skif thought there was a distinct family resemblance there with all of them.

Just then, Raf came up again, this time with a pair of waxed paper cones full of hot mulled cider. He handed one to Skif.

“Be kerful drinkin’,” he cautioned, in a lowered voice. “They’s summut in bottom.”

“Seen Lyle?” Skif asked in a normal tone. “‘E sed ’e’d be ‘ere, didn’ ’e?”