Raf was sitting up with Bazie, although Deek and Lyle had already gone to bed. Their voices came easily through the shutters of his bed. “Lissen, Bazie, Midwinter Fair ’s a-comin’, an’ I’m thinkin’ we should be workin’ it in twos,” Raf said quietly. “One liftin’, an’ one t’carry. Mebbe I’m bein’ nervy, but I don’ like t’idea uv yon white shirt sniffin’ round.”

“You reckon?” Bazie sounded interested. “Hadn’ tried that afore, hev we?”

“Ain’t’s risky. Reckon I take’s the young’un, Lyle take Deek. An ev’ry time we gets a lift, we takes it t’ carrier. Carrier brings it here. Then no matter how wrong ’t all goes, ain’t no’un caught wi’ more’n one lift on’im.” Raf sounded very sure of himself, and truth to tell, Skif agreed with him. It would be a lot more work that way for the carrier, who would have to run back and forth between wherever the Fair they were working was being held, and here, but Raf was right. No matter what happened, no matter what went wrong, no one would be caught with more loot than a single kerchief or pouch.

“Som’thin’ got ye spooked?” Bazie asked shrewdly. Skif could imagine Raf’s shrug. “Can’t ’magine white shirts lookin’ fer lifters.”

“Mebbe. Somethin’ i’ th’ air. Not like white shirts t’ be i’ this t’ th’ chancy parts’uv town. Somethin’s up. An’—” Raf paused. “Lots’uv forners pretendin’ not t’be forners lurkin’ about, i’taverns, askin’ questions, little too casual-like.”

“Na, ye stay clear’uv them, boy!” There was real alarm in Bazie’s voice. “Tha’s stuff fer th’ highborns! Ain’t no call t’get mixed up wi’ them!”

“Eh.” Raf agreed, but he still sounded worried. “Bazie, ye gotta wonder—how long afore their bizness gets down amongst us? Ye know whut they sez—rotten apple falls fastest and futhest.”

“On’y thin’ you an’ me an’ the likes’uv us got t’ ’ave t’do wi’ them is t’ get out uv way when they falls.”

And that seemed to be the end of that. Skif was asleep before Raf helped Bazie into bed.