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Chapters (23)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Chapter 2
  6. Chapter 3
  7. Chapter 4
  8. Chapter 5
  9. Chapter 6
  10. Chapter 7
  11. Chapter 8
  12. Chapter 9
  13. Chapter 10
  14. Chapter 11
  15. Chapter 12
  16. Chapter 13
  17. Chapter 14
  18. Chapter 15
  19. Chapter 16
  20. Chapter 17
  21. Chapter 18
  22. Chapter 19
  23. Chapter 20

“Time t’ go,” Raf said as soon as the two of them were together. “Wut I got now’ll gi’ Bazie ‘nuff, an’ I sore yer cuz ’ere.”

“I did more’n see ’im,” Skif said, as they worked their way out to the street together. He explained what had happened as they walked together toward home.

“Aw, hellfires!” Raf responded, making a motion of wiping his forehead. “Tha’s a close’un!”

“Too close,” Skif agreed. “I took’t chance on Beel bein’ a good’un—ye ken ‘e warned me, afore th’ to-do. An’ ’e is, I guess.”

“Well, I saw ‘im doin’ some beggin’ fer Temple; guess tha’s ’ut brung ’im there,” Raf said. “I’d made lift, an’ I nipped off t’ look fer ye.”

It had been far too close a call and Skif’s heart was still beating hard. But at least they’d made some good lifts today, and no harm done.

Skif had managed—by luck and a glib tongue—to squeak out of danger again.

Chapter 7

7

IT was a good, dark night—not quite moonless, but it had been a day moon, shining in the blue sky half the afternoon, and it would be down before Skif was done with tonight’s job. Right now, the shadows were perfect for getting into his target. Skif sniffed the air appreciatively, but silently; it was crisp and cold, with a hint of wood smoke, but not as much as there would have been if all of the fireplaces in his target house were running. With a dry autumn this year, there was no treacherous ice on the roof or tops of the walls. In the fall the first bit of cold kept people off the street at night and tucked up in a cozy tavern, instead of wandering about, taking a chance of getting run off by the Watch for the fun of gawking at the show homes of the rich. All except for the rich themselves, of course, who were making the rounds of their estates—if they had them—or their friends’ estates. It was hunting season, and no one who was anyone would be caught dead in Haven at this time of year, not when they could go out to the country and use the slaughter of wild game as an excuse to have house parties.

It was very strange. Granted, wild game was a luxury, and featured prominently in the menus of the rich. But surely their foresters and servants could do a better job of going after it than people who didn’t hunt for a living.