A bonded child was just short of property; required to serve in whatever capacity his “guardian” chose until he was sixteen, for the privilege of being sheltered and fed. Skif's mother had neglected (perhaps on purpose) to bond her toddler to her brother when her man left her and she fell ill — she worsened and died before Londer could get the bond signed and sworn to. It was too late now; no notary would swear to a faked bond. Well — no notary would swear to a faked bond for the pittance of a bribe that was all that Londer would offer.
By the point when Skif's mother died, Londer was already on record with the same Temple Beel served at as the responsible party for his sister and nephew (hoping to get Skif's bond). As such, he was technically required by law to care for Skif until the age of twelve without any benefit. At twelve, which was no more than a couple of years away, he could turn Skif out, but he probably wouldn't. Skif was still supplying free labor at no real cost to him, and as long as that was going on, Londer would let sleeping dogs lie.
Now, the fact was that although Skif was under no obligation to serve at the Hollybush for his keep, the only thing he could coerce out of Kalchan and Londer was a place to sleep. The food they offered him — the leavings from customers' meals — a pig wouldn't touch. If he wanted to eat, he had to either find alternate ways of getting meals (as he had) or do even more work than he already was. And as long as he wanted to sleep at the Hollybush, which though wretched, was infinitely better and safer than trying to find a place on the street, he had to obey Kalchan's orders whenever he was around the tavern. There were a lot of things that could happen to a child on the street — “living rough” — and most of them were far worse than being beaten now and again by Kalchan, who had no taste for little boys or girls.
'Course, if 'e thunk 'e cud get away wit' it, 'e'd hev no prollem sellin' me. Kalchan would sell his own mother's services if he thought he wouldn't get caught. As it was, on the rare occasions when Skif got dragooned into “helping,” he often had to endure the surreptitious caresses and whispered enticements of some of the customers who had wider ideas of pleasure than Kalchan did. As long as Kalchan didn't actually accept money in advance for the use of Skif's body, there was nothing that Skif could report to Temple or Guard.
And as long as Kalchan didn't take money in advance, the customers could only try to entice a boy; they wouldn't dare try to force him in public. The likelihood of one of them cornering Skif somewhere private was nonexistent. There wasn't a wall built he couldn't climb, and he knew every dirty-fighting trick there was for getting away from an adult.
After some time, during which Skif felt very uncomfortable, Bazie nodded. Now, at last, he showed a faint sign of satisfaction. “ 'E might cud do,” he said to Deek. “Give 'im a try.”
Deek grinned, and elbowed him.
“Wouldn' mind puttin one i' th'eye uv that bastid Londer,” Bazie continued, a gleam in his own black eyes. “Yew work out in one moon, yer in.”
Deek sucked in his breath; he had told Skif it would be six moons, not one, before he'd be accepted into the gang. Skif was amazed himself, and tried hard not to grin, but failed.
Bazie raised an eyebrow. “Don' get cocky,” he cautioned. “ Tis as much t' put one i' the eye uv Londer.”
Skif ducked his head. “Yessir,” he said earnestly. “I unnerstan' sir.” But he couldn't help feeling excited. “Ye'll be teachin' me, then?”
“Ye kin start now, at boiler,” Bazie grunted, gesturing to the boy at the cauldron. “Ye take Lyle's stick.”
Skif was not at all loath. For the second time today — the first had been when he was asleep in the wash- house loft — he was warm. Stirring a cauldron full of laundry was nowhere near as much work as toting rubbish for the rag-and-bone men.
Lyle was happy enough to give over the stick to Skif, who industriously stirred away at the simmering pot. Every so often, at Bazie's imperious gesture, he'd lift out a kerchief or some other piece of fabric on the stick. If Bazie approved, the second boy took it and hung it up to dry; if not, it went back in the pot.
Meanwhile Deek sorted his loot by color into baskets along the wall; Bazie, darning yet another silk stocking, noted Skif's incredulous stare as he did so, and snorted. “Ye think 'm gonna ruin goods w' dye runnin'? Think agin! We gets twice fer th' wipes 'cause they's clean an' mended, boy — thas a fair piece fer damn liddle work wi' no risk!”
Well, put that way —
Skif kept stirring.
Lyle began taking down kerchiefs that were dry; Bazie continued to mend, and Deek picked through one of the baskets, looking for more things that needed fixing. The third boy finished peeling the hard-boiled eggs, and stood up.
“ 'M off, Bazie,” he said. He was clearly the oldest, and Bazie looked up from his mending to level a measuring gaze at him.
“Ye mind, now,” the man said, carefully. “Ye mind whut I said, Raf. Ye slip one, an' move on. No workin' a crowd on yer lone.”
The boy Raf nodded impatiently with one hand on the doorknob. As soon as Bazie finished speaking, he was already out the door. Bazie shook his head.
