“He don' lissen,” the man said with gloom.
“Ah, he lissens,” Deek assured their mentor. “ 'E's jest inna hurry. They's a street fair a-goin' by Weavers, an' 'e wants t' get to't afore they pockets is empty.”
Bazie didn't seem convinced, but said nothing to Deek. “Lemme see yer hands,” he said to Skif instead, but shook his head sadly over the stubby paws that Skif presented for his inspection. “Ye'll not suit th' liftin' much,” he decreed. “ 'Least, ye'll nivver be a master. Ye got t'hev long finners fer the liftin'. Kin ye climb?”
Deek answered for him. “Like a squirrel, I seen 'im,” the boy chimed in cheerfully. “An' look at 'is nose an' feet — 'e ain't gonna get big for a good bit yet, maybe not fer years.”
Bazie examined him carefully from top to toes. “I thin' yer right,” he said after a moment. “Aye. Reckon ye got a matey, Deek.”
“That'll do,” Deek replied, with a grin, and turned to Skif. “We'll be learnin' ye th' roof walkin', then, wi' me. In an' out — winders, mostly.”
“An’ ye live t' see summer, ye'll be doin' the night walks,” Bazie said with a little more cheer. “Won't be wipes yer bringin' 'ome then, nossir.”
Deek snorted, and Skif felt his heart pounding with excitement. “Not likely!” Deek said with scorn. “Wipes? More like glimmers!”
“Ye bring 'ome the glimmers, and we'll be findin' new digs, me lads,” Bazie promised, his eyes gleaming with avid greed. “Aye that, 'tis us'll be eatin' beef an' beer when we like, an' from cookshop!”
Lyle, however, looked worried, though he said nothing. Skif wondered why. It was clear from the wealth of kerchiefs — “wipes” — and other things here that Bazie was a good teacher. Skif saw no reason why that expertise shouldn't extend to second-story work and the theft of jewelry.
He'd never actually seen any jewelry that wasn't fake, all foiled glass and tin, but he could imagine it. He could imagine being able to eat all he liked of the kinds of food he served to Lord Orthallen's guests, too, and possessing fine clothing that wasn't all patches and tears —
“ 'Nuff moon-calfin',” Bazie said sharply, recalling them all to the present. “Boy — Skif — be any more i' the pot?”
“Jes' this,” Skif said, fishing out the last of the garments on the end of the stick. Bazie examined it, and grunted.
“That'll do,” he decreed, and Lyle took it to hang it up. “Deek, next lot.”
Deek brought over the next batch of wash, which was of mingled saffrons, tawnys and bright yellows, and dumped it in the cauldron. Lyle got up and took the stick from Skif without being prompted and began energetically thrusting the floating fabric under the water.
“Ye kin hev two eggs, Boy, an' then Deek'll get ye 'thin sight uv Hollybush,” Bazie declared. “Eat 'em on th' way.”
“Yessir!” Skif said, overjoyed, mouth watering at the idea of having two whole boiled eggs for himself. He picked a pair out of the bowl, tucking them in a pocket, and followed Deek out the door and up the rickety staircase.
Once down on the street he and Deek strolled along together like a pair of old friends, Deek putting in a laconic comment now and again, while Skif nibbled at his eggs, making them last. He'd had boiled eggs before this — they were a regular item at Lord Orthallen's table — but not so often that he didn't savor every tiny bite. Once Deek darted over to a vendor's wagon and came back with a pair of buns, paying for them (somewhat to Skif’s surprise) and handing one to his new “mate.”
“Why didn' ye nobble 'em?” he asked in a whisper.
Deek frowned. “Ye don' mess yer nest,” he admonished. “Tha's Bazie's first rule. Ye don' take nuthin' from neighbors. Tha' way, they don' know what we does, an' 'f hue-an'-cry goes up, they ain't gonna he'p wi' lookin' fer us.”
Well, that made sense. It had never occurred to Skif that if your neighbors knew you were a thief, you'd be the first one they looked for if something went missing. He ate his bun thoughtfully, as Deek pointed out landmarks he could use to find his way back tomorrow.
“I got lessons,” Skif pointed out reluctantly, and Deek laughed.
“No worries,” the boy replied. “Bazie won' be 'wake 'till midday. Ye cum then. Look — ye know this street?”
